Gianni e Lilia
Their wedding photo, with the Ponte Vecchio and Ufizzi in the background, was made on the banks of the Arno in 1962. Alex (that'd be me, writing this tribute) came along about a year and a half later.
Gianni was the eldest male of four siblings, Lilia the eldest of three, with two younger brothers. He was working as a teller in a bank when my maternal grandmother Francesca walked in and saw a man her daughter should meet. A case of opposites attracting. She was ebullient and a tad rebellious, he was serious, reserved and largely conservative (though his politics always leaned leftwards). I have many memories of my mom deciding, over breakfast, to invite 8 people to dinner and my dad despairing. Then, once everyone came over with the conversation rolling and mom somehow producing course after course from the kitchen, he was beaming. "You might surprise yourself", I once said with regard to whatever but I clearly remember how the phrase amused my dad. I think he saw something of his love for Lilia in it.
Every marriage is a journey of sorts and theirs was high-mileage, figuratively and literally. From humble beginnings (both lost their fathers in the aftermath of the second world war; Lilia's parents left school after fifth grade) they combined grit, brains and courage to arrive at and then accept an invitation extended by Olivetti, my dad's employer, to move to New York City in the late sixties. They thrived there, reveling in the city's scale, energy and complexity. They stayed for over thirty years.
Poggiosole, purchased in 1998, was their homecoming. They were both around 70 years old and had always lived in cities. They missed New York at first, but over time they saw how all that grass, sun, and fresh air could make for a good place to grow old.
"America is for the young", my dad said shortly before moving back to Italy. Perhaps true, and certainly an understandable view for a family man whose mother, siblings and nieces had remained in Italy all the years he and his wife lived abroad. Still, he'd gambled on building a life elsewhere, and though it took him away from his roots, it was a wager he and my mom had won, in my view. Above all, they had each made it possible for the other. My dad, as stalwart a man as I've ever met, was hardly a head banger but he loved cranking rock'n'roll as much as Beethoven's Ninth. In their marriage he was her rock, she provided plenty of roll. It wasn't always a smooth ride, but it was a good ride to be on.