Here in riassuntogli topics of the meeting yesterday.
The thing I mainly took the bench and 'sub-groups to manage small or emergency response teams in order to follow a 24 hour shifts on a fortnightly thus succeeding' to optimize the resources available. (Within the month of January will be assigned to the group guidelines to allow time for Antonio to organize and instruct as decided, the teams)
Another point of interest and 'the organization at least in an exercise demo the day ISEO civil protection in order to enable everyone to be able to test and find out attitudes had not been taken into account. (Within the month of January set the agenda and date)
At the request of Antonio will be 'installed a bulletin board for communications to and from the group (will be' under the arches of the side entrance of the new city hall .)
Mode 'forecast and warning others will suffer from January' a significant change, with shifts technically we should resolve the possible impact the new technology without any problems.
Special thanks to all who were present at the meeting and participated actively in the discussion and decision, a commitment to those who were absent or otherwise occupied find a date that would fit everyone. (or at least to most) soon.
I hope to meet by the end of January early February at the new location for event updates.
Ps: Unwittingly it snowed, and a group of volunteers has now split and made useable some roads be included in the snow in order to limit the discomfort and prevent accidents. We and 'When updating tomorrow morning.
Suddenly a drunk poor fellow made his way to pushing, overthrew the compass of tenders, grabbed a pile of cartamonete, spat and threw them into the air.
On December 24, 1979 I spent the night at Rome's Termini Station. I was in my twenties, and I do not remember exactly what the trip came back. It was late, the large metal clock ticked past 21.15 hours and there were no more racing for my country, the youth hostel seats had sold out and no longer had any money I could pay for a hotel. I was tired, without which nothing good to fantasize, and I just wanted to go home with the first local train in the morning. There was crowd that night, crowds of people coming down from the train or went, the more young people with backpacks on their shoulders, the less young people with the bags, shoulder bags, parcels, bundles. They were almost all happy and bright, with friends or relatives who embraced them when they returned, or greeted them warmly when leaving. A group of young Nordic, with long unkempt hair and loose jackets, had been lying behind the door, pair embraced, and exchanged tender kisses from time to time. Rare single men and women roamed the hall, or sat the chairs of the few bars open, watching the people who sadly passed. walked slowly, dragging my backpack, looking curiously varied as humanity generally lower middle class, as it was then. Few people appear to be particularly wealthy, few faces from immigrants. Here and there one could see an old painted whore, or the young man who lives by their wits or petty theft, the gay men in search of adventure. I was attracted by a crowd of people. All admired a kind of altar, on top of which the circle of railroad workers had set up a crib. Some little woman grew wide and put a bid in the bush. Businessmen they stopped a moment, pulling his wallet and threw their own notes to the first steps. Most commented on the beauty of the manger, even though he had nothing original, saying that the cave with the oxen and the donkey seemed real shame that the birthplace of Jesus with Joseph and Mary remained a bit 'hidden. Suddenly a poor man drunk made his way to pushing, overthrew the compass of tenders, grabbed a pile of cartamonete, spat and threw them into the air. He shouted curses and prayers to Jesus A railway worker who was grabbed round the manger by the collar and dragged him away, not until it has been stunned with two slaps. continued walking for the hall, intrigued by all the faces, behind which lurked a story, a story, a life. The seats of marble from the ticket office closed there was a boy reading a book, a joint aspiration furtively, an elderly woman had her coat and pulled up her skirt to mend the stockings, and a gentleman scrutinized the passers-by with a grin murderess and another was wiping a brow of the eyes, I do not know if the tiredness or some irresistible nostalgia. For a moment I felt the sensation of being followed by three ugly mugs with dark glasses. Perhaps the station was full of fake travelers who surrounded the person with the intent to rob. Perhaps other bystanders were undercover agents. When I walked in the bathroom I saw the wall of urinals occupied by shady types who exhibited their State, or pretended to spy on one of their pissing around and look for contacts. I went to the toilet and put my leg back, a reinforcement of the door, to block access to any stranger. But I did not have time to get out that a fifty-faced young malicious offered me to spend Christmas at home with friends. "I'm leaving" I said abruptly, and to avoid other approaches headed for a train, but did not rise. That guy was gone. An old man who was leaning forward on crutches for a time I staggered and almost fell at the feet, and since I helped him get back in the sixth could not stop to give thanks and praise me in the name of the Lord. went back into the hall, and went to seek a seat in the waiting rooms. These were so crowded that people had to wait a long time 'before a seat is available. I was so tired that when I sat down and closed my eyes I fell asleep ... ... I felt that I was in country, in the cinema, and I had to cross the street but I could not, my bags were too heavy and curve could check a car, and had approached a person, which I could not see the face that I wanted to remove the luggage, and the voice of a speaker announced the departure Paris. In the dream I knew I was dreaming. I loosened the grip of my backpack, which had slipped to the ground. A badly dressed old woman stood before me, standing, looking at me with astonishment. The announcer repeated the train left for Paris. The clock ticked past 23.35. So I looked elsewhere and I realized that something had changed during sleep in the waiting room. As in bathing in the evening when the beaches are empty and in place of the swimmers are their idols in the form of waste - cans, paper, plastic bags - so, in that waiting room, playing the crowd of travelers, the place was full of human waste: faces and bodies dall'indubbio aspect of bums, misfits, lunatics. A stench of unwashed bodies and the seriously ill in the room, and, along with the smoke made it impossible to breathe. A reigned strange, pathological silence, broken occasionally by a few phrases of nonsense, a cry, a cough phlegm. The most spontaneous thing that came to do was to get up, because