This capture makes the house feel protective of the people within -- the embracing curve of the front, the decorative but sturdy protective bars on the windows, and the solidness of the structure.
I must agree with @yrhenwr because I am sure that he intended no sarcasm. And I would add, that flu aside, you seem to have risen from those humble beginning quite nicely.
Sorry to hear you've fallen foul of the dreaded flu, do rest well and drink plenty of fluids - sadly wine is not on the approved list. Love this house, so welcoming.
@jyokota@caterina Thanks a lot, it was well loved, in the beginning. @kali66 I needed rest, apparently... it's not the first time it happens that as soon as I am on an adrenaline down I get sick! @yrhenwr@mbrutus@vignouse Hahaha... Well, it's much less glamorous than may seem: it was designed by my father and built under his own direction, as on a shoestring as possible when building a house. My grandpa bought the land to build a three-apartments villa: the wings would be for our family and my father's sister's family and a central smaller apartment for grandpa and grandma. The land was (and is still, obviously) a steep slope of a hill. At the time the hill was substantially undeveloped. We had to move in before the house was completely finished, because the owner of the flat my parents were renting refused to extend the lease for one more month... It was 1971, I was four, and it was like moving in a fairy castle: balconies without railings; no doors, even on the stairs to the basement; and slopes and trees to climb... all so deliciously dangerous! Then, it soon became a sad place. My grandpa and uncle passed away in a few years, at a short distance. And mourning took possession of the place. Can you imagine mourning in Southern Italy in the early 70's? Well, it was worse: women of all age dressed in black for no less than one year (my grandma never dressed any color until her death in the 2000s), men would wear black suits and black ties for the same time. The shutters would stay shut day and night for one month. No cooking for two weeks. No sound, no music, no play, no radio, no TV, no kids' voices or laughter admitted for months. Start in June 1975; repeat in September 1976... and ok, I'll stop it here: I left the place and the city in 1984. I have some sweet memories and some bitter ones. But much of what I am was nurtured by the roots eradicated from here. @seattlite@golftragic Recovering, slowly but recovering, thank you so much. @yaorenliu With its problems... Thanks a lot!
@vignouse Hope so, thanks! @yrhenwr Sure, much more than one nugget! At least because it was in the 70s and not in the 40s...I would be silly to deny it and to deny I am a lucky one, it would be like denying oneself.
@domenicododaro Yet I see myself as a lucky one too... I have done OK because of the accident of entering school and university when money was not a condition of entry... and of work when it was plentiful.I can't see that someone born today would easily be able to do that. `nothing to do with effort and hard work.. just an accident of birth and subsequent economic policy.
@domenicododaro You might be interested in this link to a film shot of the area in which I was raised. I took the shot when the demolition squad arrive in 1976. There are others either side of this one. 32 years earlier when I was born the times were more sedate and even deferential!
@domenicododaro@yrhenwr thank you for sharing your memories, interesting and moving. Your statement David on the need to continue with one’s life is very touching and your recount, Domenico, of what mourning was in Southern Italy in the 1970’s made me think of B&W Italian movies. In those years the North were I grew up mourning was no longer a big affair.
@yrhenwr I very well see the point! I was not born rich (to tell the truth, I wouldn’t define myself rich now, either), but studies in Italy are still substantially inexpensive, compared to the Anglo-Saxon standards and as my parents were both school teachers, studying was not an option, it was mandatory... however I can’t but be grateful for my accidents of birth and life!
As to your reportage: let me say it’s powerful. I’ve seen much less significant series being acclaimed prize winners. And conveying much less emotion.
@caterina@domenicododaro@yrhenwr -- strange, how I am feeling so connected to you three and your conversations you are having here, all inspired by Domenico's photo. Japan has rather strict rules and rituals related to mourning, and those are the only ones I knew until recently. My father died when I was a teenager, and it forced me to grow up to a world of going to work multiple jobs and no longer going to school by age 16. But the rituals of mourning my father were central to my mother's life for the next 42 years, as she was widowed so young. These days, I often say that I have become my mother. Seeing David's photos of his childhood home reminded me of the strange childhood homes I had -- because Okinawa was under US Military occupation in my childhood, although it was Japanese, and the cinderblock and quonset hut homes I lived in were definitely US military. One never knows where life will take us -- and the one thing I know right now is that I am thankful for our 365 community, and for the friendships it brings.
