Caro Direttore....

IL CENTRO GIOVEDÌ 22 NOVEMBRE 2012

Gli emigrati che sognano la casetta e trovano l’Imu

Caro Direttore,

la maggioranza degli emigranti che tornano in Italia a trascorrere le vacanze d'estate o a passare il Natale con i parenti d'inverno sono  quei pochi fortunati ai quali i genitori, per mera riconoscenza, hanno lasciato un buco di casa. Sì, è la casa che ti fa tornare. Sono quelle mura, quelle scale, quegli angoli che ti hanno visto crescere e poi partire che ti fanno tornare.E torni per ritrovarti bambino,per essere sovrastato e soffocato dai ricordi,a volte torni solamente per piangere. Difficilmente torna l'emigrante al quale il vano di casa non gli è stato lasciato, "lui sta bene in America", e non torna per non parlarne, per non rivivere i torti e i dispiaceri subiti che solo il tempo e la lontananza sono riusciti a sopire.

Chi vuole far pagare l'IMU alla casa dell'emigrante, considerate come seconda casa,non e' andato mai a cercare lavoro e fortuna altrove,non ha mai lasciato l'Italia e non sa che la seconda casa e' quella che l'emigrante ha costruito all'estero cosi' come la terra che lo ospita sara' sempre la sua seconda patria.

I sindaci della Valle Peligna, quelli dellaMarsica e tutti i sindaci d'Abruzzo, anziche'  tassare le case degli emigranti dovrebbero pensare invece a trovare incentivi,programme e attivita' varie per incoraggiare gli emigranti a

tornare piu' spesso e piu' a lungo. Mi fermo qui, qualche altra volta ne parleremo piu' a lungo.

Eligio Paris, Toronto

n Questa lettera è arrivata da uno dei tanti abruzzesi emigrati in Canada (anche Sergio Marchionne è tra questi) dopo il bell’articolo pubblicato in prima pagina dal nostro DomenicoRanieri. Il tema è la sorpresa di chi si trova a pagare un’Imu stratosferica sulla vecchia casetta di famiglia , tassata come seconda abitazione (e quindi come bene di lusso) nonostante che quasi sempre si tratti di due stanze in edifici vecchie acciaccati.

C’è una logica in tutto questo? Per chi vive a migliaia di chilometri di distanza, l’unica logica leggibile è quella di unPaese disperato, che cerca di arraffare soldi dove può per evitare di finire nel baratro che ha più volte sfiorato.Ovviamente il risultato di questa

stangata fiscale sarà che molti metteranno in vendita la vecchia casetta abruzzese,recidendo anche gli ultimi legami con una terra che non sempre è stata con loro generosa.

Non so voi, ma io provo un po’ di vergogna nei confronti di questa gente.

La La Land

As time moves forward, whether we like it or not, we are in a continued state of learning. Until our dying day, I believe we "learn" something or realize something that we just didn't know or understand or realize the day before. 

The other night sitting around the table with family and friends, a gender based discussion began to take shape. Someone, irrelevant of who that was, brought up the book "50 Shades of Grey" and the simple mentioning of this book sparked total chaos with the males. What ensued next was what I shall forever take as a huge learning experience for myself and my own personal learning journey.


Let me premise my "light bulb going on" experience by stating that I have not read the book. My enlightening moment really has nothing to do with the context of this infamous book at all. It's what was said that made me realize something I hadn't before.


One of the men firmly and with great conviction said, "You guys (women) live in La La Land..." 


There it was. La La Land. We've heard this term mentioned many times before but that evening it sounded different. This... La La Land. Where is it? Contrary to what was said, I certainly don't live there. But what I realized more importantly is that I want to. YES, I want to live in La La Land and what was even more stunning to me was the question that struck me straight in the forehead .. "Don't we all?"
All that we strive for in our every day existence and all of our every day efforts, are they not all toward the hopes and desires to get to La La Land? 

I want to go there. I want to live there every day. I would love to go there and stay there with my husband and my children mostly, but  also with everyone that I love. 


La La Land is an amazing place. I know because I'm certain I have had glimpses of it over the years. It's where everything and everyone is on the same page; where we are all happy and in synch; where the intimate moments are mind blowing and where food and wine taste succulent; where dancing is euphoric.
It's where laughing hurts your side and cheeks, and it's definitely where we believe in each other, care for each other, compliment one another and look after each other with absolutely no room for Tit for Tat.  


In the movie Jerry Maguire, I think they call it  "The Quan". Yes, that' s it. The Quan or..La La Land.


We all want to live there. Every single one of us. And the most beautiful thing of all is that we can. 
We can get there, we can live there and we can stay there as long as we want. 
Sadly, however, most of us have been made to believe that we don't deserve La La Land. We are not worthy of it's incredible gifts. It's simply ridiculous to try and get there let alone live there. 
Somewhere along our learning journey, we were told or agreed to believe that La La Land is not for us. 
It's for those other people. 