I had an unfortunate leaning his head on his shoulder and urged me to vomit stench. Almost ran toward the exit, but then I stopped and turned around to look better that strange circle of hell. All seats were occupied by outcasts, beggars male and female, dressed in rags, with Scarpaccia worn, his hair greasy and unkempt. Someone else was sitting or lying on the ground along the walls or in the middle of the living room. Those who slept occasionally stream, waving their limbs, and those who were awake were smoking, all with an air at all quiet, with eyes full of hatred and terror, some altercation with the shadows. I noticed a gentleman who seemed to have a decent air, well-groomed and shaved, adorned with a dark brown coat, had it not been for a pair of boots that he wore to work, holding a large basket on his knees Christmas, from which protruded nougat and bottles of champagne. As I watched this wretched humanity so surprised one of them staring at me with a disdainful expression, as if to accuse me at any moment of being a spy, an enemy. came a barefoot girl, blacks lotus feet and covered with sores, dressed in worn male underwear, a shirt covered with a filthy tattered giaccaccia. He held a cigarette between his lips plague, and the smoke inhaled by alternating the movement to that of biting one's nails, a torment that was to give her pleasure. He had the look of a hunted beast. He paused a little to my side, so close that I could not feel the smell rigettante of his body, his rags that had absorbed the dirt Untere rancid places where he had slept. An African tall and thin, which was previously dormant, suddenly sprang to his feet shouting: "Assez! Assez! Me laisser "He repeated the cry two or three times, and burst out laughing atrocious, then sad, then got up the lovely loden green, wearing it above his head, and then came out. A man had gripped the window, crawled slowly, his head facing the ceiling. Another with the face of an alcoholic, his eyes half-closed means, stood up, took two or three wobbly steps and then collapsed in the middle of the room, arms outstretched like a dead man. After a few minutes instead took up the back, while sitting and trying to reach with one hand on the opposite foot. The girl meanwhile had started to rave. He said confusedly mating finished hatred, of men who had known her pregnant and receiving. I looked long into his eyes, and she, conscious of my eyes, raised his index finger, accusing: "You fucked hast! What hast fucked and even told me thank you! "I looked elsewhere, but since the poor thing went in the accusations, pretending nothing, I approssimai the door. At the same time three policemen entered. She turned the accusations and the index to one of those, and the soldier grabbed her hands in his gloved hands and held motionless until he was able to calm her down. The other cops were around the room, clapping her hands to make noise and awaken the sleepers, "Come, it's time to quit, it's almost midnight, and soon the baby is born! "Those who gave no signs of response and continued to stay in their place, were taken and put up a force. If someone showed particularly lazy or recalcitrant was grabbed and dragged out. Soon the room was released, and a worker on a coffee table using to wash and disinfect. I watched the clearing operations hidden behind a kiosk closed. In the eyes of the police certainly did not want to demonstrate to the poor bunch of outcasts, but at the same time I did not go away completely and I wanted to know where the crowd of wretches would have found refuge. The police drove them not only from the Hall Aspect, but at the same station where the beggars could at least have a roof, with force if someone tries to protest. The man in the Christmas basket, which was put on the head as the commoners than once, in perfect Italian agent pleaded: "If you drive out where ... where can we go to celebrate Christmas ..." The flock of outcasts found himself open, silent, without even trying to agree on a common program. For a while 'still stood, leaning on a fence that protects them from cold, but when they realized that the hands and feet froze, sprawling, sloppy, and always silent, they set each on its own unlikely to shelters. The high African pulled his face from Loden and shouted: "Aller, aller!" Beginning to run zig zag, his head high as a gazelle. The girl from barefoot races hereafter called the "Jean Paule, mon amour!" The man who walked hugging the glass so proceeded side, keeping your palms forward as if he had a wall in front of him. Other dragging their feet, slowly, head bowed, not knowing where to go, in the unlikely hope of finding a basement, a hole, any shelter. A little man from the smooth skin of a child, I had not noticed that before I hit the elbow held in the neck four or five pots tied con lo spago, e camminando le cazzeruole sbattevano le une contro le altre, dando origine ad una primitiva musica. Seguii per un tratto l’ometto, curioso di sapere dove andasse a riparare, quando calmò il vento e un leggero nevischio prese a scendere piano. Questa novità mi spinse verso piazza dell’Esedra. A quell’ora pochi passanti e rare macchine circolavano. Le strade, gli alberi, i bus parcheggiati cominciarono a coprirsi di un velo bianco. Raggiunsi via Nazionale, con le luminarie a luci intermittenti, i tappeti rossi sui marciapiedi, i vasi con gli abeti inghirlandati di festoni e palle color oro. Non c’erano appartamenti abitati in quella via, e non si sentivano voci di festeggiamenti in family. In the side streets every now and then appeared the signs of small hotels. A great hotel, the first of the Museum of Modern Art, held a vigilante on the door in full uniform, impassive as a statue. I would have liked to get to Piazza Venezia and find the Altar of the Fatherland covered with snow. Instead, in front of the Wax Museum, the sleet was softened water and temperature. Forward to Via del Corso. In the side streets you could see small groups family members who were returning on foot from midnight mass together under umbrellas. Continue even in small runs between a gate and another, until I came to the Galleria Colonna, the ideal place to stop and spend the night, as indeed had other young people, individuals or small groups looking for foreign artists, sdraiatesi in their sleeping bags in front of the bakery closed. I leaned against the base of a column, with his face to the obelisk of Piazza House. Was no longer cold, and exhausted as I felt that I should not sleep. Instead, I met with the bells do not know which church at dawn.
The September 11 friend Luke and I made another trip phono-photographic, this time in Val Vertova.
Luke chased the lights of the small and picturesque valley, creating a lot 'of photographs. I placed the microphones here and there, trying to capture the beautiful sounds of the stream. The result in this brief video.
