August 2, 1980: Lest We forget

“The memory of that massacre is engraved upon the Nation’s conscience.” (Giorgio Napolitano, President of the Italian Republic, 2 August 2011).

That Saturday morning, August 2, 1980, at 10:25 a.m. my husband and I, together with a few friends, had just begun to give our apartment a much-needed paint job. Just as Nino began to put the roller into the paint, we heard a huge rumble and the whole apartment began to shake. An earthquake, we thought. No way. Not here in Bologna. There had been no damage, so we just continued painting until my sister-in-law called asking us to go pick her husband up at the hospital.

We were more than a little surprised, as Vito was scheduled for surgery that morning and should already have been in the operating room, but when his wife told us that there had been an explosion at the train station, and that the operation had been cancelled at the last minute – every room available in every hospital in Bologna was needed for the injured – we finally understood the explosion.

Bologna, perhaps the most organized city in Italy, was in utter chaos. A 25 kilogram bomb, composed of TNT, C4 and nitro gelatin as a stabilizer, had been left on a small table in the second class waiting room at the station, timed to go off at 10:25 a.m., the precise time that the Ancona – Chiasso train pulled into the station on track 1.

Because of its central position, Bologna is a major stop, connecting Northern Italy to the southern part of the country. Add to this the fact that Italy’s tourist season was in full swing and it’s easy to understand why the station was jam-packed. That day, the station was left in rubble, eighty-five people were killed and two-hundred were more or less seriously injured. Some of the injured later died of their wounds.

And then, a sort of miracle took place: Bologna reorganized itself. There weren’t enough emergency vehicles to take the injured to the city’s various hospitals, so taxi drivers and bus drivers began taking helpless passengers. One bus in particular, number 37, was transformed into a giant ambulance where first aid was administered by health-care personnel; all doctors and nurses who were on vacation promptly returned home upon learning of the tragedy. Hospital wards that had been closed down were reopened to accommodate the large numbers of victims.

Travelers who were in the station at the time of the explosion stayed to help aid in searching for possible victims still under the rubble that was once a beautiful station. Bolognese residents shared their homes with the victims’ families, and visited those who were alone in the hospitals.

That afternoon, Italy’s President of the Republic, Sandro Pertini, arrived in the grief-stricken city; with tears running down his face, he addressed the public, “I’m speechless. We’re facing the most criminal action that has ever been undertaken in Italy.” Four days later, on August 6, he participated in the funerals of the victims of the massacre.

On August 26, 1980, warrants and the ensuing arrest of members of the Militants of the Italian Extreme Right-Wing were carried out. Among the arrested were Roberto Fiore, Massimo Morsello, Gabriele Adinolfi, Francesca Mambro, Valerio Fioravanti, Roberto Rinani, Massimiliano Facchini, Paolo Signorelli and Aldo Semerari, who was assassinated on October 1, 1982.

Bologna has not forgotten its citizens and visitors who remained victims of this senseless attack on innocents, Italians and strangers alike. Today, August 2, 2011, the city once again celebrated its annual commemoration, not only of its pain, but also of the courage and solidarity extended. I, too, remember the pain and sorrow, followed by hope and caring, and extend my love to the Bolognese, my friends and brothers and sisters. May we never forget.

Enjoying Strange “House Pets”

We have a new house pet; he’s a bit unusual, not exactly what one would normally consider as a “house pet”. Lucio flew into the house sometime between Monday and Tuesday and has no plans (or so it seems) of returning outside. Lucio is a a lightning bug or firefly, depending on where you’re from. 

I have always liked fireflies, although I had never seen one until I was almost eight years old; my grandmother had invited me on a cross-country journey and we were visiting some of her cousins in upstate New York, along Lake Erie. We had just gotten there from Boston and and we were sitting around eating roasted hotdogs after a heavy thunderstorm, when my attention was attracted by little flashes of light in the dusk. I was fascinated by what seemed to be fairies flitting around the yard. When I found out they were actually “bugs” my innocent tomboy heart jumped with joy – bugs were something I understood and loved – and, after obtaining an empty jar with a lid, I set out to collect as many as I could catch. They were somewhat elusive and my total catch amounted to… zero.

