Corrections on the title won't be accepted, since I spent 2 hours to decide what the right form was. And if the endings are random, the thought is what counts.
The day begins talking about funerals. No, it's not fault of my ancestral pessimism or of the snowstorm or some other tragedy, but only of intercultural exchanges between me and Toy, the Japanese. Because if in Italy there's a monotonous Catholic monotheism, in Japan they have more imagination and freedom of thought. In fact, almost all of them are Buddhists. And they dress in black and white (red and yellow are the colors of Tibetan), and watch the corpse all night eating sushi in the company (of the dead, of course). Then they cremate him and make the funeral at the temple. You spend a King's ransom (or better, a Buddha's ransom) for flowers, coffin, urn, and name. Yes, the name. Because when someone dies, they're assigned a new name. It's the monk to decide the name, according to the money he's been given. Then we talk about privacy, spirituality and mafia behavior. Ever heard of protection money?!
But the day doesn't end here, in fact I'm invited to a concert in a church in Christmas theme, with music by Monteverdi, Palestrina, Vivaldi. Ma' has no doubts: "Vivaldi?! Of course, they'll play the Four Seasons!" No. It 's a Christmas concert. And in fact they are two hours of magnum mysterium, lullaby (as if I needed it...), ode a te probo vir, and then Vivaldi: Magnificat and Salve Regina. Help. I had never been to an Anglican church... or rather, never except as a tourist. The ceilings are high, OK. Seatings on the benches are strictly for 3 or 4, which you can tell by the number of prayer books in the prayer-books-holder. Books have not only text, but also the score of the songs, how professional. The pews are hard as all the pews, and next to the books there are tickets to be put in the offertory "I'm not giving cash because I already support this church with Visa or Mastercard". Oh. Speaking of privacy, the supporters are listed at the end of the concert's booklet... starting from the most generous down to the least, but is that normal?! The church is decorated with Christmas lights and Christmas trees, and after some minutes I understand what's weird: we don't have garlands, or perhaps one under the statues of saints, and the tree is a pagan decoration, for goodness sake! On the other hand, we have miles of cribs. Finally the concert begins, and I am surprised to like it ... more or less. But being surrounded by slumbering spectators when not sound asleep, I'm delighted by my stamina. And I ask myself technical questions: why that unknown instrument, the theorbo, is so long and unwieldy? The soprano improvises her trilling or Vivaldi had written, "On the lu of hallelujah trill 7 times A-G-A-F-E-C-B sharp"? The Mystery of the Faith wasn't the death and resurrection of Christ (which among other things, to explain it to Toy this story seems an episode of Twilight)? So why the magnum mysterium of Palestrina is summarized in the fact that it was mysteriously allowed to an ox and a donkey to see our Lord? I'm confused, what a mystery. During the break, the Sleeping Spectator wakes up because of the applause and with perfect nonchalance turns to me and begins to comment on the technical aspects of the choir ... you were sleeping, what do you know????! But I appreciate him as one of the few Canadians -if not the only one- starting a completely random conversation with no ulterior motives. He tells me about the Christmas Carols, which are really a tradition here, with the singers who used to go door to door singing.
After the concert, with a well-wishing "Goodbye, stay warm" of my new friend, I decide to ignore him and take a brisk walk. With a temperature of -5°, that with the wind feels just -12°. And the flying ice -because if it doesn't snow how do they say? Icerains?- whipping my face while I admire the megavillas behind my house. Finally I get home and I take refuge under the blanket, in the warmth. Thank God... or thank the heating.
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