From December 13, 2010, new trains stop at Pomezia
We had anticipated, now we have certainty of the new railway timetable on 13 December that the new trains will stop from Termini train station of Santa Palomba - Pomezia.
For convenience we report the full time period, extrapolated from the Trenitalia website, with bold new trains. hope is only the beginning of a concrete improvement of the service!
Train No. Departure Arrival 16:07 ROMA TE 16:25 12209 POMEZIA 16:16 ROMA TE 16:33 12277 POMEZIA 16:49 ROMA TE 17:03 17:07 ROMA TE POMEZIA 2403 17:25 POMEZIA 12211 17:20 ROMA TE 17:38 12279 POMEZIA POMEZIA 18:00 ROMA TE 18:15 18:07 ROMA TE 18:25 21897 POMEZIA 12213 18:49 ROMA TE 19:03 19:07 ROMA TE POMEZIA 2407 19:25 POMEZIA 12215 19:20 ROMA TE 19:34 21899 POMEZIA POMEZIA 19:29 ROMA TE 19:44 19:49 ROMA TE 7297 20:03 POMEZIA 2409 20:07 ROMA TE 20:25 21:00 ROMA TE POMEZIA 12217 21901 21:15 POMEZIA 21: 07ROMA TE 21:25 12219 POMEZIA
Dear friends, are now three days, around 18 hours on arrival at the station of Santa Palomba is a van parked Carabinieri ... Maybe last week's foiled pickpocketing it stirred and moved some pious soul to carry out more inspections at night?? How long will this beloved and reassuring presence? mah, who knows ... however we are happy and we hope that should not happen again dangerous and distressing situations such as those experienced by our friends commuters. Thank you, gentlemen of the police, we need you!
E 'happened to one of us commute a few days ago ...
I can not stand cowards. Especially those who take advantage of a woman. Station Pomezia - S. Palomba, at 18:35 today, 23 November. I get off the train departed from my usual terms, overcrowded, smelly, almost on time. I start as usual at the park near the bridge, where some time ago that I have coats the Panda, for no reason. The road is lit but hidden, two young girls before me the momentum. Behind me is some presence distracted incaminano like us.
A scooter carrying two guys over and join the girls in front of me, he reversed and the passenger came running down with enthusiasm to the young. E 'for a moment: shoulder bag, grabs one of them and started to Stratton . La ragazza urla ma non troppo: è sconvolta e concentrata a trattenere la borsa. Cade a terra. Allora urlo io a squarciagola: "AIUTO, EMERGENZA, UNO SCIPPO, FERMATELO". Mi butto in mezzo alla strada agitando la borsa e l'ombrello che ho in mano e mi dirigo verso il ragazzo a bordo del motorino: è immobile sul lato della strada aspettando l'arrivo del complice.
Da dietro le mie spalle vedo con la coda dell'occhio correre un uomo che esclama:"Sono della polizia, fermatevi". L'uomo si lancia sul rapinatore e lo trattiene a terra. Io resto faccia a faccia con il complice sul motorino: poteva essere mio figlio, 17/18 anni al massimo, viso pulito, occhi scuri, un ciuffo di capelli neri gli sporge dal casco non integrale, indossa un giubbotto chiaro e una sciarpa color crema a quadri. Lo fisso negli occhi e gli grido: "Vigliacco, dove vai?" Il ragazzo mi dice di lasciarlo, lui non c'entra niente. Accende il motorino e scappa via voltandosi a guardare cosa succede al suo amico rapinatore. Aveva l'accento romano: era italiano, come rrromano de roma è il rapinatore. Chiamo, ancora agitata e con il cuore a mille, i carabinieri che arrivano in 15 minuti e portano via il borseggiatore chiedendoci di seguirli in caserma per spiegare i fatti.
La ragazza è visibilmente sotto shock , come la sua amica; il poliziotto intervenuto era lì per caso, tornava anche lui a casa con il treno. Io ero sconvolta: è mai may have to risk their safety to have taken a train and want to return home to their loved ones?
It 's a miracle that did not go worse. I'm here to tell this nasty business because it is an example for many commuters, especially women: beware when you return, started a group to your goal and screamed with all the air you have in your throat if something were to happen.
Today an angel on earth helped us, tomorrow you could help someone else.
Social control is the only chance we have to to survive ... in this concrete jungle.
Dear faithful readers commuters, we continue to update this blog to keep you informed on the latest news from our world commuter ...
We do not know if we can ensure continuity of information, so we leave you our contact details. If you need to contact us please write to the following two mail boxes: pendolaripomezia@gmail.it pendolaripomezia@tiscali.it
or you can request our friendship, about facebook searching commuters Pomezia
If Italy is over the Italians no longer and has lost the true Italian character, based on regional cultures
The Americanization of Italy began June 4, 1944, when U.S. troops entered Rome and the soldiers threw chocolates and candies to women and children. The stereotype of Alberto Sordi in the film Un americano a Roma del 1954, riflette in modo parodistico un vero atteggiamento delle generazioni giovanili, precedenti e successive, nei confronti della nazione vincitrice, portatrice di progresso e modernità.
