Masterbation Is It Healthy

Il terremoto ad Avezzano

Avezzano: Palazzo Torlonia after the earthquake of 1915

January 13, 1915 - January 13, 2011.

From my book "Trenotto seconds" written in 2009.

come to mind are the stories of my grandmother. In 1915 lived in Avezzano earthquake, was only 6 years. It remained under the rubble of his house and kept shouting that he must go to school. My grandmother was only a "real" sister, born of the same father and same mother. Her father died under the rubble and his mother married his cousin, so my grandmother also had many other brothers and sisters. The new families were reconstructed so Avezzano, with brothers and sisters. Around a single house which can still be read: this house has withstood the earthquake of 1915. E 'in via Garibaldi, now I have before me. The earthquake

avvenne alle ore 07:48 del 13 gennaio, e fu dell'XI grado della Scala Mercalli, con epicentro nella conca del Fucino. Alcuni scamparono alla furia della terra perché a quell’ora già in viaggio sul treno verso il lavoro. Tornando, non trovarono nessuno e niente. Ad Avezzano, che contava 11.000 abitanti, sopravvissero solo trecento persone, tra cui i miei nonni materni.

Il terremoto mi salvò anche nel 1915. Ed oggi ancora mi ha salvato e catapultato, insieme ai geni dei miei nonni, in quest’altra realtà rovesciata. Insomma, una parte di me ha avuto due terremoti catastrofici in soli 94 anni.

E c’è di più. L’ultima della mia famiglia, Maria Laura, doveva nascere proprio ai early April of this year. Perhaps the genes of the grandparents are advised to come first: the hospital of my L'Aquila is reversed from 6 April at 3.32. So the last, for now, my family was born in a very special day: January 13, 1994 years after the earthquake of his great-grandparents.

The first memory I have of me as a child goes back to when I was three years in 1960. The town of Avezzano remember it well, had nothing more to think about the earthquake that did, though my mother told me that someone was still living in the "barracks". My father took me sometimes to the monument erected to remember the victims, but now I know it exists.

Stories I'd never reported and mount up and spill into the nearest memory, unexpected pop up .........