I missed out on fireflies for the next 18 years, until I moved to Italy. There was a lovely park not too far away where my husband, his brother and his wife, and I would go walking in the evening. Imagine my delight when, as we sat toward the back of the park enjoying the fresh evening air, I noticed a series of flashing lights flitting here and there in the darkening sky. I had found a new colony of my old friends, and decided then and there that I would bring along a jar the next time we went to visit the park. A week later, I found myself gazing happily out the back window at the “fairy lights” flitting haphazardly around the apricot tree in our garden. I was transported back in time for about a month before they either found their way to other backyards or died (I hope it was the former, although fireflies only live a maximum of three months).

Fireflies are actually a type of beetle (not to be confused with the singing group, the Beatles); they are nocturnal and come in about 2,000 species, most of which are winged. The bright light produced by the males, a mechanism triggered to attract females, is a chemical reaction that requires approximately 97% of their body’s energy to produce. Each species has a distinct pattern to their blinking lights. I discovered the presence of Lucio because of his lightning-like blinks, one right after the other in the corner nearest the bedroom window. Since there was a thunderstorm going on at the time, I thought nothing of it until he flew over my head and blinked a couple more times. Definitely NOT lightning. When I awoke the following morning, Lucio was resting on my bedroom wall, about 3 feet above my head and I was able to get his photo. The photo on the right was provided by National Graphic.

It would seem that fireflies are not particularly worried by the presence of human beings; a week has passed since Lucio made his presence known to us. He’s not alone; there are now two, the second being named Lucia. They disappeared for a couple of days, but reappeared last night in tandem – one on the wall, while the other flitted around – and before I went to bed (right after I turned out the light) I was once again awarded with a natural sparkler display. This evening, while preparing dinner, I discovered where Lucio spends his days: he has been hiding in my basil plants. I also discovered that if you look closely enough, the blinking lights are quite visible even under a bright light bulb.

And speaking of bright lights, another new discovery—perhaps quite unknown—is that fireflies will follow the light. Lucio was resting on the refrigerator door (white), but when I turned off the light to go into another room, he followed me and flew right in when I turned on the light.

Fireflies are attracted by moist areas, which probably explains why I didn’t see too many of them in my childhood home in Southern California. My home here in Brooklyn has very high humidity, and it is a wonderful treat when summer comes, bringing with it a wonderland of “fairy lights”, inside and out.

Sources:

• http://animals.nationalgeographic.com/animals/bugs/firefly/

Mary and Sonia’s Big Tourism Mistake

Saturday, Sonia and I had intended to go visit Rockefeller Center, Times Square and St. Patrick’s Church. They’re all basically in the same area, so we figured we could see all three with no problem. I’ve seen then before and Sonia was really excited about seeing them. I usually get off the subway at the 42nd St-Port Authority stop, because I like to do a little window shopping at the bead stores along the way or staring at the ticket offices for the various Broadway shows, but it’s not exactly around the corner and I don’t usually visit all three at the same time; two, maybe, but not all three. I figured that if we got off at the next stop, we would be just a couple of blocks away. What actually happened, though, was that the next stop was not 52nd, as I thought it would be, but 59th.

Although I’ve been living in Brooklyn for almost 5 years, I was totally surprised at what I beheld as Sonia and I exited the train station in Columbus Circle. I’d never seen either the statue of Columbus, the sculptured globe in front of the Donald Trump hotel or… Central Park. I’m embarrassed to admit that I have never been to Central Park, although you can be sure that Sonia and I will not limit our visits to the Park to the one on Saturday—there is just way too much to see there.

