A sea of love

It had been a difficult but also a very beautiful year. In January, their first son, Giorgio, was born, a beautiful, smiling, affectionate child who was always ready to invent a new game: just give him a saucepan or a spoon, a colander or a pen, and he was overjoyed and began to run around the room shouting and waving his new treasures in the air. No toys were needed to make him happy. Mara had realised that year that true joy is hidden in the simple things and that it is only by gliding lightly over things that one is able to experience them deeply. She felt wiser and more confident, but it had taken many months of crying and physical effort to arrive at this new balance. It had been a year of insomnia, backaches, colds, stress and nervousness for her, because changes are never easy. She had seen her body, so agile and slender before her pregnancy, transform, become stockier and more awkward, and looking in the mirror she could hardly recognise herself.

Dark circles pitilessly furrowed the contours of her eyes and her hair had a duller colour. She felt wiser, certainly, but also much older, and often turned her displeasure at what she saw and heard into nervousness and aggression. There was only one person who kept telling her, every day, how beautiful she was: her husband Michele. Michele was a carabinieri marshal who lived life with sincerity and transparency, always speaking his mind. Raised by sweet and strict parents, he supported her like a rock in the midst of the storm and forgave her all those intemperances and frailties that she herself struggled to accept. "You're lucky, your husband is a great man!" her friends told her in chorus, and she would respond by rolling her eyes and, jokingly, recalling how much time he spent in the bathroom and the condition in which he sometimes left the kitchen after making her something to eat. But in reality there was very little to complain about, Michael was a good man and she knew it. She would not have been able to cope with that demanding year without his extraordinary support, psychological but above all practical, because her husband was the kind of man who changed the baby, remembered the times when vitamins or milk enzymes had to be given, accompanied him to the paediatrician, played with him and when she was tired of breastfeeding, took him in her arms and rocked him to sleep.

Mara often forgot how much effort her husband put into being a father every day, and was foolishly influenced by the constant complaints her friends reserved for their mates, who were constantly accused of not doing enough and of shifting the burden of family management onto them. Sometimes she would latch on to a mistake, a weakness or an oversight on Michael's part to lash out at him and accuse him of the fatigue his body and mind felt, only to regret it shortly afterwards. When had she started to become so unempathetic towards the man she loved more than she could show? What had become of the girl who couldn't wait for the weekend to come so she could escape to the sea on holiday with her husband and fill her hair and eyes with the scent of the sea? In those 12 months she had realised that you can always be reborn and learn from your mistakes. Her body had put her to the test, life itself had put her to the test, asking her to face the greatest challenge of all, that of bringing another human being into the world and taking care of him by becoming his sole and main point of reference. She had performed the task well so far, perhaps paying a high price in terms of stress, but now she was determined to make up for it. Starting with her relationship with Michael, her rock in the middle of the stormy sea.

While she was thinking about these things, on a rainy December afternoon, just a few days before Christmas, her husband came into her room and asked her if she would like some herbal tea with lime honey, 'which is good for the throat and gets rid of colds. You look tired,' he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. Mara had turned and without answering had given him a kiss, throwing her arms around his neck as she had not done in a long time. He had been surprised and widening his eyes had responded with a smile, filling himself with new light. "You're so much prettier when you smile, you know?" he had said looking at her in disbelief. "I'll be back in a moment with the herbal tea." So Mara had taken out her mobile phone and, driven by a sudden desire to do something for him, something beautiful and romantic to repay at least in part all that he did for her every day, had ordered online from the Acqua dell'Elba website a bottle of Eau de Parfum Classica Uomo, with notes of mandarin, lemon and rosemary, created precisely to collect the scent of the sea in a few drops. Their fondest memories were of their weekends in the crystal-clear waters, surrounded by golden beaches and shades of aquamarine green.

The scents of the Mediterranean maquis and of the woods of the sea remained imprinted in her mind for days after each holiday and it was to those fragrances so simple and natural that she linked the deepest sense of her love for Michele, a pure and authentic feeling that went beyond words and mistakes and that lasted indestructible now for almost 10 years. "A small thought for a great man, the man of my life, the first and the last, the only one". She would have written this in the card and presented herself to him with the gift and her hair smelling of hair dressing, foundation, lipstick and above all the most beautiful and sensual accessory: her smile, the jewel he loved most. She couldn't wait for that package to arrive, she knew that the Tuscan company produced high quality products and she was sure he would be happy with that gift. Now it was time to drink her herbal tea, he was calling her. It was raining outside, but the feeling of having done something for him, of having given him something that could express his love better than she could with words, filled her with warmth. It had been a difficult but also a very beautiful year, the year in which she had realised that love is like the sea: an infinite space that requires commitment and respect, and that always offers a new horizon to look at, to reach together. 