Your photo of your childhood home (well conveyed) led to such a wonderful thread. A privilege to have been able to read it. Hope you are feeling better soon!
@kali66 😘 thank you, Kali. I fear I have given the impression I am complaining about a childhood lost or something like that. It’s not the case. I’m totally serious saying I am a lucky one. I’m not a believer but I’m thankful to the fate, the case, the hard work, the boredom, the will, the chance, whatever gave me every single thing I got. Sorrows included. It’s not about piling things and dollars, it’s about building oneself. And as a child, I do remember having fun. I believe that apart for tragedies like famine, wars and exploitation, children know how to have fun with nothing.
@jyokota for big reasons like those you described and smaller like those of my personal experience, I dare say we all are the living evidence of the impossibility to know where life will take us!
what a wonderful thread this has become, very personal, I see the image of the house with different eyes, a young boy of 8 having to be quiet for so long, but also the adventures of exploring 'the castle and surroundings'. Thanks for sharing!
What a fascinating thread arising from this photo. Family homes carry so much in history and emotion and it is strange how we can be so critical and yet so protective of our experiences. A great read. But, that aside, sorry that you have been unwell with the flu Domenico - that's no way to spend Christmas - or any other time for that matter.
This is really a wonderful house. Your narrative and comments in the thread are insanely interesting! Thank you for sharing this personal story and shot. :)
@overalvandaan Yes, maybe I disclosed too much but... oh well, that’s me after all! Thank you! @helenhall thanks indeed Helen! I am recovering from the flu (and from decades of self-exile) @kerosene thanks to you Caroline!
@kali66 I needed rest, apparently... it's not the first time it happens that as soon as I am on an adrenaline down I get sick!
@yrhenwr @mbrutus @vignouse Hahaha... Well, it's much less glamorous than may seem: it was designed by my father and built under his own direction, as on a shoestring as possible when building a house. My grandpa bought the land to build a three-apartments villa: the wings would be for our family and my father's sister's family and a central smaller apartment for grandpa and grandma. The land was (and is still, obviously) a steep slope of a hill. At the time the hill was substantially undeveloped. We had to move in before the house was completely finished, because the owner of the flat my parents were renting refused to extend the lease for one more month... It was 1971, I was four, and it was like moving in a fairy castle: balconies without railings; no doors, even on the stairs to the basement; and slopes and trees to climb... all so deliciously dangerous! Then, it soon became a sad place. My grandpa and uncle passed away in a few years, at a short distance. And mourning took possession of the place. Can you imagine mourning in Southern Italy in the early 70's? Well, it was worse: women of all age dressed in black for no less than one year (my grandma never dressed any color until her death in the 2000s), men would wear black suits and black ties for the same time. The shutters would stay shut day and night for one month. No cooking for two weeks. No sound, no music, no play, no radio, no TV, no kids' voices or laughter admitted for months. Start in June 1975; repeat in September 1976... and ok, I'll stop it here: I left the place and the city in 1984. I have some sweet memories and some bitter ones. But much of what I am was nurtured by the roots eradicated from here.
@seattlite @golftragic Recovering, slowly but recovering, thank you so much.
@yaorenliu With its problems... Thanks a lot!
@yrhenwr Sure, much more than one nugget! At least because it was in the 70s and not in the 40s...I would be silly to deny it and to deny I am a lucky one, it would be like denying oneself.
As to your reportage: let me say it’s powerful. I’ve seen much less significant series being acclaimed prize winners. And conveying much less emotion.
@helenhall thanks indeed Helen! I am recovering from the flu (and from decades of self-exile)
@kerosene thanks to you Caroline!