After we took the obligatory photos on Columbus Circle, we crossed the street to enter the Park. A word of caution, here: you will be attacked by a horde of “service providers” that will do their best to rip off any money you might have. We were first approached by a series of Rickshaw drivers. Sonia and I had already decided that we were going to walk through the Park, so were immune to their bargaining; but, if you decide to take the rickshaw route, take advantage of the outside drivers, because they only charge $2.00 per minute for a 45-minute ride—the drivers stationed inside the Park charge $3.00 per minute. And the worst part is, you can’t really enjoy the wonders of the park, because if you stop, you get charged for waiting time.

If you fancy a more romantic style, there are also horse-drawn carriages. The cost for this runs about $90-$110 for a 45-minute ride; theoretically, the first 20 minutes cost $50, and up to 4 people may ride in a carriage at one time. It looks like fun but, as with the rickshaws, there’s not much chance to actually “see” the Park. Yet a third way, indicated more for the athletically inclined would be bike riding. The bikes offered by Citibank are free, and biking looks like a lot of fun. There are privately rented bikes, but since I have problems pumping, I have no idea how much they cost; anyway, I think free is better, myself. Bikes are allowed almost everywhere in the Park, although they must be walked on certain footpaths.

Personally, I think the best way to see the park is on foot; you can go where you want – at your own speed – see what you want, stay as long as you want and your hands are free to take as many pictures as you want or to eat a nice hot dog and pretzel. You can climb hills, sit under trees, have a picnic, smell the flowers (of which there are legion), even run, if you are on foot. You can also stand in line to go on the carousel or row a boat on the lake, without having to worry about being charged for extra time or losing your bicycle.

Sonia and I had the privilege of listening to a concert violinist as we were enjoying our lunch; she had a full concert planned, including “Summer” and “Winter” from Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons”. Further along, we met a pair of Reggae percussionists that had the two of us moving to their beat. Another musical entertainment was offered by a couple which combined “Baroque and native American”. They were very interesting to watch and listen to; the young woman had a rather lyric voice while the man, through the enhancement of a shot or two of helium, sang a vibrant counter tenor.

Since this Monday was Canada Day, there was a very interesting exposition on Canada, with a full calendar of events, including hockey matches, Indian dancing, product tasting, free Canadian flags, etc.

Our last stop – oh all right, the next to the last stop – was the turtle pond. It was full of, well, turtles. I also happened to learn something new about my camera: I can actually do super-zooming and get pictures of things I only dreamed about before. There was this turtle that was very camera-shy, but with my new-found knowledge, I caught it in the act. I also caught a dragonfly that I would never have been able to photograph before. The very last stop was Daniel Webster, a man of many words, literally.

Our visit to Central Park ended much too soon, and we can hardly wait for the next trip. There are so many things left to enjoy in this Park. And who knows? maybe we’ll see you there!

The “Best Health System in the World” Part 1: Appointments

Okay, I agree that once you see a doctor here in the United States, you probably WILL get the best service available. My little rant here is aimed at the system and the long, grueling process you must go through to see the doctor.

This morning I had a very chilling (and I don’t mean that in a good sense) experience when I called up the hospital to make an appointment for my roommate. That’s fine, I suppose, but I really shouldn’t have had to do it in the first place; Russ had an appointment scheduled for June 6, but they called him up the day before the appointment to tell him the appointment was postponed and that they would call him for a new appointment – they never called back. What made the experience so horrifying is the date for when the visit was set: October 29. Now, had HE been the one to cancel the appointment, I might not have fidgeted so much, but honestly! they were the perpetrators.

Last year, in July, Russ set up an appointment for an ophthalmologist because he has some serious visual problems; the soonest he could get an appointment was for August 13, 2013 – more than a year away. He has yet to get an orthopedic appointment for his back problems. sigh…

Regarding ophthalmology appointments: I had an appointment for 10:00 am with the ophthalmologist last June; I finally left at 7:30, without ever having seen the doctor. I made a new appointment for 3 days later, which had a much better result—I left after about 3-1/2 hours later with an appointment for a year later; all was well.

