Stories from seniors

The  Seniors from SAVIC write their own life stories

1. Enjoying voluntary action  by Theodoros (simply Theo)

It was 2009, late October. Our school was a high quality senior secondary school. Our studious students were making our profession easier than in many other schools in the area. The eagerness of our students was challenging us for doing “more than”… our best!

But, as it is usual in most schools, among our students there were some who had the need for more help. We had an idea which was adopted from a few teachers. We decided to help our students, voluntarily, in an extra curriculum schedule.

We started dealing with this action three teachers, in different week-days each. Initially, our extra class had 2-3 students. As the time was passing, the number of students was increasing and our extra curriculum class was growing up and supported by more “capable” students, friends of the attending the extra class ones. After Christmas holiday, our class had 18-20 students.

Everyone in this class, students and teachers, looked very happy, despite the extra time (and the not so convenient timing, after the 6 or 7 hours of ordinary lessons). The group work, which is only theoretical during normal lessons time, were practiced almost continuously. Everyone had something to “enjoy”: The weak students were gaining the “joy” of understanding more. Their friends who could help them were feeling the “offering” satisfaction. We, their teachers, were enjoying a procedure, much more interesting than the ordinary one.

I would like to confess that it was a majestic experience. The same opinion had my colleagues, as well. We were doing something voluntarily and we were enjoying the whole “phenomenon”, together with our students. Besides, “teaching is not a profession… it’s a passion”!

 2. Scary story  By Nikos 

  On March 2005, Kabul International Airport, at NATO military hospital, around midnight, twelve wounded German soldiers had been transferred, after a Taliban’s deadly ambush. The crew of surgeons and nurses start furiously working, providing the necessary medic is to them.

  I was staring at them, since I was a visitor, resting after a tiring trip to Kandahar desert. Suddenly I realize that the hospital’s director was requesting every available helping hand, because of the terrible overload, due to the special circumstances.  

  I start doing my voluntary job helping the head nurse, carrying equipment, medical instruments and bandages. The time was running and I was exhausted but never came to my mind to give up.

  Ι was, always, remembered the screaming voices of doctors that the time is the most critical factor in those cases. It was a memorable experience, no matter that, after an all night long continuous activity.

 The freaky feelings, that remained to my brain, since then  , were about   the   mutilations and the pounds of blood that was pouring all over the place.   In the morning it was a joyful moment when we informed that all soldiers had survived and two of them had moved to Emirates.

When I return to Greece I never told this story to anybody until now…..

3. Christmas memory  by Rena

Christmas … New Year’s Day … have passed … Perhaps unnoticed?

This year, more than any other year, I felt the imperative need to look back on my childhood memories, when I lived with my family on my island, my village…

I remember, α few days before Christmas, when my sister and I used to help our mother prepare traditional sweets….Christmas Eve, however,was for us the little ones a special day.

From early in the afternoon, our mother would make two platters of our own homemade sweets – one for each of us -and she sent us to the mourning families or the poor ones or even to the lonely, old people of the village…

We shared, therefore, the… routes with my sister.

As many people I had to visit, so many were the comings and goings, so many the platters of sweets…

I will never forget how tenderly the old ladies looked at me, with how many wishes they would send me off, especially for my immigrant father…

And I, as if I had wings on my feet, not walking when returning, but flying, flying with joy, I felt like the whole world was mine...

In the end, I narrated to my mother my impressions and got a warm kiss in return. And all this happened quickly because we had to sing the carols at dusk…

Memories that bring nostalgia…

Memories that bring at the forefront of life, especially today, the human pain…….

4. «The foolish man seeks happiness in the distance; the wise grows it under his feet. "“Peter Brock”-   A story by Anna

In a peaceful afternoon of the last summer days, all the birds were nervous in a

last exercise before sunset. Their chants mixed with each other making it impossible for anyone who would like to distinguish them. They all seemed to be hurrying on their last “shopping expedition” to face the night cold. Some were even grouping along the branches to share their body heat, but also looking for a location that could avoid being found by their predators. Each small bird puffed up its feathers as much as it could.

I sat beside an ancient Chestnut Tree appreciating all this frenetic activity.

