Number 23 Yes: I make 23 years on Sept. 23. Not the 2023, otherwise we would be worried about. Even today I have for 22 years, I graduated July 22, 2009, today is 22, the day they were born my aunt and Ornella Vanoni, a bit 'of years ago. Tomorrow we will do the years and I Gino Paoli (which, strange coincidence, in the past has been a fellow of Ornella Vanoni). How do I feel? Achieved. On 28 July, six days after graduation, I found a job, and in the field that interests me, I know more and to the extent that I feel. I left for vacation without future the task of having to find a job and September 1 at 9:00 I was in the newsroom. I started happily and without regrets, and so I am continuing. I like to work, and do it full time is what I need. Next, that you do under 23.
Memories I've ever known. And 'my mother died when she was 19, started college and desperately needed a father who supports it. He was 57 years old, gentle dog, sweet eyes, large hands and the skin white, smooth. Curiously, I looked like the man who chose to have the right: the same white light, the same kind eyes, the same calm but determined nature. It was '73 when he died. I can only remember it through the words of those who knew him, crossed by chance and loved. Our house in Sardinia, he has built with his own hands, forty years ago, on land bought from a local landowner. What by chance I met this summer while I was on vacation. Three fingers less on hand because fishing with bombs. Reserved character, but as proud as sulky as the Sardinians than once. exchange for a tourist in search of wild boars, or prickly pear. Indeed is looking for figs, wearing camouflage and adventurous attitude. stopped him making a gaffe lawful. He tells me who is and who his mother was a great friend of my grandmother, who is he who sold us the house. I blush, and I apologize. His grandfather was my father, a brother. Everyone loved him. lucciconi makes me, but I'll show you. Yes, my grandfather was a great man, and deserved to live long enough to know, to know, me and my cousins. To do his job yet, that of police sergeant, who could do well enough to enter school premises in the books. to drive even his vintage Moto Guzzi, on which stood proudly in the saddle at age twenty, in a photo yellowed but illustrative. was beautiful, my grandfather. Affectionate, this little but really. Silent, but dull. I would love it next time. With his stories, his rooting for me, his love for the dispassionate only daughter and grandchildren, all girls. love and loyalty to his dignified wife, my grandmother, so similar to me how much he looks like my man. The tender look which appealed to children asleep when she went to work and threatened not to return. The suffering of my grandmother, maybe, if he had not married, he would have made more professional, but he might not have enjoyed the same, rare, tranquility, combined with an unusual freedom and confidence on the part of ' man who was at his side. We know one day.
