MERRY CHRISTMAS

I don’t know why, but every Christmas I get melancholic. I do not remember having ever a “bad Christmas”; nevertheless, I cannot help it but feel melancholic at Christmas.

I have been remembering Christmases of my childhood, especially those spent in Italy, when I was 10 years old or so, when I lived with my grandmother Aurora.

At that time, she lived in a big 4 story house known as “villa Aurora”, in Brénnero St. number 11, in the city of Sondrio, in the north of Italy. I remember the huge garden and the snow coming down thick in such a way that it produced an unusual silence.

When the gifts were given, as she usually did, she gave me books! I considered that an improper gift for Christmas. All my friends got toys and interesting gifts, all I got was books. Year after year it was the same. I remember feeling cheated. Who gives books for Christmas to a 10, 11 years old boy? Only my grandmother would have such a “brilliant” idea!

As the years went by, I understood the strategy of that wonderful and intelligent woman. With her Christmas gifts, I was able to travel 20.000 leagues under water; I went to the center of the earth; traveled from the Alps to the Andes. I met wonderful people like King Arthur; Ivanhoe; the count of Montecristo; Robinson Crusoe and many others.

Her gifts started a passion in me for reading. I cannot go thru a day without reading a few pages from a favorite book that will take me to the next level that will make my imagination travel faster than light, that which will inspire me.

Thank you, Grandma Aurora for giving me a Christmas gift that never quits. The toys my friends received are all gone by now, but your gift lasts thru the years.

MERRY CHRISTMAS