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It is the evening of the twenty-eighth of August. As usual, it is a very hot evening. I bring down the calendar from the kitchen wall, mark the day off and replace it on the hook. Through the window I can see the pigeons homing in to the window sill of the vacant building opposite our house and the birds seeking their resting place among the branches of the tree below.

The radio is playing some old time favourites and Perry Como’s song ‘Magic Moments’ was filling the room with music and nostalgia.

“Magic moments …..

When two hearts start caring.

Magic moments …..

Memories we’ve been sharing.

Time cannot erase

These magic moments

Filled with love.”

Today’s date takes me back all those years ago when my life changed direction and brought me here to where I am sitting today …………………

………………… I was standing there on the altar steps, my brother by my side. The old white-bearded priest was arranging the ceremonials on the high altar. I had just entered the small charming church and walked on the plush red carpet which was laid down for the occasion.

The chandeliers were all lit up despite the bright morning sunlight coming in from the wide open front door. The pews, on both sides, were full of people dressed for this special day, relatives and friends of both of us. Various other people came out of curiosity. I was anxious, looked at my watch, heard the car arrive, people were coming in.

When she appeared at the front door of this small lovely church on the arm of her father, all eyes turned towards her. She looked stunning, slim and elegant, with a beautiful white train following her, a tiara on her head and a delicate veil covering her face – a typical princess, I thought.

The organ started playing bridal music. Loud, stirring chords filled the church. She was walking slowly on the red carpet, coming towards me to the altar. All eyes from the pews were moving with her every step. It was her day. She was the star today.

I looked at her. She was lovely with a radiant face and a happy look. She had just turned 19 only four days ago. I was 24. I took her hand to help her to the altar. Both of us knelt down on the kneelers, in front of the altar. We went through the mass – the choir, the sermon, the Holy Communion, the blessings of the rings. Then, arm in arm, we left the church together while the click click sound of the photographer’s camera never ceased. 

We left the church together. A shining black Mercedes was waiting for us to take us to our reception at the Band Club. We made a short detour to allow the congregation to transfer itself from the church to the Band Club.

Relatives and friends were waiting for us. As we entered the hall, the band started playing ‘Here comes the Bride’. There were so many congratulations, hugs, shaking of hands, kisses, laughter. And so much noise! It was deafening. 

There were drinks, food, cakes and ice-cream for everybody. Everyone was dancing to the music. At the end of all this merriment, we were lifted up on the shoulders of our friends, brought closer together and kissed in mid air. And the band played on. 

We cut the three-tiered wedding cake while everyone had champagne glasses ready for the wedding toast. We then left the hall in late afternoon. The sun was still blazing down mercilessly. Tired and anxious, we finally got away to be with each other…………………………..

That was more than fifty years ago or half a century. A very long time ago. But how time flies! Our son is married and our grandson is following his own career. It seems only yesterday that I stood anxiously on that church altar waiting for my girl to arrive.  

The radio was now playing Ray Charles’s popular old song ‘I Can’t Stop Loving you’. It was one of my favourites of the fifties. I knew the words by heart.

“I can’t stop loving you,

I’ve made up my mind

To live in memory

Of the lonesome time.

I can’t stop loving you,

It’s useless to say.

So I’ll just live my life

In dreams of yesteryear.

Those happy hours

That we once knew

Though long ago

Still make me blue.”

“A penny for your thoughts.” My wife’s voice cut across my thoughts. “Oh, I’m sorry”, I apologized. “I was just thinking” I replied. “You were miles away” she said. I slid my arm around her shoulders and drew her close to me. “You were thinking of the past again, I can always tell.” she continued. It was so very true. It was not the miles, it was the years.  Fifty years ago. That was something indeed. Every day, on each anniversary, I am always thankful for the way my life changed all those years ago on the twenty-eighth of August. 

Charles B. Spiteri

Min jaqta’ s-siġar u min jitlobna nibżgħu għalihom. Kull tant tiġi bejn ħaltejn lil min minnhom tagħti kas. Iżda l-ħidma li saret fuq dan iz-zokk enormi ta’ siġra, jista’ jitqies bħala arti tal-għaġeb u għalhekk, l-issagrifikar taz-zokk, serva għal xi ħaġa.