L’Italia uscì vinta dalla seconda guerra mondiale e la sua ricostruzione economica fu foraggiata dal piano Marshall, per mezzo del quale le imprese statunitensi si introdussero in Italia e in Europa e divennero multinazionali. Con i prodotti industriali e commerciali giunsero anche i prodotti culturali. Si impose così il mito americano, basato sulla modernità, sull’ottimismo, sulla ribellione, sulla emancipazione femminile, di per sé giusti but now, over the next decades, in part mere products of the conformist. The success in particular products and filmographies of popular music, in a span of two or three decades managed to colonize the masses of our entire peninsula and destroy local cultures that were handed down for centuries and even the House of Savoy and fascists were able to touch. Democrats believe we must instead governments complicit in what the writer and filmmaker Pier Paolo Pasolini, in the early sixties of Millenovecento, called cultural assimilation.
generations born during the war and then gradually began to lose their culture (in the anthropological sense) of the fathers, family traditions, habits and customs, in truth inevitably be replaced with the habits and customs most relevant to a new economic and social development.
After sixty years of ruling Italy approval is over, ended its authentic folklore and humanistic tradition. Survives legally, however, devoid of institutions that are capable of transmitting civic values \u200b\u200band sense of citizenship and the state.
If Italy is also finite Italians do not exist and most has lost the true Italian character, based on regional cultures and formed through the centuries from a cultural koine inherited from the Etruscan and Italic peoples, Latins, Lombards and by various rulers who lorded it in the Italian peninsula from the Middle Ages to the Constitution of the Kingdom of Savoy in Italy and 1860.
If we must recognize that in the last decade, the U.S. cultural industry pressure has eased a little more conformist young people have all the features interior and exterior of a young American. Children go to school with backpacks, folders, instead of leather, are channeled imagery from cartoons and ignore the traditional tales of the great authors and books for teenagers, such as Pinocchio or the heart. Teenagers go to spend the evening in pubs are decorated in Anglo-Saxon style, and in each country are festivals, thus burying the memory of the local restaurants where meals were cooked, the wine festivals, the in-house production of the same wine and oil. The imagination of these young was filled for decades and is still full , mythologies of stardom and Anglo-Saxon from Marilyn Monroe to Harry Potter, from Jim Morrison to Lady Gaga, including conformity and nonconformity, genius and recklessness. I do not mean that the Anglo-Saxon culture is low-level, but that even mediocre products can move us through good advertising campaigns of persuasion, and thus can, in part, to obscure Italian cultural products more authentic. Parents going to work in the countryside and cities, leaving their babies in the company of grandparents, and these old people, unwittingly, passed on to their grandchildren a repertoire of songs, proverbs, stories that are the material that forms the traditional culture popular and peasant. Today, children are left in the company of foreign baby sitter, fleeing from their homeland and their native culture. The old no longer independent once lived, including shifts in the homes of children, and so had another opportunity to convey their values, but now are relegated to comfortable homes for the elderly.
Italy is over, then, and now the Italians are usually desperate or monsters, the goods of others envious, resentful because of the misdeeds and privileges enjoyed by the political class, but at the same time vile and cynical, unable to act for the common good and to form circles of solidarity. Families can not live more decently even with two incomes, their children have no future without a job or precarious jobs, young people camp out indefinitely in the homes of parents, with the help of the pensions of their parents or grandparents, and do not find the strength to react collectively.
As of June 1944, after less than a year of civil war and Allied bombing that destroyed the city further depleting the nation and make it official, the Italy of today is a landscape destroyed and a pile of rubble moral.
Where are the water sources in rural areas, the clear streams, as untouched landscapes in the millennia? The greedy hand of man has come anywhere and devastated landscapes and polluted sources of life. Where are gone the avenues of lime trees, mulberry, acacia, pine? Where to find the beautiful Italian squares, with arcades, medieval fountains and monuments to famous people? Everything is buried in a chaos of cars and billboards or prohibited. The new community centers are no longer congested metropolitan centers, but the spaces and local shopping centers. There are archaeological and natural sites already returned abandoned for decades.
The agricultural society is gone forever. The children of the countries they do not know till the land, orchards, and take care of farm animals, girls can not do even more home-made pasta, jams, pickles, tomato preserves . They use in supermarkets, but if the movement of goods in supermarkets is blocked for two weeks, all die of hunger. We have lost the ability to do things with our hands, the work of handicraft, sewing, embroidery, growing flowers and vegetables. The large factories are closing down and moving their factories in poorer countries, where labor and taxes have a lower cost, and those who remain unemployed or laid off think that a witch eternal and do not react, partly because the unions protect only themselves. And even those who work have it, unless it is high-level can not save, their families and promises a future as modern slaves who spend all their monthly sustaining life as not complain for fear of losing the source of their livelihood.
popular Italian families in three or four generations will all gone, and their place will be taken by Romanian families, Pakistan, Philippines, which already are being replaced in the fields, construction sites, workshops, doorman condominiums, villas in the custody of, or construction companies to open trade, opened shops and commercial stalls. Perhaps some will remember and some of their traditional homeland, and we markets no longer feel the varied dialects of Italy, but the tongues of the new class and pawing foreign population, and do not exaggerate when metropolitan districts will rise high from time to time the prayers of the muezzin.
regret non solo la ricchezza della nostra cultura popolare, dei canti, delle canzoncine per bambini, dei proverbi, delle originali locuzioni e interiezioni, ma anche la cultura alta, umanistica, quella che ha prodotto i capolavori di Giotto, di Rosai, del Boccaccio, del Poliziano, del Belli, di Marin, di Pasolini, di Zavattini,, tanto per fare dei nomi.
L’Italia è finita, prendiamome atto, non nascondiamo la testa sotto la sabbia. L’Italia è stata ridotta a brandelli da una classe politica e dirigente ladra e corrotta, di destra e di sinistra, nel silenzio per troppo tempo complice dei mass media, delle università, del Vaticano, di un popolino degradato and inert. If there is something you want to save face now, young people aware and willing put themselves in motion, in action, to organize themselves outside the party who knew to create a new Renaissance, a committee of liberation that frees us from usurpers of party politics ..