For the record, I do want to live there. And I will try every day of my life to learn more about how to get there and more importantly how to stay there as long as possible.
Yes, I am worth it. We are worth it. I will try to do all that I can to achieve La La Land. 

I hope to see you there.  

Una  Dedica  Speciale

Si dice che quando conosci una persona per la prima volta, ti danno una prima impressione che rimane con te per sempre.

La prima volta che io ho avuto il grande piacere di conoscere le due persone che sarebbero diventati i miei suoceri, l’impressione mia puo essere descritta come un incontro… caloroso, sincero, vero, speciale.

Vittorio e Maria sono proprio cosi’ non solo con me, ma con tutti coloro che hanno il piacere di conoscerli. Sono, infatti, calorosi, sinceri, veri, e speciali ed insieme, queste due persone care, hanno riuscito, nonostante i tanti osstacoli che tutti i matrimoni incontrano , ad essere marito, moglie e genitori esemplari per tutti i loro figli e nipoti.

Sposati  tanti anni insieme, facendo dei sacrifici veri per tirare avanti e crescere  una famiglia in un paese dove la lingua e l’ambiente sono stati molti diversi dalla loro Roccabernarda ,non e’ stato affatto facile … ma Maria e Vittorio, compiuti 50 anni insieme, possono dire con orgoglio, che… c’e l’hanno fatta!

In questo mondo di oggi, la vita puo essere molto complicata; piena di stress e preoccupazioni. Questo e’ la realta’ per tutti noi. Io, insieme a , Gaetano, Maria, Vince, Diana, Vittorio, Josie, Vittorio, Tonina, Pietro, Dominque Rae ed Emma Rose ci uniamo a ringraziare i nostri genitori, Vittorio e Maria, per tutto cio’ che hanno fatto e continuano tutt’ora a fare per rendere la nostra vita, meno complicata, meno stressante, meno preoccupante. 

Grazie per il vostro esempio buono, i vostri consigli saggi ed onesti e piu di tutto, per il vostro amore e affetto sincero e senza condizioni.

Auguri Infiniti e Congratulazioni per il vostro 50esimo anniversario di matrimonio

Vi vogliamo un mondo di bene!

Tutti  i vostri figli e nipoti.

The Christmas Tree

Last night I sat on the couch watching my three kids decorate our Christmas tree. I made a conscience decsision to sit back and let them put the decorations on because I wanted to etch the moment in my memory. And I did. There they were, the three of them, adding one golden ball, or red one, after the other, giggling, strategizing on the best spots. They were happy. I was happy.
Christmas is a special time for so many reasons, but for some, it can be a very difficult time. I felt so privileged to be able to enjoy this precious moment with my family. It was an overwhelming feeling of joy. We hear all these words during this time of year, "joy, comfort, gift giving, spirit, ..." Last night I felt the joy. And it felt good.
The years go by so quickly and before I know it, my kids will be off pursuing their own lives. That reality is so much closer than I want to admit and so, last night was priceless for me, their mother. I truly would not have wanted to be anywhere else on the planet but on that couch watching them, absorbing in my memory the expressions on their faces, their heights, their hands, their voices.

I was there. In the moment. And it was fleeting, yet unforgettable.

I wish all of you memorable moments of joy this Christmas and always.
Merry Christmas

...And she hugged me.

We go through our days in full throttle mode. We may even push that snooze button a few times before making it to our feet. But we do. And for the most part, with all our imperfections, I believe we do it well. The glass balls are tossed up...and here we go; jugglers of the mundane, yet important tasks that so many depend on to be accomplished.

And just like that.. words are uttered, hands are stretched out, hugs are shared, a smile exchanged and they send you into a place where it all makes sense.

As a teenager in high school, I was constantly rushing.. to my locker, to practice, to my friend's place, to a movie..
and sooner or later (usually, later) I would come home. In university I was still rushing.. to class, to work... and I would eventually, come home. And as sure as the the sun rises in the east.. my mother would be there. She would greet me.. with a hug. And just like that.. the day made sense.

It's almost impossible to describe the sensation. It's nothing you can bottle, or wrap, or even fully understand. I just felt it. I felt it through my whole rushed out, fatigued body. And if there is one thing I remember of her, it's that. Her embrace.. her hug, her welcome home. The "all is good, you are safe, you are loved, the hectic day is behind you now, you can rest" feeling washed over me like a warm blanket on a stormy winter night.

It is also,  the one thing I miss the most.

Tonight, I gave my daughter a good night hug as I usually do. She softly says, as she's nestled in my embrace, "There's nothing like your hug, Ma". And just like that..the day made sense to me again. And I realized, I had just passed on the indescribable, the intangible.. the love, the safety, the warm blanket.

I'm here to tell you, when we're gone, our loved ones will remember how we made them feel. Not what we bought them, not even what we said to them. But how we made them feel.

Hug each other. Hugs are good.

Hercules... we got it, thanks anyway ~ A humble dedication to Women.