Without any warning, silence fell…

Nearly surprised for such a different acoustic landscape, I noticed that the daylight animals were becoming silent, while the night time animals still didn’t feel safe enough to leave their homes.

The Sun that set in a brilliant blood red glow gave little light.

The night was awaking under the sound of the crickets, locusts, of the whistle of the little owl, the crackle of the tawny owl. A nightjar that was making its dust bath in the pathway, to get rid of its parasites, seemed to lighten the night with its eyes.

I was almost sad by missing the day breath, but the weeping branches of the old chestnut tree dancing with the wind, soothed me to sleep.It was not a nap. It just seemed a short break of the time passing, in which I closed myeyes, my thoughtswent far away in time and place, and allowed me to dream, I don’t know if I was awake or asleep.

When I opened my eyes, my skin was goose bumped by the cold wind of the night and I stood up.I wished I could thank the chestnut tree, but its bark seemed to be smiling to me, showing me that I was just one more that he sheltered for so many centuries. I was suspicious that my dream was driven by him and that he even knew all it contained.

Was it bad?

As I was walking its branches revealed a beautiful Moon, gorgeous, bright but not enough to hide a never before seen Starry Night.

I don’t know if the Chestnut Tree told me but I heard the real words echoing in my mind:

- If you cry for not seeing the Sun, your tears are not going to allow you to see the beauty of the

Moonlight!.

5. Solidarity by Tonia

Okay, so I will describe what I do in the solidarity group in which I participate. There are 20 people in the group, half of them are slightly involved. Firstly, our goal is to identify  fellows suffering from the economic crisis. We offer assistance in food supplies and other assistance to help them get on their own feet. Here's what I mean. 

Once a week, we go out to a supermarket. There we hand out information about our solidarity group which is based at Istos premices. We inform them that we support families in need and ask them to help, shopping and leaving some food in our cart. At the same time we inform them about the other activities taking place in Istos. We remain three hours out of the supermarket under all weather conditions. Heat, cold, rain...

We do not mind though because we create our own climate, the warmth of human solidarity. When we finish the “harvest” we transport the food to the building of  Istos. Then we packed everything into bags and we give it to the families in need. As I said at the beginning, we don't  support the families only with food. We care to know discreetly what other problems they  have. 

Health problems ,unemployment, drug addiction, disabilities.. We do not solve these problems but we give our hand so that they feel they are not alone. We also organize events such as concerts, bazaars etc. What we do is not always easy. But solidarity makes us stronger.

Our aim is to spread to the world the idea of solidarity. 

Our  slogan: “No one should be left alone in the crisis”.

6. ....Nothing to be done tomorrow   by   Hrysanthi

Saturday night, I'm with my daughter making plans for the next day. “There's nothing to be done tomorrow. We'll stay in bed as much as we want, we won't cook we'll just eat what's in the fridge, we'll just stay in our warm and cosy home, it's so cold outside...”

These were our plans until 3:00 in the morning that we received a message: “The wild animals hospital in Aegina island sends an SOS message: A heavy rain, carrying mud from the mountain flooded our building and mud is all around, wounded animals are in danger..we need your help”.

We were there before 7:00 o'clock in the morning. It was still dark but I still remember the agony of the people in charge to evaluate the damage in the daylight.

In less than an hour the number of the attending volunteers increased from five to fifty.

There were so many things to be done. It was a tiring, but  fulfilling chore! It was actually exhausting, but we made it. By the end of the day, everything was clean, no mud in the building and the majority of the animals and birds safe and sound!

15 hours later we were back home.

If we weren't covered with mud, we would lie on our sofa to  enjoy the rest of our “nothing to be done... Sunday”.

 7. My first blood donation  by Apostolos

Thessaloniki 1970 , Natural science student at Aristotle University.

I've met many students but Kostas seemed special , more congenial for his spontaneity ,his power in dealing everyday problems . We had something in common . He was the first of ten siblings in his family in contrast I was the tenth in mine.

He lived in a tiny basement room and paid 20 drachmas for rent. He was very poor , he even didn't have a second pair of clothes to change, when he had laundry he could not come out until his clothes were dry.

He had no money to eat. Together we went to the student club asking for a job. He helped them in the kitchen in order to ensure his food. Despite all these difficulties Kostas was very kind and patient .