The hunter of seats is usually a "doctor", ie a person with a university degree, whereby you feel better.
belongs the category of trained parrots, those good students who have no other skills outside of learning the lesson in blindly, without being critical and imaginative. And 'the feeling of superiority to make his ambitious and unscrupulous. artless or part, squalid internally and intellectually mediocre, inevitably runs into politics, that field where every man without qualities, to put it Musil, can become a public man powerful, rich, feared, eslege. However, the hunter of seats has it a gift: that of the serial liar. In fact, promises to all favors, contracts, jobs, deceiving pleasing everyone and only a small circle of relatives and cronies who support him. He moves not only in cities but also in the provinces most dilapidated, beating those municipalities between 6000 and 20,000 inhabitants, where a commissioner salary is around 2000 euro and the right of the mayor twice. When he decided to settle in a certain city, without knowing anything about the history of that community, its problems, the first thing is to be credited by the provincial Capetti, possibly of a party up and dismantled by local militants, or marginalizing the local militants, who, although familiar with the problems of the people among whom they live does not have a doctorate and the supporting plate of the hunter of seats. The main aim of the hunter of seats is to be run for mayor in municipal elections, and if the game's okay takes home a nice salary, but even if it's less well usually takes the Department for Public Works, from which it can draw huge personal profit. If you do not go well, ah, ah, you move into another town and after a couple of years we try there. But not all hunters seats are professionals with laurels on his head. There are also local self-taught, an infinite number of ambitious, which for years has turned a blind eye to criminal administrative tasks - from brazen robberies to environmental havoc - and then, before you retire, you want to take the plunge: to become mayor or chairperson. Head teachers claiming to have the votes because of their vast influence on families, physicians are conducted, they do believe their patients alzargli retirement, financial consultants or entrepreneurs who are promising to build houses anywhere, and in some cases are also clerks who slips into the home and present themselves as "new face", having grown a goatee to be wise. Obviously if they are elected, they go back to doing what they always did: the indifference and opportunists. And 'This is the worst part of politics, the corruption that has increased the public debt, wasting public money and subtract it from the community. Who cares if these hunters of seats because of them, people will take away from the polls, the party apparatus, from social commitment. There is no law that prohibits the government even if the voter turnout was 10%. Oppose pimp these institutions by sitting at the window is not a solution. Let us still believe in those parties that do not flatter their Paraculo, but hunt them without delay. Let us be more alert and able to distinguish between people who see politics as a possibility to improve the institution and conditions for everyone, from those who use politics to their personal affairs.
water fountain in my country, there is no water cooler than my country fountain rustic love. (PP Pasolini, from "Poems in Casarsa)
Fabrica was known and appreciated in the past as the country water. One of the probable origin of the name is related to the water. In fact the mills that harnessing the power of falling water in the Middle Ages were called factories, and we just have to Via della Mola a building, built is in the middle of 1800, but on an existing wheel that ran through the strength of the water and grind grain. The wheel comes as a mule, the beast previously had to turn the stone wheel.
The wheel of Bachettoni well known for its ancient name owner, use the force of relapse water ditches Varian, conveyed in a basin Artificial Riforta said from the crowd.
Even Varian Saharan Africa is the corruption of the valley, or valley of the ditches.
Another water mill was operated until the early twentieth century ironworks in places where, to guess from the name, prior to grinding grain, and there was to be built a factory for the creation and processing of iron utensils.
Between 1539 and 1649 the Fabrica, as Carbognano, Caprarola and other countries of the Monti Cimini, belonged to the State of Farnese. In this period the Farnese improved conditions in the country. Among other things, built a pond to Barco, a popular corruption of the Park. The boat and the Cerreto were at the time of the Farnese their private park in the woods to hunt and fish nell'artificiale fishpond.
was probably around that time that the Farnese built a fountain in piazzaccia , presumably in the clearing near the building known as Palace of the Prefects of Vico, perhaps taking advantage of a Roman well, and this is the reason why the old part of town has been called the next centuries and is still called Via della Fontanella.
It was not until 1864 that the municipality will build fountain in Piazza del Comune, Piazza Marconi, sending water uphill from the sources of Sarvan by hydraulic pumps.
sources of Sarvan are nell'omonino forest, has now become a nocchieto, a hundred meters from the village, near the wash fountain nova at the beginning of the road to Carbognano, easily accessible from the center of the country for long because of the steep descent of sources, known as the shore .
remember that at that time, presumably until the early eighteen hundred, Fabrica was surrounded by walls and a deep ditch in the vicinity of the Village separated from the new district to San Rocco, which is accessed via a small bridge .
After the end of World War I then realized the administration of an important work for farmers, the aqueduct the band, carrying the water of ditches Varian soil of the band, tore the forest and undergrowth, cleared and released in the quarter-acre to fabrichesi as a reward for the sacrifices made in the First World War.
You know that water is a precious good for agriculture. In the quarterfinals of the gang, using the system of small banks of wood - were shut out the water in their land, leaving open the switch to irrigate more land - have been able to cultivate the fabrichesi intensely vegetables until the end of World War II, and peaches in the early fifties.
With the cultivation of peaches Fabrica came from poverty and made a reputation that lasts to this day. Unfortunately came to the fore also its limitations, which have lasted to this day: the inability to do things together for the common good. The cultivation of peaches collapsed when the life cycle of plants is then drained and the land were left fallow for a while. Losing contact with the merchants who brought the peaches in the markets of Rome, fruit plants in the north and even in England, there was no ability to revive, perhaps through a cooperative or consortium, the business of previous years, especially since this was as simple as saying that a growing core.
