“Once upon a time there was a little house on the river.” Correction: “once upon a time there was a river in a small house”. In fact, about a year ago the river entered that house forcefully and took away a lot in a short time. Yes, because a small house is an immense container of objects and stories. Layers of the life of those who live there are deposited in it, traces of the passage of those who cross the threshold. It is taken for granted that those spaces, those walls are inviolable, that they can frame our imperfect lives with the illusory perfection of everyday life: even when we lose our balance, we recognize our home as a safe haven. Then something happens that violates this trust of ours and leaves us dismayed to sweep away collections of memories, years of passion. I am 68 years old, I live in via Roversano 68 and the one I just embroidered is my story. When I think back to May 16, 2023, my eyes are swollen with different images, snapshots of an event that changed the characteristics of homes but also of those who live there. It is true that when you lose many of your possessions you learn to better recognize affections and bonds. A chain of hands helped me and my loved ones to bring the rooms back to life: relatives, friends, anonymous benefactors. Before I used the expression “embroider a story” and it is no coincidence, for me who has always knitted and crocheted: all my equipment, lost in the mud, was reborn thanks to some ladies who in a relay fabrics and colors have repopulated the sewing baskets. Now my house – yes, I want to continue to call it “mine” even though part of me is no longer so convinced – it almost looks like a haberdashery! My name is Donatella, I’m 68 years old and I continue to live in via Roversano 68. Despite the fear.”
Donatella Senni
Tags: Flood year river entered small house crochet equipment reborn