One day he had strong toothache . He was in terrible pain, but he had no money to go to a dentist . What should he do ? We found the solution together!

He went to the Dental University . The professor was given advises to his students and it seemed a difficult case, since  it was the last tooth in his bottom row. The students were clumsy and I remember their professor knocking their heads and saying:

“Do not fear Kostas their heads are like watermelons . "

After the extraction of the tooth had finished and the cause of evil was gone, the students stitched the gum, doing a good workout on Kostas .

Kostas left sore and tormented !

The other day found him exhausted, he had a terrible bleeding after the tooth extraction. With great care we took him back to the Dental School. The professor considered the critical situation and said that he needed urgently a blood transfusion .

I was the first one near him , skinny, with stigma, but the doctors said that it was unsafe for me to give blood. But what could I do, my best friend was in danger! Immediately decided . "I will give blood," I said , though I was afraid too . Kostas was saved! Well done!  Tough times . Critical years . Experiences that brought us together and helped us keep our friendship until today although we live far away.

8. “A RECENT EXPERIENCE IN MY LIFE, a senior advice to my fellowmen for their lives”   by Theo

After a long, long time, I was bored to go for a morning promenade (possibly due to the “insisting” humid weather) and, thus, I found an opportunity to stay in front of the laptop screen and write down a few words about my recent experience of reducing my body weight.

I decided as a title for my “story” (I use quotation marks, because it is not a story but the reality):

“A RECENT EXPERIENCE IN MY LIFE, a senior advice to my fellowmen for their lives”

I was born in 1950, in a poor (but heartthrob) suburb of Piraeus. My mammy, having lived the poverty of that period, wanted to make me “not feel it” and, thus, she was keep on giving me more and more food. The food we had that period was mainly bread, potatoes, and other sugars-containing foods. As a result, I became a fat boy, the pride of my mother “due to” this. I was growing up remaining over weighted, even during my teen’s period. The economic situation was favorable for having more and more food (beside other goods).

After my marriage, initially, and, after the birth of my sons, in succession, my wife tried to persuade me for the necessity of losing some weight. As a “good” and “obeisant” husband, I followed all the slimming diets that she was offering, with love, to me. But, unfortunately, it was permanently “written”, deep in my mind, an “icon” of myself as an over weighted and, furthermore, as a corpulent man. Thereby, after following the slimming diet (willingly) for some months, and after having “lost some kilos”, I “gained” them back later while, in some cases, I was increasing my weight more than that I had at the beginning of the diet.

After my fifty’s, I was started to get the annual medical tests. Fortunately, despite of my high weight, all the tests were good! This made me more casual about my weight and I was… keep on increasing it! As anyone can understand (and, of course, myself too), this behavior was totally wrong. But, I was “stuck” on it.

Suddenly (I haven’t found so far an explanation for “why” but, I don’t mind anymore), at spring of 2010, something “knocked on my mind” and told me: “Listen, fellow. If you don’t stop exaggerating with your eating, there will be time that one doctor will force you to improve it and, maybe at that case, things won’t be propitious for your health and life”. Thus, I decided to reduce (at least in half) the amount of food I was eating each day. I started to have meals in specified times per day (instead of… continuously eating, as I used to do before). I started to enjoy the meals’ time, by making them longer in duration (instead of… negligible meal-time, I used to spent before), enjoying my wine and my beloved music during them.

I lost 25-30 Kilos. I am, still, over-weighted but I feel fine and my medical tests (a senior-man’s medical tests), which were usually good, are now comparable with juniors’ ones. During my efforts, I visited no nourishment specialist or institute; I implemented no slimming diet at all and I was eating any food, calorific value independently. Only my will-power helped me in the procedure of guiding my brain to stop eating exaggerations. And it is the same volition that makes me maintain my weight, despite my strong “passion” for eating: When I meet some friends and have a meal together, I won’t avoid eating but, my next meals will be reduced enough, in order to balance the Kcal uptake!

