è da ieri che penso alla festa della donna. Alle mimose che una volta la prof di religione ha portato a tutte, a quella volta in cui un simpatico doganiere le regalò alla Tata mentre veniva a lavoro.
Che poi da noi in famiglia gli auguri papà si dimentica puntualmente del fatto che sia la festa della donna.
E non ci diamo molto peso, sinceramente.
Ieri nessuno si è ricordato che era l'8 marzo fino a quando il maestro di sci di Fratellino non ha chiamato la sua ragazza per farle gli auguri e Fratellino ha rimbeccato papà di essersene dimenticato.
Ed oggi ho pensato di scrivere un post sulle donne. Le mie donne, quelle che fanno parte praticamente sempre del mio cerchio di affetti e della mia vita.
Prima fra tutte, a myself. Why is my doing what I am to become, if they are constantly trying not to get crushed by the failure to see.
And then my mother, who sacrificed herself for us. He stopped working, there was so much next time and still does. At
Nonnabionda that despite the Prussian way of life and character very demanding (or perhaps because of it) has never let her go. has succeeded in setting up the company, when they arrived from Milan to Switzerland and his grandfather was depressed because business was bad. And besides being utter his portrait, I inherited the bigoted nature yet so tough (only what I want, of course).
to Nonnacastana, who taught me quite naturally to enjoy the little things. What I began to read by reading aloud when I was not able. I write long e-mails that are pure exercise diary and I reciprocate the same enthusiasm.
At Tata, which has replaced my mother (and thankfully). I know from when I went to kindergarten, that so often with news and gossip a bit fast 'frivolous a bit' romantic heartened me in so many days. That which will never stop recommend books that no sane person would read and then tells me:
"But I prefer the Harmony!" And that convinced me to read a romance novel. Then I had the courage to tell her that I was disgusted, but this is another story.
The angel, she who taught me to read, to use computers and I stand still in school. That was the best teacher of support that could have happened, with his quiet gentleness and good sense that the guide always.
To my professors, all of them. To those who trust you day and night, to those which at first I considered it a hindrance to the progress of the lesson and then I have learned to know and to hear them. Women are, on the whole a most absurd of the other, but get to know it all are real people good or bad you hide behind the frivolity. At
Prof. N, in particular. Why is the best teacher I could ever, pur non essendo realmente mia prof. Perché è l'unica a padroneggiare tanta cultura e ad usarla nei pettegolezzi citando Catullo quando si descrive il modo di fare di una prof.
Ed infine a voi, amiche blogger. Perché sono latitante in questo periodo e non posso più leggere quel che scrivete (il mio pc rifiuta tutti i blog). Perché ogni commento che mi regalate mi regala un sorriso, una rassicurazione. E perché so che bene o male ci sarete sempre.
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