However, I might say that my recent personal experiences might top even the abovementioned experiences. I had a 7:00 pm appointment with my primary doctor on April 9. The hospital even called to remind me of the appointment. I arrived 5 minutes early and waited until someone came to the desk (I have no idea where they were…). When someone came in 15 minutes later, I was informed that Dr. P had left early. WHAT?! I was more than just a little ticked because I needed to have new prescriptions for my various meds and a paper filled out so I could start having my insulin again, but at least they gave me a Metrocard and a new appointment for the following morning at 9:00.

I got up somewhat earlier on a very rainy morning and caught a 7:45 bus (I take two buses to get to the hospital); when I was 10 minutes away from the hospital, I received a phone call from the hospital saying Dr. P would not be in that day. WHAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!???????????? I wasn’t furious; I was extremely very much more than furious—I was deadly. People that hadn’t planned on getting off the bus at the next stop got off anyway. And I went to the hospital anyway, and was in line at 8:55. There was no way I could NOT get at least my prescriptions, so I informed them that I was less than pleased; bad move, I guess, because I finally got out of there at 4:00 (a 7 hour wait) with, however, my prescriptions and an appointment for June 21. No insulin request, though.

The really offensive thing was the letter I received about a week later informing me that I had missed my appointment and that I needed to make a new one. I was also perplexed, to say the least.

The appointment on the 21st went very well indeed, even though Dr. P kept asking why I hadn’t done requested exams that I had actually done on the set dates; this definitely tied for being the shortest visit I’d ever had—it only lasted 3-1/2 hours, and was more the exception than the norm. They also set up an appointment with the dermatologist for a rather worrisome skin problem; the date: March 4, 2014. geez!  My question is this: why do doctors feel that our time is less important than theirs? Were patients to be paid for the time they spend in doctors’ waiting rooms, according to the money they lose waiting, do you think waiting times might be somewhat shorter? I’d love to hear your opinion on the subject.

After Sexual Violence: a Story of Hope*

Sexual assault can be a devastating experience that can destroy our very lifestyle, but the emotional pain can be overcome with patience and time.

The evening of September 15, 2002 was without a doubt the most terrifying evening of my life: it was the evening I saw my life pass before my eyes as I faced the man whose intentions were of the basest type – sexual assault and possibly even worse.

Follow Your First Instincts

I’ll admit that I completely left myself open. I was stranded in a tiny Sicilian village named Leonforte on my way to Nicosia – where I was supposed to meet my daughter – after participating in a faculty meeting in Siracusa. Unfortunately, the bus driver neglected to mention hat he would only be going as far as Leonforte, instead of all the way to Nicosia. I was furious, especially since the only pay phone in the “town” was in a bar, and my home phone was busy and my daughter’s cell phone couldn’t be reached.

The only customers were a nice–looking young couple who offered to give me a ride to Nicosia if I paid for the gas. I was unsure – they had been drinking – and I was worried that he might have an accident. With the clarity of hindsight, I could see that the bartender was trying to warn me against it, but I was tired and had absolutely no desire to spend the night on a park bench in an unknown town.

I began to realize I was in trouble about 5 minutes into the ride, when he stuck his right arm over the seat and started caressing my leg and told me he wanted to have sex with me. I scooted as far away as I could, which wasn’t far enough, and then pushed his hand away. After the third time, I had the presence of mind to scratch him.

That, and a lot of fast talking, probably saved me from serious harm. I didn’t pass unscathed emotionally, but I learned a few valuable lessons during the recovery process that I’d like to share.

Report the Incident to the Police

So many men and women refuse to go the police for a variety of reasons, including embarrassment and fear of not being believed. That is so, so wrong! The police need to know, because if they don’t, they can’t stop the offender. As in my case, the offender is very often a repeat offender; not reporting him or her could lead to more victims, something that could have been avoided had the report been made.