Dear, over-weighted friends. Please try it. You will feel much better and, hopefully, you will feel the life joyance more and more! Any time that your eating desire is increasing, turn your thoughts away and go out for a majestic walkabout to the sea, on the mountain, in the narrow streets and allow-ways… anywhere but, away

9. “Μικρή ιστορία”  in Greek language by Flora

Είμαι κοριτσάκι και βγαίνω από… δεν ξέρω από πού, αφού η έμπνευση έρχεται από τον Μπέκετ κι εγώ είμαι απλώς μια αναγνώστριά του, που έτυχε να βαριέται αφόρητα μόνη ένα βράδυ του Σεπτέμβρη. Από πού άραγε έβγαινε το παιδάκι, όταν ο Μπέκετ σκέφτηκε να το επισκεφτεί; Ας αρχίσω σαν να είναι δική μου η ιδέα, αλλά και η ιστορία. Το κοριτσάκι κρατάει τη μητέρα του από το χέρι ή μήπως δεν έχει χέρι; Δεν λέει τίποτα παράξενο ούτε καν έξυπνο, καθώς προχωράνε για κάπου, που δεν θυμάμαι πια. Δεν πηγαίνουν στο σπίτι ή μάλλον δεν έχουν σπίτι, μόνο ένα δωμάτιο σ’ ένα σπίτι, που γκρεμίζεται σιγά σιγά όταν βρέχει. Όταν μαίνεται η καταιγίδα, καθισμένες γύρω απ’ το μαγκάλι, ακούνε κομμάτια της καμινάδας να πέφτουν.

Ο ήρωας του Μπέκετ φαντασιώνεται μέσα στη μοναξιά του ότι ακούει φωνές που του αποκαλύπτουν το παρελθόν του. Έτσι και το κοριτσάκι φαντασιώνεται ότι έχει μητέρα που το διδάσκει το μέλλον του, ότι έχει οικογένεια και ότι τώρα πια που είναι γυναίκα μπορεί να γράψει κάτι εξίσου έξυπνο με τον Μπέκετ, είτε για να περάσει την ώρα της είτε γιατί μπορεί να είναι, έστω εν μέρει, αλήθεια.  

«Πότε μπορείς να έρθεις να με δεις;» τη ρωτάει πολλά χρόνια μετά ο ψυχίατρός της.

Ποτέ πια! Απαλλάχτηκα από την ταπεινή καταγωγή των ονείρων σου, αλλά και από τη δυσοσμία του δικού μου συναισθήματος που ήθελε να με φροντίζεις σαν να είμαι παιδί σου κι όχι απλώς μια ξένη χωρίς πατέρα, που έχει ανάγκη τον ήρωα του Μπέκετ για να μπορέσει να πει κάτι.

Θα στρίψει με τη μαμά –ή μήπως δεν έχει ούτε μαμά;– στο δρομάκι που βγάζει στη θάλασσα. Τα πελώρια μανιασμένα κύματα πλημμυρίζουν τα βουβά μάτια τους! Πιο πριν έμεναν σ’ ένα σπίτι που είχε κήπο με κάτι μικρούτσικα χρυσαφιά λουλουδάκια κι ακόμα πιο πριν σ’ ένα άλλο με γιασεμιά… Ντροπιασμένη πια απ’ το παράλογο, επειδή την κοιτάζουν τόσα κοριτσίστικα μάτια έτοιμα να κλάψουν, λαβωμένα από την ανάρμοστη ερωτική –ας την πούμε– φωνή εκείνων που τ’ άγγιξαν μαγεμένοι από την ευωδιά του ανυπεράσπιστου, που όλο δυνάμωνε όπως μεγάλωνε η μέρα και γινόταν παράπονο, όσο εκείνοι διασκέδαζαν από τη θέρμη του παιχνιδιού του έρωτα που ματαίωναν κι ύστερα να βλέπεις τους μπάσταρδους μέσα στο ίδιο σου το σπίτι να κάθονται στο τραπέζι σου, να σου μιλούν, να σε χαιρετούν… «Μαμά, εκείνος μ’ άγγιξε όπως μου έχεις πει ότι δεν πρέπει…» πέντε χρονών είναι δεν είναι… «Σςς… θα τον σκοτώσει ο πατέρας σου, αν το μάθει!» Δεν ξέρουν πια τι λένε οι λέξεις, ανυπεράσπιστες… όπως μικρό παιδί στα χέρια βιαστή…

Επομένως τώρα εσύ, μιλώντας άλλη γλώσσα, ακυρώνεις τα συμβόλαιά τους, τις ιδιοκτησίες τους, τους γάμους τους που κυοφορούν παιδιά που δεν θα μάθουν γραφή και ανάγνωση.

