The Gardens of Marchmusic and lyrics by Lucio Battisti |
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| Il carretto passava e quell’uomo gridava ” gelati “ | The cart passed and that man shouted “ice creams” | ||
| al ventuno del mese i nostri soldi erano già finiti | By the 21st of the month our money was already finished | ||
| io pensavo a mia madre e rivedevo i suoi vestiti | I thought of my mother and saw [again] her dresses | ||
| il più bello era nero coi fiori non ancora appassiti | The most beautiful was black with flowers that had not yet wilted | ||
| all’uscita di scuola i ragazzi vendevano i libri | At the exit of the school the kids sold their books | ||
| io restavo a guardarli cercando il coraggio per imitarli, | I stayed watching them, seeking the courage to imitate them | ||
| poi sconfitto tornavo a giocar con la mente e i suoi tarli | Then, defeated, I returned to play with my mind and its woodworms | ||
| e la sera al telefono tu mi chiedevi perché non parli. | And in the evening on the phone you asked me “why don’t you speak?” | ||
| ritornello: | refrain: | ||
| che anno è, che giorno è | What year is it, what day is it? | ||
| questo è il tempo di vivere con te, | This is the time to live with you | ||
| le mie mani come vedi, non tremano più | my hands, as you can see, no longer tremble | ||
| e ho nell’anima in fondo all’anima | and I have in my soul, in the depths of my soul | ||
| cieli immensi e immenso amore | immense skies and immense love | ||
| e poi ancora, ancora amore amor per te, | And then again, again love, love for you | ||
| fiumi azzurri e colline e praterie | Blue rivers and hills and fields | ||
| dove corrono dolcissime le mie malinconie | where my melancholies run sweetly | ||
| l’universo trova spazio dentro me, | the universe finds room inside of me | ||
| ma il coraggio di vivere, quello, ancora non c’e’. | but the courage to live, that is still lacking. | ||
| i giardini di marzo si vestono di nuovi colori | The gardens of March dress themselves in new colors | ||
| e le giovani donne in quel mese, vivono nuovi amori | and the young women in that month live new loves | ||
| ” tu muori se mi aiuti, son certa | “You die if you help me, I’m sure | ||
| che io ne verrò fuori “ | that I will come out of it” | ||
| ma non una parola chiarì i miei pensieri | but not a word cleared my thoughts | ||
| continuai a camminare lasciandoti attrice di ieri. | I kept walking, leaving you actress of yesterday | ||
| che anno è, che giorno è. | what year is it, what day is it? | ||
You Know You’re a Third-Culture Kid When…
(This exists in various versions on various sites; this one was sent to me by a friend.)
You can’t answer the question: “Where are you from?”
You speak two (or more) languages but can’t spell in any of them.
You flew before you could walk.
You have a passport, but no driver’s license.
You watch National Geographic specials and recognize someone. (ALONG THE SAME LINES: YOU RUN INTO SOMEONE YOU KNOW AT EVERY AIRPORT)
You have a time zone map next to your telephone.
Your life story uses the phrase “Then we went to…” five times (or six, or seven times…).
You speak with authority on the quality of airline travel.
National Geographic (OR THE TRAVEL CHANNEL) makes you homesick.
You read the international section before the comics.
You live at school, work in the tropics, and go home for vacation.
You don’t know where home is.
You sort your friends by continent.
Someone brings up the name of a team, and you get the sport wrong.
You know there is no such thing as an international language.
Your second major is in a foreign language you already speak.
You realize it really is a small world, after all.
You feel that multiple passports would be appropriate.
You watch a movie set in a foreign country, and you know what the nationals are really saying into the camera.
Rain on a tile patio – or a corrugated metal roof – is one of the most wonderful sounds in the world.
You haggle with the checkout clerk for a lower price.
Your wardrobe can only handle two seasons: wet and dry.
You go to Taco Bell and have to put five packets of hot sauce on your taco.
You have a name in at least two different languages, and it’s not the same one.
You think VISA is a document stamped in your passport, and not a plastic card you carry in your wallet.
You automatically take off your shoes as soon as you get home.
Your dorm room/apartment/living room looks a little like a museum with all the “exotic” things you have around.
You won’t eat Uncle Ben’s rice because it doesn’t stick together.
Half of your phone calls are unintelligible to those around you.
You go to Pizza Hut or Wendy’s and you wonder why there’s no chili sauce.
You know the geography of the rest of the world, but you don’t know the geography of your own country.
You have best friends in 5 different countries.
You’re spoilt. You know it. You’re VERY spoilt.
Learn Italian in Signs: Horses and Dogs
^ Milan billboard advertising a van: “Milanese Proverb. The master commands, the horse [he] trots.”
^ This sign on a train has been altered from “service rooms” to “torture rooms”.
^ I don’t remember where I took this picture, but it says “Dogs have the right to make dirty [poop], masters have the duty to clean up.”
^ This touching graffito says: “Little one, I miss you!!! Thanks for everything.”