Another important early work was the creation Millenovecento Sarvan of the aqueduct, which, thanks to hydraulic pumps wore for the first time in the water various districts of the country: the Fordeporta fountain, the fountain in Piazza Duomo, the Piaggio, the Garden, the Village. The water was so abundant that in the years of Fascism the powerful family of Cencelli, who abode in Magliano Sabina also, wanted to create a pipeline from the source of Cerreto brought water to Magliano, still existing and working.
Drinking water entered the houses of fabrichesi for the first time in 1954, when it was built an extensive water network that took advantage of the aqueducts of Barco and San Rocco, the latter coming from a source in the territory of the Valley. From the census of 1961 revealed many houses still inhabited by old people, deprived not only of the process, but also of water. of important works upgrading the water supply by that time no if there are more facts.
Up to thirty years ago, before the advent of disserbanti, each district had its country source of pure water. Disserbanti I have poisoned the sources, and work with the tractors have cleared. Who remembers the source of Lullurulù of Fontanasecca, Fontana Mario, the etching and Water Piantacava Sorfata Pantane the destination of panzanelle of kids and adults? And where are the trenches where once you could take dried shrimp?
Today not even the water of sin, good for the treatment of gallstones and high blood pressure, you can drink.
Take a ride through the streets of the country and you will see that in the quarterfinals of the band irrigation systems is almost entirely disappeared, and they built houses and Casaletti with the system of building amnesty. Go to the boat and Cerreto and you will find a new neighborhood on the aquifer.
administrations of recent past, had managed the public affairs to serve the interests of citizens, would certainly target forest of Barco and Cerreto to a large public park. But the only public park in the country are the poor gardens of 300 square meters, which have become too dangerous when on the opposite side there have opened several businesses, thus increasing traffic of the street.
Some would say that society and the economy has changed dramatically, no longer a peasant character. We take note of. But if this civilization tecnologica che ci mette in grado di consumare i beni, poi ci fornisce gli stessi beni alimentari fasulli, inquinati, dannosi alla salute, che ce ne facciamo del progresso? Che vita è la vita da consumatore coatto, che non sa più coltivare un campo, è stato espropriato del bene dell’acqua ed è costretto a bere l’acqua che gli forniscono le multinazionali? Se oggi ci costringono a comprare l’acqua, nel prossimo futuro ci venderanno la presunta aria incontaminata dei ghiacciai.
Ebbene, di fronte a tutto ciò la nostalgia di un universo a misura d’uomo, of a self-sufficient economy, the return values \u200b\u200b eai assets of a peasant can become subversive to the masters of our lives and our future.
In the picture from landscape sources Fabrica del Barco
with this story won the National Prize ex aequo Roncio gold-language literature. For look at the little-known slang terms glossary below.
The road leading to St George's furnaces had always seemed like a way to paint. It begins near the Garden of the Count, a beautiful Italian garden, with paths of boxwood, rose bushes and century old cypress trees, connected by a bridge to a seventeenth-century castle. The first stretch of urban since the early sixties, had built residential houses, the owners took care to decorate with acacias and mimosas. When primary school the last day of school, it was customary to write the teachers were doing drills, and leads us to walk to the shrine of Madonnella of furnaces, to read in front of the icon of the Virgin Mary our solemn pledges to renounce small vanity, which in truth could last one day yes and no.
The road to St. George was also the route of our first forays of guys, when following the bardasciotti larger around the countryside, in search of treasure, which invariably ended with the kind of fruit trees. As children me and my brothers and sisters we liked going to the furnaces of our farm and we looked like a picnic, a nice game, especially since we met our cousins \u200b\u200bSandra and George, sons of Aunt Anna, and called us the other coast the other cousin Emilia, daughter of Aunt Jolene. Often, outbound or return, it seemed that we had arranged to meet with the cart Emilia's father, Aldo Testa, Ciocchetti the race of men quiet and peaceful, which stopped the vehicle to get us. Peppe, the elder brother of Uncle Aldo, to be easy on the donkey, the first of the climbs down and led to bridle the beast, inviting adults to do likewise. In those days the country roads were still crowded, and always meet so many people who went fora walk, with bicycles with carts with tractors, with the bee, with the cars. All those who went on foot were older in good health, linked to an archaic world, accustomed from childhood to walk five or six miles a day. When we were children our estate of the furnaces was still the vineyard to arboretum, with the guardians of olive trees, sour cherry, apricot. There was still a cabin for tools and the pool to draw water, which he used especially mother's uncle, Angelo Gabrielli de Romano, an old little as spry, who had the arboretum at the border. Dad, as in the country there could be closely because of his work, it was recommended to pay attention to the pool, the truss Enel situated on the border with Uncle Angelo, and the steep coast, where it grows wild. Uncle Angelo was a kind cute and funny, and Mom told us that in youth was so angry that one day that the donkey did not obey his commands to took his face in his hands and gave him a mozzicate that almost cut off an ear. When Dad was with us he was off to the furnaces, with Millecento Fiat Uncle Angelo met on the street asking him to go, but he refused, because the time needed to get the thought enough to come home. And in fact, was one of those old guys who were running thin as the wind and we children we could not keep up below. One evening we were late and we are preparing to climb the Millecento, here comes out Uncle Angelo. Daddy's also offers a pass this time, just for courtesy, but this time the Roman Empire, without saying either yes or no you put in the driving seat. "Ah, nun I knew that I had taken his license" makes him dad, "Force guide you." "But I know nun 'PortAll chine" said Uncle Angelo. Perhaps it had never climbed into a car and could not distinguish between the driver's seat and the passenger. When a few years later Uncle Angelo died and the husbands of daughters decide to remove the vines and implanting a hazelnut, but my parents were willing to replace the vineyard with his knuckles, then had