Naqqqax tal-injam Ċiniż, magħruf mad-dinja kollha – Zheng Chunhui — qata’ z-zokk u qatta’ erba’ snin kontinwi ta’ xogħol biex fuqu wettaq talent li lanqas jista’ jiġi deskritt. Tant li l-arti li għamel qed titqies bħala kapulavur. It-tinqix li għamel hu bbażat fuq il-pittura famuża Ċiniża Along the river During the Qingming Festival, li l-ħsieb għaliha jmur lura aktar minn 1,000 sena. Din l-iskultura fiz-zokk tas-siġra rebħet ir-Rekord Dinji tal-Guinness għall-itwal skultura li qatt saret fl-injam.

Hi twila 12.286 metru; l-ogħla parti tagħha fiha 3.075 metri u fiha wisa’ ta’ 2.401 metri. L-iskultura fina li fiha u li turi kif kienet il-ħajja fiċ-Ċina tal-qedem, hi tant dettaljata u perfetta, li bla ma trid, iġġiegħlek tiskanta. U l-aktar, meta wieħed iqis, li biex tlesta dan ix-xogħol, ħa 8,760 siegħa.

Joseph H. Abela, Qassis

Il-KELMA issa fiha ġmiel kbir. Bniedem jaqdi, jisimgħek, jilmħek, iħares lejk, isellimlek u jitlaq u tħossok li qiegħed f’qalbu jew qalbha. Illum mhux hekk!

Bis-saħħa jew bis-saħta taċ-ċellulari jintbagħtulek risposti. Imħabbat wisq biex inkellmek jew int bla siwi għalija. Din l-impressjoni li tieħu, iżda aktarx tkun minnha.

L-għodda tal-ftehim saret ix-xkiel lill-bniedem, u ssieħeb lil ħadd, żommu ’l bogħod. Taparsi jagħti kas iżda fil-fatt int żejjed.

Dan ifisser li tħossok waħdek jew mingħalik jiftakru fik.

Imberkin il-każini, imberkin l-imkejjen tal-isport.

LUĊERTU/LAĊERTU   Muskolu li jinżel mal-koxxa ta’ wara tal-barri jew baqra meta dan jinqatel u jitqatta’ għall-ikel. Biċċa laħam li tinqata’ għat-tisjir min-naħa tal-wirk (il-ġenb warrani) tal-istess annimal. Bħala laħam din mhix l-ifjen parti biex tittiekel, anzi hi kkunsidrata bħala ta’ kwalità inferjuri, għax meta tissajjar din tibqa’ pjuttost xierfa biex tikolha. Minkejja dan, bosta jordnawha bil-ħsieb li jitfgħuha fil-borma ħalli tagħti togħma ’l-brodu, u hekk, xħin iddub bit-togħlija, tittiekel f’biċċiet żgħar. Il-luċertu jista’ jissajjar ukoll f’dixx fil-forn b’ħafna meraq. Mit-Taljan lacerto. Bl-Ingliż salmon cut of silverside jew rump roast.

Li timxi fuq bankina u tara l-indafa u li t-toroq ikunu xummiema tifraħ u togħxa u tedha li jirbaħ il-qies. Hekk għandu jkun.

Imma tiltaqa’ ma’ persuni li huma mġienen fuq l-indafa u l-indafa tiġi qabel in-nies. Waqt l-ikel iqumu qabel u jibdew inaddfu u jagħtuk l-impressjoni li iżjed ma tħaffef biex titlaq ikun aħjar.

Ma jkunux nies li tista’ tidħol fil-fond tal-ħbiberija u tħoss li jibqgħu dejjem fil-qoxra tal-ħajja. Iebsa li jkollok persuna li tkun hekk għax tbati u s-suġġett ikun bla ħniena: ħasil, toroq, ħwejjeġ, kċina. Dawn għandhom ikunu, imma mhux il-ħin kollu, għax il-bniedem jibda jħossu waħdu u jibda jaqta’ u jfittex band’oħra. Dan jgħodd kemm għan-nisa kif ukoll għall-irġiel.

Jekk tista’ u tintebaħ li int ixxaqleb lejn indafa żejda, ħu ħsieb u rranġa, għax ma tkunx qed tagħmel il-ġid, la lilek u l-anqas l-oħrajn. 

Omm li ma tatx wisq kas ta’ girfa ta’ qattus, spiċċat tissielet għal ħajjitha minħabba infezzjoni f’demmha.