Βάλε και καμιά τελεία, βρε παιδί μου, μπας και τιθασέψεις το αιώνιο στα μάτια του χθεσινού ναυαγού… Μέχρι πότε θ’ ακολουθείς εκείνο το σςς… Ω εκείνα τα χρυσαφιά λουλουδάκια, πόσο τέλεια έμοιαζαν μες στη λιακάδα! 

10. And  the same story in Italian language- "Piccolo Racconto'

Sono una ragazza e esco da ...  non so  da dove , dopo che l' ispirazione viene da Beckett ed  io sono solamente una sua  lettrice , che si trovava ad essere sola e insopportabilmente annoiata una notte  di Settembre . Da dove veniva  il bambino  quando Beckett  ha pensano di visitarlo ? Comincio  come  se fosse la mia idea , ma anche la storia. La bambina tiene la mano di sua madre o forse non ha mano?Νon dice nulla di strano o addirittura intelligente, mentre  si muovono da qualche parte , che non ricordo più  dove . Non vanno a casa  o  forse non hanno casa, solo una camera in una casa, che si crolla lentamente quando piove . Quando  viene la tempesta, sedute intorno al braciere , sentono cadere  pezzi del camino.
L'eroe di Beckett fantastica in solitudine che sente delle voci che rivelano il suo passato . Così anche  la bambina fantastica che ha una madre che insegna il suo futuro , che ha una famiglia e che, ora ormai che è diventata una donna può scrivere qualcosa di altrettanto intelligente con Beckett , sia  per passare il suo tempo ,che perchè  può essere anche parzialmente vero .
"Quando vieni a vedermi? " domanda tanti anni dopo il suo psichiatra .

Mai più ! Mi sono disimpegnata  dal umile origine  dei tuoi sogni , ma
anche dal cattivo  odore del mio sentimento che voleva che tu prendessi cura di me come se fossi il  tuo figlio ,e  non solamente un’ estranea  senza un padre  che  ha bisogno di un eroe come Beckett per poter dire qualcosa .

Si gira  con la mamma -  o  forse non ha nemmeno la mamma? – al  vicolo
che porta  al  mare . Le ondeenormi impetuose inondano  i loro occhi silenziosi! In precedenza vivevano  in una casa che aveva un giardino con alcuni piccoli fiorellini dorati e ancora prima in un’ altra casa  con gelsomini ...Vergognata dall΄assurdità , perché la guardano  gli  occhi di tante  fanciulle pronti a piangere ,
feriti dall΄ impropria - diciamo -  voce di coloro che li hanno toccati , 
incantati dal profumo del indifeso , che diventava  più forte con il crescere del giorno  e diventava  un lamento,  tutto il tempo che loro si divertivano dal fervore del gioco  amoroso che  frustravano e  dopo vedere i  bastardi essere nella  propria casa  seduti al  tuo tavolo , parlarti, salutarti ... "Mamma ,
lui mi ha toccato come mi avevi  detto tu non si dovrebbe ... " cinque anni neanche ... " Sss ... lo ucciderà tuo padre , se lo viene a sapere ! " non sanno più quello che dicono le parole , indifese ... come un  bambino piccolo nelle mani di un stupratore ...
Così ora tu ,  parlando in  un'altra lingua , annulli  i loro contratti , l
le loro proprietà , i loro matrimoni che portano i figli  i quali  non impareranno mai scrittura e lettura .
Metti anche qualche  punto  , forse in questo modo potrai controllare la cosa  eterna  negli  occhi di un naufrago ... Fino a quando  seguirai  quello     sss ...Mamma mia quelli fiorellini dorati, come sembravanoperfetti    in mezzo al sole!

Flora Orfanoudaki- Translation in Italian  : Sofia Skleida

11. Μετανάστευση  by Rena in Greek version

Ήμουνα οκτώ χρόνων, όταν έζησα την πικρή εμπειρία του φευγιού  του πατέρα μου.