a good price and need less work. Still leave all the olive trees. At that time Dad demolished the hut and filled the pool of earth and stones, built a smaller house with wooden beams and corrugated iron tin roof, just on the border, along with our uncle Remigio Remigio, said spring, the husband of Aunt Anna. In our part we put the chickens and a small CUTTER-hand side in their uncle Remigio, as well as chickens, put a small herd of rabbits. Dad and his brother Aldo, had a trucking company that carried goods mainly in northern Italy on behalf of a local agency. It was hard work, and every trip they needed to rest two or three days. During the summer could still find the time to eradicate from terraces of the coast scopiglia and other shrubs of the undergrowth, so as to give breath to the knuckles. Mom cut the grass with the scythe under nocchieto fienara, and a little to-day with the help of a hoe blade, severing the base of the whip, the excess suckers that suck the sap without giving fruit. To us, who prefer the game to work, invite us to give aid, because "der Have your noffink that you miss." In those years, we collected the knuckles after August, directly from plants, down the branches and putting in some mantis shrimp saccoccioni that formed by folding a sinal connected to life. When the full saccoccione was poured into the bales. On the ground were collected only in a possible second pass. the evening brings the bales in the air - a beautiful tufa discovered - and empties them over, because the fruit not quite ripe needed to stay calm and dry in the sun. During the day it occasionally to shake up the pile with a rake, and not to burn your knuckles on the surface, both to help them break away from the mantis shrimp. With three or four days of sun burnished the fruit and you could put on Corvello and clean it completely. Become older, having started in high school, we are ashamed to walk to the furnaces and let us see our peers on carts or tractors. The farmer, with new social models that provided television, was passed as a negative example. He pitied the old, who had not had a chance, but it was not acceptable that a boy could cultivate the land as a working majority.
few years ago, after many years I went to the farm of the furnaces with the car, one of those dog days preceding August, decided to go on foot, four in the morning, like the old one-time which started at dawn and ten were already back in the country. I worked till about eight o'clock, until I could do more thirst and decided to go to the source of Lullurulù drum. In fact, decreased the coast to Gricciano ditch, now dry for years, and went back on the other hand, the point at which it opened the path for the source. In correspondence with the path I found a metal fence that prevented access, and deleted the same path with Morgano. wandered through the obstacle for the garden of his uncle Aldo. The bardasciotti that night they went to steal melons or watermelons in irrigated areas of the band, came here to eat the object of their offense. There were also brigades of adults, with everything you need for panzanella, together with their friends emigrated to Rome and back on vacation. I found the source of Lullurulù covered with wild vegetation, the stream almost completely off, the tub all dirty, the overlaps that instead of channeling in the garden of his uncle Aldo - he flew to the trees pizzuti - dispersed in a moat. I considered that drinking from that source could be dangerous, because the disserbanti that now scattered everywhere by the ton. I put my hands still cupped and sipped a little, just to wet your lips. In fiery afternoon in August, put on bicycles or scooters, one of our goals of boys looking for adventure, was to go to drink spring water sources in the country: a Pisciariello to Gricciano, the Piantacava. There was no country that the district did not have a water source. If today we were to do a mapping of the sources of our territory they find very little: an agriculture which are minor and no rules devastated landscape. Returning home I thought that many varieties of native plants have become extinct, like the apple asses, scùppolo plums, pears de San Matteo, grapes handset, the perzica Spaccarelli. Not to mention the herbs and flowers that bloom most of the animals and insects that do not breed anymore. The same peasant families, which play so prevalent in the work of a farmer, you can count on the fingers of one hand. many families in the village who had found employment in industry and in services and have sold their land to foreigners, today are jobless and landless. If supermarkets were to shut down a week almost all die of hunger, since we no longer live on the earth work. Today I continue to return to the furnaces more for a breath 'of fresh air for a profit. The proceeds of the knuckles is barely cover expenses, the olive harvest saves us the oil for one year. Back to Furnaces for sentimental reasons. I look to the east the landscape with majestic Soratte on the bottom, despite the swarm of urban agglomerations, the purplish look to the west of that part of Mount Cimino remained wild, no houses, roads, antennas, similar to ancient times thousands of years we have preceded it. If I look to the country I can not see the forms of speculation - terraced houses in bad taste - which are expanding into the path of Madonnella, districts drawn up to meet the economic need of a house to some of the inhabitants of Rome in the capital not if you can afford. But I can never forget the smell of furnaces, other than the second season, the smell of patches of hawthorn and mimosas growing on the sides of streets, the smell of warm summer rain, the smell of the crisp wind. I can not forget the colors, including brown and gold, the vines in autumn, the ripe persimmons against the blue sky, the fallow fields where it grew white and yellow chamomile. I will always carry in my heart the sound prosaic truss Enel announced that the rain the crowing of cocks at noon, the chorus of cicadas exhausting, occasionally broken by clumsy braying donkeys, the last songs of the peasants intent on their humble work, mingled with cries and curses, the diligent and happy voices of children and young people who forty years ago roamed these hills.
Glossary
Trees pizza cemetery Arboretum: vineyard with tutors and the rows of other plants used for sowing of wheat or legumes. Bardasciotti: A halter boys: taking the reins for the beast. the serene outdoors at night Fora: Country Morgano: plow metal discs. Panocchia: fruttescenza that covers the knees to rock: Go across the fields, without roads.
July 19 Ezio and I, accompanied by faithful Stella, we're back in San Glisente; abandoned Panda at about 1000 meters, we walked to the hut Stabicò, where we left a copy of the CD to Gianni, the dairyman supporter, with its sounds, the song "Milk."