I feel compelled today, March 8th, International Women's Day to dedicate this entry in my Carpe Diem to women all over the world.
Why dedicate a day to celebrate women? We celebrate many different groups, organizations, movements; but why women? I can go on in detail about the origins of this day, the mimosa flower being the symbol of this day, the extents of its recogntion or lack thereof here in Canada especially, but no. I want to express my feelings for this day and in particular  how it relates to me and my life today.

My feeling of indebtedness to the millions of women that came before me is a force that runs through me every day. The women who suffered physically, mentally, spiritually and emotionally are the same ones that persevered with a strength fuelled only by their human spirit. For most there were no trophies, no lotteries, no prize to hold up for a photo opp at the end of the day. There would be no newspaper clipping, no promotion, no new house new car or new wardrobe. The raw courageous drive to wake up and then
get up and make life better for themselves and their loved ones was their gold sticker. That's it. Simple motives yet the most noble of all.

Many times over the course of my life, I have wondered if I was born the wrong gender. The tugs and pulls of everyday existence sometimes requires the stamina of Mercury and the muscle of Hercules; the tasks and duties so daunting that only heroic, masculine strength could possibly get you to the next dawn. And yet, women of all shapes and sizes, cultural backgrounds and religious beliefs move forward. And have been moving forward since their creation; sometimes against all odds.

Men are for me like an oak tree; strong base, a multitude of branches that reach out to offer a secure reliable perch for all those that depend on them. Women are the gardeners of that tree. The ones that will be sure it blossoms every year, the ones that will water it and keep it alive through the storms that threaten its very existence. The tree is planted firmly, and every day, the Gardener will show up and take care of it.

So.. I ask again, why celebrate women? Because it's the right the thing to do. There is no need to justify or to explain it. Women are worthy of celebrating. Period. We don't need a day to "mark" us as special.. but thanks.. we'll take it. You shouldn't have, Society... but we're glad you did.

I want to thank the women that went before me for their "thankless" efforts. They did not and do not go unnoticed.. at least for this woman.

Clementine Oranges- The Immigrant- part three

Last night I found myself in a merciless grocery check out line and standing patiently behind me was the typical looking grandfather, holding in one hand a case of clementine oranges and in the other a cloth re-use able bag full of groceries. He was eligible for the "Express Line"; 16 items or less, but we were all, non- express and express people, mixed up in a ridiculous excuse of a line heading all in the same direction.
I observed the old man as he would place his case of clementines down on any perch possible in his vicinity and as the line moved, so did he.. picking up his orange treasure, and placing it forward on another perch.
His fragile hand could not hold the weight, as I quickly understood. The other patrons, however, didn't get it and they began to feel threatened that their place in line was being compromised by Grandfather's wicked strategy with his oranges. So threatened was one "punk" that he began addressing his elder in a very impolite manner. You can imagine. My "Italian" adrenaline starts to pump through my heart and I in the most mild way I could muster, explain to the young punk that his adversary was simply relieving the weight of the clementines and that he was not trying to manoeuvre ahead. At that moment Grandfather looks at me and I clearly realize that he does not understand what I and punk-boy are discussing but does know it's about him. I say, ..."English, Italian,???..." He replies ".. Arabic." Damn I think, of the few languages I do speak, Arabic is not one of them. With his gentle eyes he looks at me for guidance. I take his case of clementines, put it in my buggy and with hand motions (universal language) I explain that he's coming with me. The punk, fed up with this whole mess, leaves his three items and departs the scene. Thank goodness. Caught a break.
As we inch ever so slowly towards the liberating noise of cash register scanners,we come to the fork. Grandfather must go in the Express now and I must continue to the seeming insurmountable non express mountain. But... once again I realize he doesn't understand... Express and Non Express. After several attempts of warding off "budders" that think they can get in front of my newly acquired immigrant friend, I dig my heels in and decide that he is not going to get ripped off. Back it up people..it's his turn. Finally arriving at the express, I take his precious clementines, leave my buggy unprotected as well as my patiently earned spot in line, and accompany him to the right cash. Phew.. he made it.. he's good.
I turn to take my spot back in line hoping someone with a heart will have understood why I left my spot in the first place and low and behold a good Polish man that had been observing and listening the whole time saved my spot and my buggy. He grins and opens his hand saying, without uttering a word.,"Here you go." I say, "Thank you," with a grateful nod... and we proceed.
At that moment it could not have been more clear to me that arguments, attacks or insults sometimes stem from very simple misunderstandings. How scary most it be for an immigrant living in a country, not quite sure of the customs, the unwritten rules that we take for granted and not being able to explain yourself or ask for an explanation? That case of clementines was just heavy. Just setting it down. No intention of taking anything from anyone... and which line?? Are they not all the same??
Patience and tolerance in our cynical world is what we need more of. Truly.
I hope Grandfather enjoyed his clementines. I mean really savoured them. I'm sure they were worth the effort.
To me, he definitely was.