giovedì 28 novembre 2013

Sensitivity and Sensibility.

Sensitivity and sensibility. Illness, at least my illness, amplifies feelings. This means that smiles, laughs and tears follow one another all the time, as if hormones took over rationality. While you try to understand why your face is wet from tears, a new smile is already on your mouth. The other night I had friends over for dinner. I’m not talking about ordinary people. They’re the three musketeers, as Aiste and I like to call them. In the past they came for dinner almost every week. When I still ate normally, the boys did their best to find the easiest dishes for my almost atrophic jaws. This was the job for the two cooks of the group: Remo and Alberto, aka Remao and Ru. Gianni, the third musketeer but not the least important one, was not a gifted cook, not at all (he has, however, other qualities, right, Moki?). So he had the important task (very important for me, since I’m a hopeless dessert lover) to buy dessert. We at home were in charge of drinks, since my cave, always well supplied thanks to the advice of Nick and Nonno, kept up with the delicious dishes prepared by the new Pierangelini and Marchesi. Everything went smoothly with just a few bumps. Like when Ru brought the mythical bottle of Austrian wine with a crown cap, one of the few times when I didn’t regret not being able to drink. Or when Gianni brought the same dessert three times in a row, having forgotten what he had brought the previous time. Because of PEG and, later on, of tracheostomy, dinners had gotten less frequent, being transformed into pre-dinner drinks + appetizers so as not to make me suffer too much. But I knew how much Aiste missed dinners with the guys. She laughed so much, forgetting for some time me and my problems. And this, notwithstanding the total chaos that they left in our kitchen. So I came up with the idea of organising a surprise dinner for my woman. They came for what she thought was just drinks, while we all knew it was going to be a real dinner, like old times. I should have taken a picture of her face when she understood what was going on. That time not only the three musketeers were present, but also D’Artagnan, aka Maurino. While they dined I finished my letter to Pope Francesco. Since I wanted their advice, I asked them to read the letter and to tell me what they thought. While Maurino, with his beautiful, deep voice, started to read, I felt a lump in my throat building up. Halfway I was sobbing so much that my tears had soaked the pillow. Luckily I was the one having written it! And luckily my sobs are soundless like those of a crying fish (does fish cry, by the way?) From now on our dinners will take place at least twice a month, and they won’t be the only ones. I’ve already made plans with other friends, and our home will become a livelier and happier place to be. Hoping that this will help me being less “sensitive”, and to recover from this bitch of a disease.

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