Italy of Values \u200b\u200bfor the legality in each Vince Hall
Nei giorni scorsi Jacopo Fo ha pubblicato sul Fatto Quotidiano una lettera aperta a Di Pietro. Le proposte del figlio del nostro premio Nobel, che io condivido, perché le penso da years and I've written about it, can be paraphrased as:
1) Since ' Italy is a country of lawlessness that rewards economic powers and corrupt, punishing law-abiding citizens, we need a generalized civil disobedience and obedience, not against Berlusconi but misdeeds of small and large abuses that we suffer daily. In short, the IDV does not just tackle the task government, but in a practical combat lawlessness and favoritism, so that laws are respected and its violation does not create undue privileges and wealth.
2) circles IDV should become operational offices of civil disobedience and obedience, which is a kind of general connection between charitable institutions, consumer associations and other entities dealing with the protection of citizens and the environment, the benchmark for effective action against the local underworld. Needless to say, the local coordinator or provincial IDV should be seen by citizens as a person who encourages, and calls for following the cases of injustice, malpractice, fraud and everything else put together by public and private institutions.
3) From the operation of clubs IDV set so should not only be a greater consensus, but greater participation in public life of citizens and a society rooted in the IDV . A concrete operation could also play a deterrent action against public officials and their friends and corrupt thieves who, today, especially in small provinces, knowing full well that the political parties all bark and no bite, continue undeterred in their misdeeds.
of my add. The IDV circles that worked as they were foreshadowed automatically operating a selection of political leadership. In this way all'IDV would approach only those who are truly interested in changing the welfare state, while using the usual smart parties for their personal careers would be forced to queue in the other parties.
If we cut off the hundreds and hundreds of lawlessness and abuses that occur in the townships of Italy, the source of patronage and administrative life of the delinquent humus, also remove oxygen to the local ras , which gain in importance and power and impunity are the pool of votes of their national political godfathers, which protect them in institutions and in parliament. Cutting off oxygen to the ras local consequently die of asphyxiation godparents who protect them. Would fall short quell'impalcatura built on nothing ideological mafia which is the Italian political right and left.
Circles IDV, including our Viterbo, phrase-are generally circles, claiming to have a different policy, but then do nothing practical to try to combat a political mafia.
Parliamentary questions on the environmental disaster of Lake Vico and on speculation of an airport that serves the citizens of Viterbo, but contractors adjacent to parties, have not been submitted to Parliamentary IDV from Viterbo circle, but an association of citizens. The newly elected directors IDV in the province have asked the Council to investigate the disaster of Lake Vico. Well, what need is there to investigate when the association "down to earth" and "Breathe" said the dossiers, and the extensive documentation already? Dear friends, elected by our votes, you should submit to the Judiciary the dossier in question. Are you afraid of being accused of justicialism? But for charity, we know we are being charged with hypocrisy which summary justice to those people who want to continue to dominate and use What the Public for your business. Why should we prop up the device if the Judiciary then do not ask for his intervention, not to search for the so-called nit, but for respect for constitutional requirements and the certainty of the rule of law: in simpler words to punish and deter profiteers in their criminal actions.
not interest me as a party if the IDV uses the same mentality of the other parties of the Left or Right. I do not like the ambitious disguised as activists who sneak into clubs IDV look for a place in the sun in the joints and tips, a job or a contract. Do not admire candidates who are elected by the sacrifices and commitment of the base, and soon after false pretenses and attempt to download and diffamre those who have contributed to its success. I hate the dodger that to maintain their power and prevent the activities of persons able to be successful, make plots and strategies against them, seeking alliances with the usual promises of patronage, relying on the need and the weakness of other activists .
I'm running a provincial coordinator because I do not want a political career, but continue my studies by myself local history and cultural traditions. It would be a crime to abandon the quest for power.
would like to continue my commitment to local and provincial level only if the IDV is towards the directions suggested by Jacopo For. I have already made contact with a consumer organization and the thing is now is more concrete and more satisfying moral commitment to the protection of citizens.
Our President Antonio Di Pietro has responded promptly and positively to Jacopo For. "Your idea to dedicate ourselves to battles affecting the lives of the citizens not only me but like me to ask Gianfranco Mascia coordinate a departmental area within IDV will be called "the Constitution and civil obedience," a program of civil obedience we see that drivers of the Copernican revolution that starts from the rights and welfare of citizens. The department will represent the goal of an open door to listen to citizens, cooperation with other consumer magazines such as attention and their investigations, mobilization and creation of projects of civil obedience. "
I hope that Di Pietro's words followed by action, consistent with its extraordinary ethical and political path
was born 18 years ago my son Francis. 6 weeks later because of a rare congenital malformation, died.
The death of a child for a parent is an inexhaustible source of pain.
For I have heard many a death, even elderly people who had recently perso il partner, inveire: "Che diritto aveva Dio di portarmelo via".
Io mi sono posto due domande: "Perché Francesco è rimasto qui così poco?", "Per quale motivo sono stato sottoposto ad una prova così dura?".
Ho ricevuto da altri e da me stesso un po’ di risposte, e tutto ciò mi ha cambiato; ho iniziato a vedere il mondo e la mia esistenza in modo diverso, a considerare in modo differente i valori della vita, il bene, il male, a cercare alcune spiegazioni e soprattutto a non cercarne altre.
is a path I walk every day, sometimes stumbling and I did not have this son who supported me.
Happy birthday, Frank, for years I hoped that, as if by magic, we introduce you to my door and told me: "Hello Dad I had to stay away, but now I'm back. "
not happen, we'll meet, but in your world.
PS I wanted to add a picture to this post. And 'one of the logos of Sigur Rós, I do not think it will hurt to have good guys and understand.
Here in riassuntogli topics of the meeting yesterday. 