Lesley Pleasant ta’ 57 sena kellha tqatta’ ġimgħa l-isptar b’IV drip u kważi kważi kienet se tonqos milli tattendi għat-tieġ ta’ bintha.

L-inċident ġara ftit ilu meta l-għalliema tat-taħriġ fiżiku qatgħetha li tnaddaf lil Oscar, il-qattus ta’ bintha, billi ddaħħlu bil-banju u taħslu biex teqridlu xi briegħed.

Imbeżża’, il-qattus deffes duffrejh fin-naħa ta’ ġewwa tal-minkeb ta’ Lesley u qatgħalha arterja. Bintha Alisha, ħadet 30 sekonda biex ħarġet id-dwiefer ta’ Oscar minn ma’ id ommha. Hi qalet li ħasset l-uġigħ, iżda kompliet bil-faċendi tagħha u ma baqgħetx taħseb aktar fl-inċident.

Fis-2.00 a.m. qamet bid-deni u idha bdiet tħossha tħabbat. Kellha uġigħ qawwi fiha u ntefħitilha daqs bużżieqa. Il-biża’ tagħha żdied, għax qajla setgħet tiċċaqlaq u ħadet il-pilloli kontra l-uġigħ.

L-għada filgħodu, ħabib tal-familja ħadha fl-isptar tal-lokal, f’Shepton Mallot, fejn intqalilha li kellha bżonn tmur fl-isptar akbar ta’ Bath.

It-Tabib Suranjith Seneviratne, immunolgu fir-Royal Free Hospital ta’ Londra qal li kull girfa, żgħira kemm tkun żgħira, trid tingħata l-attenzjoni mistħoqqa. Girfa infettata, ġeneralment tibda bi ħmura. Imbagħad tinfetta ruħha u wara għaxart ijiem tintefaħ. Hawn il-persuna jitlgħalha d-deni, tibda tgħejja, jaqbduha l-uġigħat tar-ras u f’xi każi jonqsilha l-aptit.

It-Tabib Seneviratne żied li girfa tista’ tidher bħala li qed tfiq, iżda l-batterja taf tkun ivvjaġġat għal xi parti oħra tal-ġisem, fejn timmultiplika u tinqasam.

Kif iddaħħlet l-isptar, Lesley tqiegħdet fuq id-drip u t-tobba bdewlha wkoll il-morfina għall-uġigħ li bdiet tħoss. Wara sitt ijiem fl-isptar, Lesley stqarret li għamlet biċċa xogħol għaqlija li marret malajr l-isptar, għalkemm ma tafx għaliex Oscar beża’ daqshekk mill-banju, għax din ma kinitx l-ewwel darba għalih.

PURFUMATUR/PROFUMATUR   Dak il-bniedem li jiddiżinfetta l-oġġetti jew lin-nies kontra l-mard li jittieħed. Agius de Soldanis jgħid li l-pesta tal-1675-76 kienet eliminata għalkollox meta kienu ġew numru ta’ profumaturi minn Marsilja u ddiżinfettaw id-djar, il-ħwejjeġ u n-nies. Sors: Gozo – Ancient and Modern Religious and Profane, p. 148.

Charles B. Spiteri

Paulo u Felipe Lizama miċ-Ċile huma aħwa, tewmin u saċerdoti. Lil ommhom kien intqalilha biex tabortixxi, iżda rrifjutat. Meta kienet tqila, it-tabib tagħha qalilha li kellha tarbija waħda, iżda b’diformitajiet. Minflok, twieldu żewġ subien, u ssostni li kien imnalla li dakinhar kienet wieġbet: “Naċċetta kulma jibgħatli Alla.”

L-aħwa tewmin jgħidu li d-determinazzjoni ta’ ommhom li tipproteġihom mill-parir tat-tobba biex tabortihom, għenithom fil-vokazzjoni tagħhom għas-saċerdozju. “Kif nista’ ma niddefendix lil Alla tal-ħajja?” qal Fr. Paulo Lizama. “Din il-ġrajja saħħitli l-vokazzjoni tiegħi u tatni vitalità speċifika u b’hekk kont kapaċi nagħti lili nnifsi għal dak li nemmen fih.”

Fr. Paulo u ħuh tewmi identiku, Fr. Felipe, twieldu fl-1984, fil-belt Ċilena ta’ Lagunillas de Casablanca. Qabel ma sabet li kienet tqila, ommhom Rosa Silva, esponiet ruħha għal xi x-rays waqt ħidmietha bħala paramedika. Konsegwentement, wara li kkonfermalha t-tqala, it-tabib tagħha ordnalha l-ultrasounds u infurmaha li kien ra ‘xi ħaġa stramba’ fir-ritratti.