 

A sea of love

It had been a difficult but also a very beautiful year. In January, their first son, Giorgio, was born, a beautiful, smiling, affectionate child who was always ready to invent a new game: just give him a saucepan or a spoon, a colander or a pen, and he was overjoyed and began to run around the room shouting and waving his new treasures in the air. No toys were needed to make him happy. Mara had realised that year that true joy is hidden in the simple things and that it is only by gliding lightly over things that one is able to experience them deeply. She felt wiser and more confident, but it had taken many months of crying and physical effort to arrive at this new balance. It had been a year of insomnia, backaches, colds, stress and nervousness for her, because changes are never easy. She had seen her body, so agile and slender before her pregnancy, transform, become stockier and more awkward, and looking in the mirror she could hardly recognise herself. Dark circles pitilessly furrowed the contours of her eyes and her hair had a duller colour. She felt wiser, certainly, but also much older, and often turned her displeasure at what she saw and heard into nervousness and aggression.

There was only one person who kept telling her, every day, how beautiful she was: her husband Michele. Michele was a carabinieri marshal who lived life with sincerity and transparency, always speaking his mind. Raised by sweet and strict parents, he supported her like a rock in the midst of the storm and forgave her all those intemperances and frailties that she herself struggled to accept. "You're lucky, your husband is a great man!" her friends told her in chorus, and she would respond by rolling her eyes and, jokingly, recalling how much time he spent in the bathroom and the condition in which he sometimes left the kitchen after making her something to eat. But in reality there was very little to complain about, Michael was a good man and she knew it. She would not have been able to cope with that demanding year without his extraordinary support, psychological but above all practical, because her husband was the kind of man who changed the baby, remembered the times when vitamins or milk enzymes had to be given, accompanied him to the paediatrician, played with him and when she was tired of breastfeeding, took him in her arms and rocked him to sleep.

Mara often forgot how much effort her husband put into being a father every day, and was foolishly influenced by the constant complaints her friends reserved for their mates, who were constantly accused of not doing enough and of shifting the burden of family management onto them. Sometimes she would latch on to a mistake, a weakness or an oversight on Michael's part to lash out at him and accuse him of the fatigue his body and mind felt, only to regret it shortly afterwards. When had she started to become so unempathetic towards the man she loved more than she could show? What had become of the girl who couldn't wait for the weekend to come so she could escape to the sea on holiday with her husband and fill her hair and eyes with the scent of the sea? In those 12 months she had realised that you can always be reborn and learn from your mistakes. Her body had put her to the test, life itself had put her to the test, asking her to face the greatest challenge of all, that of bringing another human being into the world and taking care of him by becoming his sole and main point of reference. She had performed the task well so far, perhaps paying a high price in terms of stress, but now she was determined to make up for it. Starting with her relationship with Michael, her rock in the middle of the stormy sea. While she was thinking about these things, on a rainy December afternoon, just a few days before Christmas, her husband came into her room and asked her if she would like some herbal tea with lime honey, 'which is good for the throat and gets rid of colds. You look tired,' he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. Mara had turned and without answering had given him a kiss, throwing her arms around his neck as she had not done in a long time. He had been surprised and widening his eyes had responded with a smile, filling himself with new light. "You're so much prettier when you smile, you know?" he had said looking at her in disbelief.

"I'll be back in a moment with the herbal tea." So Mara had taken out her mobile phone and, driven by a sudden desire to do something for him, something beautiful and romantic to repay at least in part all that he did for her every day, had ordered online from the Acqua dell'Elba website a bottle of Eau de Parfum Classica Uomo, with notes of mandarin, lemon and rosemary, created precisely to collect the scent of the sea in a few drops. Their fondest memories were of their weekends in the crystal-clear waters, surrounded by golden beaches and shades of aquamarine green. The scents of the Mediterranean maquis and of the woods of the sea remained imprinted in her mind for days after each holiday and it was to those fragrances so simple and natural that she linked the deepest sense of her love for Michele, a pure and authentic feeling that went beyond words and mistakes and that lasted indestructible now for almost 10 years. "A small thought for a great man, the man of my life, the first and the last, the only one". She would have written this in the card and presented herself to him with the gift and her hair smelling of hair dressing, foundation, lipstick and above all the most beautiful and sensual accessory: her smile, the jewel he loved most. She couldn't wait for that package to arrive, she knew that the Tuscan company produced high quality products and she was sure he would be happy with that gift. Now it was time to drink her herbal tea, he was calling her. It was raining outside, but the feeling of having done something for him, of having given him something that could express his love better than she could with words, filled her with warmth. It had been a difficult but also a very beautiful year, the year in which she had realised that love is like the sea: an infinite space that requires commitment and respect, and that always offers a new horizon to look at, to reach together. 