Ζούσα με την οικογένειά μου-τους γονείς μου, τον παππού μου και την αδελφή μου-  σ’ ένα όμορφο χωριό  του νησιού μου. Δεύτερη τάξη στο Δημοτικό, σε ηλικία που το παιδί αρχίζει να καταλαβαίνει τη θέση και το ρόλο του κάθε γονιού στη ζωή του, όταν ο πατέρας φεύγει μετανάστης  για τον Καναδά. Όλοι κλαίμε, πονάμε, εγώ, η πιο μικρή, δεν κατάλαβα ποτέ το «γιατί», αφού μια χαρά ζούσαμε. Κι αλλάζουν οι ρόλοι μέσα στο σπίτι. Η μητέρα είναι πότε πατέρας και πότε μάνα, ο παππούς το υποκατάστατο του πατέρα κι εμείς τα παιδιά με πιο πολλά «πρέπει», πιο πολλά «μη»… Τότε δεν καταλάβαινα την ανάγκη να γίνουν όλ’ αυτά. Με τον καιρό εμπεδώθηκε μέσα  μου η άποψη της μητέρας μου ότι το φευγιό του πατέρα πονούσε όλους μας, αλλά θα εξασφάλιζε οικονομικά το μέλλον μας…

Δύσκολα νοήματα για μένα τότε…

Πάντως εγώ θυμάμαι  να κλείνομαι στο δωμάτιό μου και να κλαίω ατελείωτα, να έρχονται οι άλλοι πατεράδες στο σχολείο να παίρνουν τους ελέγχους και μένα να έρχεται η μητέρα, να συμμετέχω σ’ όλες τις γεωργικές εργασίες τα απογεύματα και τα καλοκαίρια-χωρίς περιθώρια άρνησης- να..να..κι όλα αυτά επί έξι συνεχόμενα χρόνια…

Τηλεφωνική επικοινωνία τότε με τις χώρες του εξωτερικού δεν υπήρχε. Μια φορά, λοιπόν,  τη βδομάδα ερχόταν το γράμμα του από τον Καναδά, μια φορά τη βδομάδα έπαιρνε κι ο πατέρας μου εκεί το δικό μας γράμμα…

Τι θυμήθηκα τώρα! Κάθε Πέμπτη, που ερχόταν ο ταχυδρόμος, ξέραμε την ώρα και τρέχαμε με την αδελφή μου στην πλατεία του χωριού, να είμαστε εκεί , όταν θα διάβαζε τους παραλήπτες των γραμμάτων.  Συναγωνιζόμαστε μάλιστα ποια από τις δυο μας θα πρόφθανε  να πάρει πρώτη το γράμμα..Από το τρέξιμο και την αγωνία κοκκίνιζαν τα μάγουλά μας και πειράζοντάς μας, ο κυρ-Μιχάλης, ο ταχυδρόμος, μάς φώναζε «παπαρούνες»… Άνθρωπος αγαπημένος, άνθρωπος δικός μας,  που ένιωθε την αγωνία μας …   

Για έξι ολόκληρα χρόνια ένα γράμμα πήγαινε..ένα γράμμα ερχόταν..

- Το παιδί, Ελένη, είναι αδύνατο στην ορθογραφία, συμπέραινε από τα γράμματά μου ο πατερούλης μου ή.. τώρα βελτιώνεται, Ελένη μου..

Μνήμες.. χαρακιές στην καρδιά..

Κούτες ατελείωτες με τα γράμματά του,  φυλαγμένα σαν ιερά κειμήλια στο σπίτι μας και στην καρδιά μας…

Δεύτερη τάξη Δημοτικού-Δεύτερη τάξη Γυμνασίου, έξι  χρόνια στέρησης, απουσίας, ξενιτιάς..Κι η μέρα της επιστροφής έφτασε.

 Πρωΐ-  πρωΐ  όλη η οικογένεια με κομμένη την ανάσα περιμένουμε στο λιμάνι του νησιού τον πατέρα μας  να βγει από το πλοίο. Και βγήκε από το πλοίο. Μόνο  εγώ  ακόμη  περίμενα  να βγει, να τρέξω στην αγκαλιά του, να τού  πω  πόσο μού έλειψε. Και  εκείνος πάλι  στεκόταν με αγωνία μπροστά μου-τραγική σκηνή- μα δεν τον γνώρισα.. Μού φάνηκε ότι ήταν κάποιος άλλος ,διαφορετικός  από εκείνον  που είχα φτιάξει στα όνειρά μου. Πιο κοντός, πιο γερασμένος…

Και  απογοητεύτηκα..Και θύμωσα..