Press charges once an identification has been made and the offender has been apprehended. Maurizio had already been identified several times, but when the time came to press charges, the girls gave in to peer pressure and Maurizio was released. I was the first woman to actually take him to court; I won my case and Maurizio now has criminal charges on his record.

Don’t Blame Yourself

A lot of people are going to blame the victim, so you don’t need to do it, too. Thoughts like “if I had only…” are NOT going to help you. Regardless of what you may or may not have done, if someone has intentions of hurting you, they most likely will. I was lucky that he was drunk. If people blame you, stay away from them. They are NOT going to help you recover.

Get Emotional Help

Don’t keep it all for yourself—share it. There weren’t any help groups for victims of sexual assault in Mistretta, and psychologists were hard to come by and expensive if you could find one. However, I had a lot of friends who were willing to lend me an ear and give me hope. My family was a great strength for me, especially my husband, when I would wake up in the middle of the night screaming because of the nightmares.

One friend in particular helped me by encouraging me during the most difficult times, especially when I considered the idea of withdrawing charges. She helped me realize that Maurizio wasn’t going to come get me if he was in prison, but he sure could if he was out. And she was also the one who made me realize that there was nothing to be embarrassed about. I should take it as a compliment, kind of back-handed, perhaps, but still a compliment.

Sing a Song

Something else that helped me immensely was to choose a song to sing every time thoughts of what had happened came to mind. I chose “Angels We Have Heard on High”, and at the beginning ended up singing it about 50 times a day, including in my sleep. I would realize at that moment I was entering a danger zone and quickly change the direction of my thoughts. It was truly a big help.

I can’t tell you what to do in case the rape should result in pregnancy or disease, except to turn to medical and psychological assistance. Pregnancy is such a personal experience and is best understood by you and your doctor, just as only a medical doctor will know how to treat a disease.

A victim of sexual assault will probably never recover completely – 9 years have already passed since my experience, and I still have the occasional nightmare, but my song is always on the ready – but you can still have a satisfying, happy life. We all need help from our friends and professionals in overcoming the pain, but the power to recovery lies mainly in ourselves.

*This blog was originally published on November 21, 2011 by myself, Mary Purpari, for Suite101.com; I hold the copyright. 

Smoky Waters—A poem

Today, I would like to present a guest on my blog. Russ Kelly is my third favorite poet, after Walt Whitman and William Butler Yeats, and he has kindly given me permission to share his latest poem with all of you. I hope you enjoy it as much as I.

Water that smokes

Falls of spring

Falls of power

Falls of silk

Falls of Paterson.

Wheels turning

Wheels of power

Wheels of rail

Turning turning

Wheels in time.

Bricks of muscle

Bricks of sweat

Bricks of clay

Bricks to build

Looms of history.

Water to smoke

Falls to wheel

Apologetic Update

I would very much like to thank all of you who have continued to pop in with the hope of finding something new to read. Although I haven’t answered your many comments, please know that they are extremely appreciated. I feel very badly about my lack of response, and ask your forgiveness.

The reason for my negligence is that I have been buried with a series of translations, but there seems to be a bit of light, and I hope to be able to start dedicating a little more time to my personal life, which will include shooting a few hoops everyday to prepare myself for a challenge I will be facing in August with a delightful young friend of mine. I’m excited about this, because, although I’m not the world’s best hoops players, I can shoot a few, and the exercise will be good for me.

There are so many things I want to write about, including a series about animals I have known. Of course, I may not always be very regular—my daughter is FINALLY flying here to Brooklyn to spend a couple of months with me; I am so jazzed! There are so many things to show her here in New York, and of course, her Aunt Jo Anne is coming to see her – an added blessing, indeed!

So, I hope that you will forgive me for not showing up as often as I would have liked; I assure you that I will do my best to be more active with my writing. Until then, take care!