 

The formidable duo

December had not been an easy month for her in recent years. Ever since her parents passed away, the time of year devoted to lights and family gathering filled her with sadness, reminding her of a reality that was as bitter as it was inescapable: a part of her life was gone and for her, a 45-year-old only child, a new cycle of routines and habits to be broken. Starting with the holidays. The last two Christmases she had spent with her partner's family, surrounded by friendly but unfamiliar relatives, and returning to work in January had been almost a relief. She had therefore welcomed with sincere enthusiasm the arrival of her new colleague, recently hired and destined to share the office with her. "Finally, a breath of fresh air," Marianna had thought as she shook hands with that young and sunny girl. "Nice to meet you, my name is Livia," the other had told her with a smile, and that brief exchange had been enough to make them both feel at ease. Livia came from Tuscany, she had arrived in Milan a few years ago to follow her boyfriend, an engineer at a multinational company. Every morning he sat at his desk and filled the air with a marine, fruity fragrance that Marianna had loved from the start. "It's called Acqua dell'Elba Classica," he had told her. "A perfume that reminds me of summer, of the places of my holidays." A positive spark had been ignited between them: both were quick and precise with the computer, they handled the administration with ease, exchanging advice and comparing notes. After only a few weeks, they were already 'The Formidable Duo' for everyone, and this complicity, which developed so spontaneously and naturally, so quickly, made them a little embarrassed and a little proud. The truth was that, despite the age difference of over ten years, for Marianna, Livia was not just a colleague but a friend, and the feeling was mutual. Every day during their lunch break, the barman waited for them, knowing that the two employees of the company on the third floor would come down and order a coffee and ginseng, consuming them sitting at the table by the window, chatting about this and that. Neither of them had children but both were engaged: they loved travelling, going to the cinema, going out with friends. There was no shortage of arguments, nor was there any shortage of laughter. Observing them, the man wondered if he had ever had the good fortune to converse so easily with someone and the answer he gave himself was no, his friends after a few beers would become annoying and end up discussing politics and war, making him lose the desire to talk. Marianna and Livia, on the other hand, had the gift of levity and moved from one topic to another without ever stumbling into gossip or controversy, and above all - and this was the difficult thing - without ever being superficial. Outside the office they did not meet, each had her own circle of friends, but perhaps - this is what Marianna thought - the beauty of their relationship lay there, in the pleasure of meeting someone every day with whom she could be herself, starting from scratch, without mixing her private life with her work life. Livia knew a lot about her and she knew just as much about Livia, but that divide between 'inside' and 'outside' allowed them both to relax and leave outside the office the burden that daily life inevitably brings. Month after month, December had finally returned, and with it the countdown to Christmas. That year, too, she would be spending it with her partner's family, and the idea of meeting those friendly, less and less unfamiliar relatives landed her less than the year before. Busy decorating the tree and arranging scented candles around the house, she thought back on the year that had just passed, how it had been less sad and melancholic than the previous one, and how the pain of losing her parents had begun to give way to serenity. Her new life, without them, was not so bad: she had a job she liked, a partner she loved, and she was decorating the room with dried flowers and oranges. The fragrance of those compositions reminded her of Livia's perfume, sweet and delicate, like their friendship. It was a perfume that smelled of the sea, of summer, of sunny moments, so indispensable during the greyness of winter. She had realised that if she felt light and purposeful it was thanks to that girl, to the gift of her company, and she felt the need to repay that debt of gratitude with a gift. She had left home and gone to the perfumery, and the next day she had shown up for work a little before her colleague, leaving her a gift on her desk: the Acqua dell'Elba Christmas Note Perfumer, based on orange and jasmine, the notes that filled her dining room. When Livia had arrived and seen the wrapped parcel, she had burst out laughing: "I don't know what you bought me," he told her in his Tuscan accent, “but I have something for you too! Open it on Christmas Day! Take care," he had concluded, placing a small package and a card in her hand. Marianne had waited and unwrapped the thought on Christmas Day itself, between an aunt and a cousin of her companion, reflecting on how nice those people actually were. "Now I open my Tuscan colleague's present, let's see what it is!" she had said aloud amidst everyone's curiosity. Wrapped in a sea-green paper was a bottle of Acqua dell'Elba Arcipelago perfume, with a note: "It's not the same as mine, but it's just as good! Thank you for your beautiful friendship... it is the greatest gift I have received this year".  