Η ξενιτιά ματώνει καρδιές, αποξενώνει οικογένειες..

Την ξενιτειά, την άρφανιά, την πίκρα, την αγάπη, 
τα τέσσαρα τα ζύγιασαν, βαρύτερα ειν' τα ξένα,    λέει το δημοτικό τραγούδι.

Αγάπη στο μετανάστη, στήριξη. Κανένας δε θέλει να στερηθεί την πατρίδα του και τους δικούς του. Η ανάγκη τον κάνει….

12. Storie di volontariato  by Ubaldo

Con un po' di ritardo (ma meglio tardi che mai)vengo a proporvi,non una sola storia,ma una relazione generica sul volontariato nella mia città di Sant'Angelo in Vado.
In una popolazione di 4200 abitanti esistono circa 40 associazioni che fondano il loro operato sul volontariato.
Mi sembra un numero più che ragguardevole per un paese relativamente piccolo !
E' altresì vero che molte persone sono presenti in diverse associazioni simultaneamente.
Le aree di interesse e lavoro sono di diversissima natura :
cultura,turismo,sport,assistenza sociale,natura,religione,tradizioni popolari,spettacolo ecc.
Esse operano in genere nell'arco di tutto l'anno organizzando eventi e manifestazioni in modo autonomo od in collaborazione con l'amministrazione Comunale.
Proprio pochi giorni fa abbiamo stilato un calendario per il periodo primavera-estate ricchissimo di eventi organizzati con la collaborazione di tutte.Ciò permette di offrire particolari ed interessanti motivi per attrarre numerosi turisti a casa nostra procurando vantaggi sotto diversi punti di vista.
Personalmente da diversi anni faccio parte di alcune di esse
cercando di offrire un po' del mio tempo libero secondo le mie attitudini e competenze.Spero di avervi fornito delle indicazioni generiche sul "volontariato" nel mio paese sufficienti per STIMOLARE approfondimenti nei vari settori che magari suscitano maggior interesse o che ci accomunano pur vivendo in nazioni diverse e magari a molti chilometri di distanza.
Il dibattito e' aperto.Saluti carissimi.

13. Il gruppo folkloristico LA VADESELLA e il volontariato  by Aldo

Il gruppo folkloristico LA VADESELLA si costituisce nel 2007 e si compone di quattro coppie grandi e tre coppie ragazzi (13/14 anni). Abbiamo fatto diverse esibizioni di balli all'estero (Slovacchia, Turchia, Inghilterra, Lettonia) nell'ambito di diversi progetti del team Training 2000; inoltre ogni anno al 1° maggio in collaborazione con il Comune di S.Angelo in Vado partecipiamo e collaboriamo alla realizzazione di un festival internazionale di musica e balli folk.
Da circa due anni ci esibiamo con i nostri balli presso tre case di riposo per anziani (S.Angelo in Vado - Mercatello sul Metauro - Piandimeleto). 
Perchè questo? Principalmente perchè i nostri balli sono stati elaborati ricorrendo alla memoria di alcuni anziani che ci hanno aiutato a ricostruire sia le musiche che i passi di danza, in quanto erano balli che eseguivano nelle feste paesane o dopo la trebbiatura del grano o la vendemmia o ancora nel periodo di carnevale. Ad ogni esecuzione di ballo nelle tre case di riposo notavamo nelle facce degli anziani una felicità insolita; c'era chi batteva le mani e chi il piede a ritmo della musica; qualche anziano, ancora molto lucido, ci diceva che quel ballo lo ricordava bene perchè lo ballava con una bella ragazza (sua futura moglie). E' stata una bella esperienza per noi del gruppo perchè, pur nella semplicità di una esibizione di balli, abbiamo regalato a molti anziani un momento di allegria ed un flash nei ricordi della loro gioventù.
 