Qalilha: “it-tarbija għandha tliet idejn u saqajha huma marbutin f’xulxin. Barra minn hekk għandha żewġt irjus.” Għalkemm għal raġunijiet terapewtiċi, dak iż-żmien, l-abort kien legali fiċ-Ċile u t-tobba qalulha li ħajjitha kienet fil-periklu, Rosa opponiet l-idea tagħhom u riedet tkompli bit-tqala.

Fr Felipe qal: “Alla għamel ħidmietu u pproduċa tewmin. Ma nafx jekk it-tobba kinux imqarrqa, jew x’seta’ ġara.” Min-naħa tiegħu Fr. Paolo żied “Dejjem naħseb b’imħabba speċjali, f’qalb ommi, li kienet lesta tagħti ħajjitha għalina.”

It-tewmin twieldu fl-10 ta’ Settembru, tal-1984. L-ewwel ma twieled Felipe u wara 17-il minuta twieled Paolo. Huma saru jafu fuq iċ-ċirkustanzi ta’ twelidhom meta kienu fis-sitt sena tas-seminarju.

Huma tal-fehma li kien l-għerf ta’ ommhom u qalbha li ppermettitilhom isiru jafu dwar twelidhom fiż-żmien adatt, għax aktar jemmnu li Alla ma kienx qed jaħdem fuqhom minn meta bdew il-vokazzjoni tas-saċerdozju, iżda sa minn qabel ma twieldu.

Jeff was my boyfriend for the last three years. Well, something more than my boyfriend really. I had never expected myself to fall in love with a bank clerk. Not that there is anything wrong with bank clerks. It was that I’d never imagined a bank clerk would be exciting enough for me. 

Just two weeks ago he had asked me to marry him. He caught me by surprise. We were having coffee at Cafe Cordina in Republic Street one fine Sunday morning. “Why do you want to marry me?” I asked him, still shocked with surprise. “Because I want to share my life with you, that’s why”, he replied as if it was something to be expected. 

That is not enough reason for marriage, I thought. It was a reply which did not excite me. Did Jeff want to get married because, after three years together, it was the next thing to do? Why did he not tell me, “Because I love you!” Where is the romance? Where is love? Maybe I was reading too many love stories lately. 

“I have to think about it”, I said. “It’s a proposal of marriage” replied Jeff, looking flustered and upset. But I could not reply immediately. I knew that Jeff loved me very much, that he would do anything for me, that we would have a good stable life together. But ………………..     Even as I sipped my coffee, my mind went back to Riccardo whom I had met during my holiday in Rome a year ago. He was exciting, romantic and full of compliments. He was so different from Jeff. It could be, I thought, because he was Italian. He used to sing and play the guitar in a popular restaurant in Trastevere, where all the young people seemed to gather in the evenings. 

“Give me time Jeff and I’ll give you an answer,” I said while he took hold of my hand caressing my fingers. “I’ll be on holiday next week, booked with my friend Beth. We had always wanted to return to Rome,” I continued. “But I thought that we would go for a holiday together, you and I”, he replied looking confused and hurt. “OK. I’ll wait for you to come back and then we’ll talk again,” he said as he planted a kiss on my lips. 

Two days later Beth and I were in Rome. We took the airport bus to Stazione Termini and then walked the short distance to our hotel in Via Gioberti. The receptionist welcomed us with “Buongiorno signorine, welcome to Rome”. Beth nudged me with her elbow. “He is handsome, isn’t he?” she said in a low voice, so that the comment remained between us. For Beth every Italian is handsome and romantic, even if he is just ordinary.

After registration, we went to our room, settled our clothes and things in the wardrobe, rested a little bit, had a shower, dressed and then went out to see the city, which we had only last seen the previous year. As a multitude of church bells tolled, we said to each other –“Let’s see what has changed.”

Rome itself does not change. Each year trees blossom among the old palaces, the same clouds drift above the many church domes across the horizon, roses still grow in garden terraces below baroque palaces and the river ‘Tevere’ continues to flow slowly beneath the bridges as it did last year and hundreds of years ago. 

