Will You Feel Wet Before Your Period

Biography 1 - The origins

Francesco Crispi was born in Palermo on February 1, 1918 by Salvatore and Erminia Orestano.
second son, soon became the first of the siblings because of the untimely death of his brother Andrew.
Just a few years of each other came to his brothers: Joseph, Louis, Maria Annunziata.
Crispi Salvatore (the grandfather "Toto) was a man of great and impressive. A handsome man of fair complexion and eyes blue board. In his youth he had lived - according to what my father told me - as a young gentleman. " The father (Francis), in fact, being - though not aristocratic - a wealthy land representative of the bourgeoisie of the time, owned a farm which gave him the income sufficient to lead a comfortable life and to allow it to his children.
My grandfather, a young man, had their own personal gig (which would be like owning a small smart or spiderina, today) and made the good life.
Then his father, quickly, he lost everything in the game and dragged the family on the brink of economic collapse.
The grandfather, by then, had to make do for a living. Mise
from the buggy and the life of leisure, and managed to enter the Railways State, where he worked until retirement.
In 1960, on the occasion of the centenary of the Unification of Italy, was awarded by President of the Republic, Leone, with the title of "Knight of the work."
Alone, Grandfather - with his hard-work sustains the whole family, since her grandmother - as was customary at that time - not only worked but took care of housekeeping and upbringing of their children .
These are the things that many times my father told me when I was little: I do not think that ever went into more details, but then, then I was too small to be able to do.
also told me that his grandfather (who thought he was referring to his father's father) was a great eater and that he died of indigestion, for greedily swallowed an entire basket of freshly picked figs that had been brought from the countryside freshly picked.
Instead, Grandma Erminia (whom everyone called Grandma "Ia") belonged to the family Orestes, too numerous and rich. Fausto's brother, a physician-surgeon, in fact, had founded a nursing home (the "Clinic Orestano"), another brother Francis had devoted himself instead to the study of legal philosophy and moved to Germany to continue his preparation , as philosophers they used to do in those days.
from Germany (Leipzig and surroundings), Francesco continiuo sent a postcard to her grandmother, where, in every available blank space, fine and dense with writing, he told his beloved sister what he had done and seen.
completed the picture his sister Susanna, strong-willed and determined that he died almost a century later.
Fausto (physician-surgeon and founder of the Clinic Orestano) being very culturally open to the fashions of the time (they were the first of Novencento and that was the period of "discovery" of the mountain and the start of "Holiday") supported by Susanna extremely resourceful, imported these new enzymes in Sicily, leading a band of fervent followers, founded the Club Alpino Siciliano (CAS), identifying the first mountain in Madonie above Collesano (the first step of the retreat Piano Zucchi).
But this is a whole other story, though - with regard to my father - the trajectory of the CAS incrocierà later with his life, generating a large and eviscerated in his passion for walking in large landscapes Alpine and our mountains.

Batterie Parallel Solar

In father's death a friend of mine runner

This, the theme that I have given is a digression - or maybe not.
comes naturally to me, however, include this material.
Yesterday or the day before yesterday, now I do not know, died after a long and debilitating illness, the father of a friend of mine runner, runner on ultradistanze and also reinforced the ball of the writing that led him to translate the paper his feelings, emotions and experiences during the race.
few days earlier I had posted a short essay, intensely autobiographical, in which he told the dell'asssitenza emotional weight to his father, terminally ill with a disease that does not forgive, now an advanced state of evolution.
Yesterday, I wrote to inform me of the passing of his father.

Dear Maurizio, the palate is dry and you communicate the death of my father.

Forgive this message bringer of sadness, but from the moment you had sent a small manuscript made in the days of suffering, where the treatment had no more reason to exist, it seemed right to make you share my pain.

Despite the disagreements and misunderstandings, time and common sense have brought together our hearts more than it had hoped.

My father was a great man of sport and carries all the good and the love he gave to his passion: cycling.

I will remember him for this and other things, but above all I will always carry a part of his soul on the streets of the world.

than where my feet will melt with her breathing.
soon.

A *****

I have the immediately sent an e-mail, trying to express my sympathy and my empathy.
In such moments, to try to understand and be close to others, we can only refer to what we already know for personal vicissitudes, and therefore I could not help but think back to my father and for his departure.
My answer:

Dear *****, A
in these moments that there are very few words you can pronounce.
Please refer to empathy, the ability to identify the pain of those who - like you - has suffered the pain of departure of a loved one, as only a father or a mother can be.
I just hope that your father certainly has followed your sporting achievements, has been aware of your successful completion of this other company (the writing and publication to print your excellent book) and that has been able to hold between hands before leaving.
think - to console you - that your father has seen you come up to the years of adulthood, maturity, he could see that your life is taking shape and that you achieve your choices and, ultimately, not a small thing has able to follow - he sports, as I say - the evolution of your love - intimate, introverted and reflective - for walking. Do you think that, certainly, for all these things, he could not but be glad to have a child in this way that guaranteed its continuation in this world.
The real grief, the real pain in the loss of a loved one that goes out is that part of us that lived in his mente.Questa, even in my own experience, is the hardest thing to deal with.
While those who no longer will live forever in our memory.
I'm near in this great pain.

Then, later I sent a second email, from some remarks of his story so intensely autobiographical. Even here, in this second letter, I could not help but talk about my father and his death.

What you wrote in "Scream" is intense, with an intensity that really hurts. It 's something I can understand why a doctor have been close to death, sometimes, when I worked in a division of neurology.
As a man, instead, this harrowing experience of the slow death of a person who is dear to me, I have not done yet, fortunately.
My mother, anzianissima, is still with me.
My father died when I was 22 years, but I never saw him dead. It 'died in a plane crash and I saw him fall home already locked in a coffin, perhaps his body - in there, invisible to my eyes - it was broken and reassembled piteously.
But I was spared having to riconescere.
My father is dead, being in perfect health (54 years) even with the prospect of a long life ahead of him. E 'dead worked.
journalist and was returning home from one of his trips (he took the plane like a bus or a taxi).
When you talk about death, saying he wanted to die quickly, when it would have to happen.
him, maybe he thought that his quick death would be determined by a heart attack, or perhaps another kind of death by lightning. But I am sure that thought certainly to a slow death.
It was a heart attack, but his passing for he was equally rapid, though - for fractions of a second - has had perhaps the time to realize what was happening and to get ready. Although, for this event, you're never ready.
E 'was lucky to die like this?
I do not know.
I can not answer.
course, I did not feel lucky for the manner of his death.
I found myself without the essential confrontation with a father figure in their crucial years, those in which - for the price of a huge conflict with him - I was building my own "real" independence and painful.
And, because of his sudden death I've seen in the same way as a betrayal, I felt cheated.
From his point of view, however, had he not died so suddenly in this way, perhaps the transition would take place in a slow and painful manner.
I would be happy to have him with me longer, but not him, he hated the fate of a malevolent fate imposed upon him.
Certainly, however, that contemporary medicine rather than "cure" of imposing intolerable suffering and sometimes sentenced to life forms "doorway" that are no longer living, because there is more room for joy and lightness, even only in small doses. If you can smile more, if every day is an infinite Calvary, what is the meaning of survival for a few days or a few more hours?