14. Donatore di sangue  by Graziano

Sono un donatore di sangue iscritto alla Sezione AVIS di S.Angelo in Vado da circa 33 anni.

(AVIS e' l'acronimo di:Associazione Volontari Italiani del Sangue).

Ebbene ricordo ancora la mia prima donazione datata 03.09.1981; avevo 29 anni e dietro i

suggerimenti dei miei due fratellipiu' grandi, anche loro all'epoca gia' donatori mi sono convinto a fare questo passo.

 Ricordo ancora l'ansia e la preoccupazione per il primo prelievo ( ...come reagiro' al momento

dell'inserimento dell'ago nellanella vena per il prelievo del sangue, sentiro' dolore... ect.)

Invece ando' tutto per il meglio e dopo circa 15 minuti tutta l'operazione ebbe termine ed il medico,mi fece vedere il flacone con mio, sangue 250mg. Accettai di buon grado e con orgoglio i complimenti di tutto lo staff medico presente.

Bevvi un buon succo di frutta (importante dopo la donazione era ingerire liquidi in buona quantita') e mi avviai fischiettando per far ritorno a casa, molto contento del gesto fatto, e con poco sacrificio,ma con la consapevolezza che la mia donazione sarebbe servita a qualcuno che ne avrebbe avuto necessita' Ad oggi ( e lo dico con orgoglio e soddisfazione) sono arrivato alla mia 130^ donazione, e salute e condizioni permettendo vorrei arrivare al traguardo delle 150.

Ho consigliato e suggerito ad entrambi i miei figli di seguire questa mia splendida esperienza;

debbo ringraziarli perché anche sono diventati e gia' da qualche anno abituali donatori.

The same story in english

I’ve been a blood donor subscribed at “AVIS (Associazione Volontari Italiani del Sangue)” of

Sant’Angelo in Vado for the last 33 years.

I remember my first donation which took place on 03.09.1981; I was 29 years old, and my elder

brothers suggested to become a donor, so I decided to do so.

I still remember my anxiety and worries for my first blood donation (…. How will I react? Will I

feel pain? etc.).

Everything went very well and after 15 minutes I donated 250 mg. of blood. I was very happy when the whole medical staff gave me their compliments. I drank a fruit juice (very important when you donate blood) and returned home feeling very satisfied of the gesture, with little sacrifice and aware of the fact that my donation would be useful to somebody.

Today (and I’m very proud and satisfied about this) I have reached my 130th donation, and I would like to reach 150 if possible.

I have suggested the same thing to my children, telling them that they should follow this wonderful experience; and I would like to thank them as they have become donators already a few years ago.

15. Luisa- A story by Francesca 

I had a special friend, 92 years old, a retired teacher, whom I often visited and one day she expressed a desire, she wanted to return in a small town where she had taught when she was young and of which she had lots of memories. It was fantastic to organize through the association of Volunteers “Anteas” which I represent, this “magic” encounter where memories became real and people whom hadn’t seen each other for years had the possibility of being reunited. This is what Luisa, our main protagonist of that day, said:

“After 68 years I returned to Montebello where from 1944 I taught for three years.

It has been a marvelous experience because I found the same small village, with the same six or seven houses, which were once ramshackle and falling but now they have been renovated, although, maintaining the simple and beautiful aspect that ancient things have if they have been respected and loved.

Even the castle, which was almost falling during that time, is being renovated without transforming it into something modern.

I even found Mena, a 92 year old lady, very bright and with a great memory. Together we remembered that they used to call us “young bride” because she had just been married and “young teacher” because I was very young. We recalled many episodes and many people with whom we shared afternoons and evenings under the moonlight (back then there was no electricity)”. Luisa Gandolfi Saginati

Luisa and Mena gave themselves an appointment for the following year; I went to pick her up, herself and her only child, disabled, 63 years old. We spent a marvelous day with a beautiful lunch and a nice chat, under the cool breeze of a weeping willow.

While we were returning Luisa, I do not know why, talked to me about death and the worry to leave her only child alone.

I had tears in my eyes while she was speaking and only ten days later, during a hot evening in September she fell asleep forever in her bed. Her dear son found her in that condition.

Now the volunteer association continues to support Luisa’s son, whom often remembers his mother, only love he had in his life.