Only the people change. Ten million people every year come from all over the world to see its archeological and art treasures as well as to savor its charm and unique traditions. But the various hotels where they stay, the monuments, fountains, churches, museums and the other places which attract them to this beautiful city, remain unchanged.

During the morning we visited Piazza di Spagna, Fontana di Trevi, St. Peter’s Church, the Colosseum, Bocca della Verita, Foro Romano, Via del Corso and the other well-known landmarks. It was hectic but satisfying. No, there were no changes to note. Life seems to have gone on uninterrupted since we were last here.  But what about me? Have I changed?

In the evening we went to Piazza Santa Maria in Trastevere in search of Riccardo. “Would he still be there?” I said to Beth. She looked at me suspiciously “Of course he will be there; singing in restaurants is his career; I have no doubt that he will be there”. I had my doubts, of course, or maybe I was so eager to see him that I was afraid that he would not be there. 

“You’re in love” Beth remarked seeing the far-away look in my eyes.  “I don’t know”, I said, “I’m just wondering!” “It was only a holiday romance”. Beth replied, “Don’t count too much on  Riccardo”.

I had my fingers crossed as we approached the restaurant – ‘Taverna da Mario’ – in the heart of the piazza. As the musical notes of ‘O sole Mio’ wafted in the evening air, I knew, I definitely knew that Riccardo was there singing and playing his old guitar. 

Beth and I entered the restaurant and saw him. My heart jumped. His hair was a little longer, his skin a little browner, otherwise he was just as I remembered him. We sat at a table away from where he was entertaining. He had girls all around him, mostly young tourists, probably American and British. During the break from playing and singing to patrons, Riccardo chatted with the girls, put his sun-bronzed arms around their thin waists, kissed them jokingly and laughed. 

It was then that he saw us. He left everybody and came hurriedly towards us exclaiming – “Ah, the lovely girl from Malta. Where have you been all this time?” He was, as all Italians do, smiling broadly and gesticulating with his hands. And then he took me in his arms and kissed me passionately. 

“Come, come with me tonight” he said, “I’ll show you how beautiful Rome is at night!” When he finished singing, I left Beth chatting to some other Italian, jumped on Riccardo’s ‘motorino’ and we went away. He looked as if he wanted to break the speed record as he wove his way along the traffic on the roads. As we swooped down hills and around bends on the mountain side, I clung firmly on to his waist. 

It was exciting and romantic at the same time. From the top of Monte Mario we could see Rome beneath us, its main sites all lit up like various Christmas trees. It was an enchanting sight indeed. I was thoroughly enjoying myself and wanted the night to stand still. Before we separated, I gave Riccardo my hotel’s address and telephone number and he promised to call and collect me from the hotel so that we would enjoy my last few days in Rome together. Life with Riccardo would always be so exciting, so full of surprises, constantly on the move, late nights out. All that would suit my out-going character.

Beth was fast asleep when I entered our hotel room early in the morning. She was up and about when I woke up, as the clock struck mid-day. I recounted my adventure with Riccardo to her the night before and told her that he makes my heart skip a beat; that he told me several times that he loves me; that he had promised to call for me at the hotel, to continue our romantic interlude. Life with Riccardo would not only be romantic, but also a non-stop adventure.  Beth had to return to Malta that very evening. However I stayed a day longer, hoping that things would happen in the meantime. 

But during the whole of the next day, he did not phone or call. Maybe Beth was right after all. She had told me that this was all a holiday romance which lasts only a few days. Despite his vows of love, could it be that for him, I was just another foreign girl he liked to flirt with?

I was having breakfast on my last day in Rome when the receptionist came hurriedly up to me and said. “Signorina! Signorina! There’s a man asking for you in the lobby.” “There”, I said to myself in an anxious mood, “Riccardo has finally come for me.”

Excited, I followed the receptionist to the lobby downstairs. Then I saw him. He was standing there holding a rose in his hands. I felt all my misgivings simply melting away. One romantic gesture could make all the difference in winning a girl. When he saw me, he grinned. “Hi sweetheart. I love you!” he said. “I hope you don’t mind me joining you”. 

“Hello Jeff”, I replied, seeing him there with his luggage by his feet. “I don’t mind at all. As a matter of fact, I could do with some company!” Then he took me in his arms and kissed me with a passion I could not remember. Rome does not change, but I had changed, I thought, as I looked at the man I had spent three happy years with, the man who really loved me without uttering empty words, however romantic they may be.