Learn Italian in Song: Gianna
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Gianna
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| Gianna Gianna Gianna sosteneva, tesi e illusioni | Gianna Gianna Gianna supported theses and illusions | ||||
| Gianna Gianna Gianna prometteva, pareti e fiumi | … promised walls and rivers | ||||
| Gianna Gianna aveva un coccodrillo, ed un dottore | … had a crocodile, and a doctor | ||||
| Gianna non perdeva neanche un minuto, per fare l’amore* | …never wasted a minute in making love * | ||||
| Ma la notte la festa è finita, evviva la vita | But at night the party’s over, hurrah for life | ||||
| Chorus: | |||||
| La gente si sveste e comincia un mondo | People get undressed and a world begins | ||||
| un mondo diverso, ma fatto di sesso | A different world, but made of sex | ||||
| e chi vivrà vedrà … | And who lives, will see. | ||||
| Gianna Gianna Gianna non cercava il suo pigmalione | …wasn’t searching for her Pygmalion | ||||
| Gianna difendeva il suo salario, dall’inflazione | …defended her salary from inflation | ||||
| Gianna Gianna Gianna non credeva a canzoni o UFO | …didn’t believe in songs or UFOs | ||||
| Gianna aveva un fiuto eccezionale, per il tartufo | …had an exceptional nose for truffles | ||||
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| Ma dove vai, vieni qua, ma che fai? | But where are you going, come here, what are you doing? | ||||
| Dove vai, con chi ce l’hai? Vieni qua, ma che fai? | Where are you going, who are you mad at… | ||||
| Dove vai, con chi ce l’hai? Di chi sei, ma che vuoi? | …Whose are you, but what do you want? | ||||
| Dove vai, con chi ce l’hai? Butta la’, vieni qua, | …Throw it there, come here, | ||||
| chi la prende e a chi la da! Dove sei, dove stai? | Who takes it and who gives it! Where are you, where are you staying? | ||||
| Fatti sempre i fatti tuoi! Di chi sei, ma che vuoi? | Always mind your own business!… | ||||
| Il dottore non c’e’ mai!Non c’e’ mai! Non c’e’ mai! | The doctor’s never here! He’s never here! Never here! | ||||
| Tu non prendi se non dai! Vieni qua, ma che fai? | You don’t get if you don’t give! Come here, but what are you doing? | ||||
| … | |||||
* This line can be interpreted in at least three different ways:
I had originally thought of the first two possible interpretations, with my daughter supporting number two. Then my husband came up with twist number three, because he interprets the song to mean that Gianna does it for money. Rino Gaetano is long dead, so we can’t ask him… |
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Balancing Career and Family – Over Years
I hear a lot in the US about work-life balance. The concept is increasingly at the forefront of consciousness as we all think hard about the roles we want to play in the world and in our own families. Most large corporations at least pay lip service to the notion that work-life balance is desirable for their employees, and many back up their fine words with benefits that are very much to the point.
It’s a topic that I have opinions on only in hindsight. I never planned my career, nor my home life. It all just seemed to happen, I made choices as they came along, and I haven’t reached the end of the story yet to know how it will all work out.
I think perhaps I’ve achieved work-life balance, or at least I’m on my way to achieving it, though not in the day-to-day fashion that most people imagine. My work and life are balancing over months and years.
If I had had to choose a time to have a child, there might never have been a “right” time. It would have meant an interruption to whatever I was doing professionally at the time, because I always knew that I would want to take care of my baby myself. I don’t claim that this is the right choice for everyone (for many mothers, it’s simply not a financial option), but I knew without thinking that it was right for me. If it had not been possible, I might have chosen not to have children at all.
I have come to the conclusion (many years after the fact) that I got pregnant at age 25 as a way to end conflict between myself and my then-fiance, Enrico, about my work. He was worried about my traveling, partly out of concerns for my safety in exotic countries (I did two consulting jobs in Africa), partly because he preferred to have me near him, and did not see how all my gallivanting was going to fit into “normal” married life. He’s also 6.5 years older than I am, and he was ready to be a father when we met. But I was excited about the work I was doing, and not about to give it up on his say-so. Irresistible force meets immovable object. Much conflict ensued.
So I “accidentally” got pregnant, then gave up my job and moved to New Haven to be with Enrico. I worked temp jobs (desktop publishing) until about two weeks before giving birth, when I was simply too enormous and uncomfortable to sit in an office chair all day. After Ross was born, the boss I’d been working for at Yale would have been delighted to have me back on any terms, including having the baby in the office with me all day, but we tried that and concluded it just would not work: a very young baby requires constant attention.
I was mostly at home with Ross until we moved to Italy, where she began full-time day care in early 1991, at about 18 months old. The job I eventually found started out as a regular office job, doing technical writing for a high-tech startup in Milan. Then the boss set up a US branch for his company and moved all the engineers to Silicon Valley. I had to work with them, so in early 1994 I began flying to California four times a year, for stretches of two to three weeks. In the summers, Enrico and Ross would join me and enjoy a month’s vacation in California while I worked.
Enrico was also spending at least a month out of each year in the US, collaborating on mathematical research with colleagues at various universities. During several such trips Ross and I joined him. I worked from wherever I could get an internet connection and put Ross in daycare, which had the added benefits of improving her English and giving her more exposure to American culture. Later, when she was in elementary school, we restricted our long family stays in the US to the summers; Ross and Enrico would vacation in California while I was working.
I quit my US-based job in 2001 (when Ross was 12) and began working entirely from our home in Milan. It turned out to be a boon that I was much more present during her adolescence than I had been earlier. Ross’ teenage years weren’t entirely smooth (whose are?), but the troubles she had were mostly with school. In every other arena she was level-headed and generally trustworthy. Perhaps having her mother close, both physically and emotionally, contributed to that.
Very unusually for an Italian, Ross left home at 18 to go to boarding school in India, which meant that I could leave home as well. Which, after years of being underemployed, underpaid, overcommuted, and exploited in the lousy Italian job market, I was ready to do. So now I’m back to concentrating on my career. We’ll see how the next 20 years go.