Seaflowers

It was still three hours before the plane took off, a trifling amount of time compared to the months she had spent in New York, but which now seemed endless. Three hours, three very long hours, and then the countdown would finally begin. She would sit by the window, in the seat she had chosen herself, not too far in the back, not too far in the middle, place her hand luggage in the overhead compartment and then wait patiently for everyone to take their seats, savouring every moment of the secular and ever-changing ceremony that was the departure of an international flight. She would have carefully observed the safety instructions, fastened her seat belt and then closed her eyes. At the moment of take-off she would have held her breath, savouring the vertigo that each time enveloped her from head to toe as one does with strong, delicious flavours: wasabi, chilli, ginger. She would have thought of her mother, of her cold hands spreading sun cream on her in summer, of her father, of the patience with which he helped her make sandcastles as a child, and of her brother, who, to make her forget the disappointments of love, took her on a Vespa to breathe in the scent of the sea.

She would chase away her fear by embracing all three of them with memories: the plane would reach the highest point in the sky, the engines would be silent again, the commander's voice would wish everyone a safe journey. And she would suddenly feel happy. She looked forward to holding her family close and perhaps, she thought, she could cheat those long three hours by buying them a Christmas present. The hustle and bustle of the Big Apple and the responsibilities imposed by the Master's programme had distracted her from anything but her studies, shopping had taken a back seat. For six months, her days had followed a docile and linear path, made up of routines and pleasant moments, which she would certainly remember happily and forever. Breakfast at the café downstairs, with long coffee and cinnamon bagels, waiting in the underground with his favourite music in his ears, the walk to the entrance of Columbia University, surrounded by red and golden yellow leaves.

And then the gardens, the English-style brick buildings, the small, warm study room, the friendly classmates from all over the States and the rest of the world. She was not alone, she had never felt lonely: New York had welcomed her in the best possible way, helping her find a good room, good teachers, good friends. But the light of her country home in Tuscany, the chaos of lunches with relatives on Sundays, the pressure of her dog's paws pointing at her chest, the smell of her mother's meat sauce, the noise her father made tinkering with tools in the garage: all this, she had to admit, she missed, she missed every day, and of this attachment she was also a little ashamed. "Am I a simpleton? A mama's boy incapable of detaching himself from his family?" she had asked herself. Then, during one of her long afternoons of study, taking her eyes off the book and onto the glass, she had found the answer.

A billboard asked passers-by: "Why do you seek paradise elsewhere, when it is already inside you?". He does not remember what the sign advertised, but the message had arrived. He had a joyful family, extraordinary in its simplicity. What harm was there in missing them? Two more hours separated her from her departure; it was time for the presents. She had grown up by the sea but New York had taught her that even snow can be romantic and help you create your own imaginary world, made up of muffled stories consumed in the warmth of a fireplace or in the warm light of a candle. She would have brought some of that atmosphere home, buying a bottle of Acqua dell'Elba Christmas Notes Room Perfumer, with notes of orange, mandarin, honey and cinnamon. A gift for the whole family, to share with relatives on Christmas Day. But that was not enough.

Her parents had paid for that Master's degree, giving her a dream, and her brother had supported her throughout the preparatory phase, when she studied day and night to pass the admission tests. She wanted to say thank you to them, to show them how much they were the backbone of her life. She had fully understood it during that very trip: one day she would become someone, a bright future awaited her, but they would forever be her irreplaceable team. She would get her brother an Eau de Parfum Sport Acqua dell'Elba, with lemon, bergamot and pepper scent, and her father an Eau de Parfum Essenza Uomo Acqua dell'Elba, with grapefruit, sea rockrose and sage. The sea, which had seen them grow and play, would be a beautiful witness to their Christmas. And to his mother, the reference point of everything, the most important island of the archipelago, he would instead give the Eau de Parfum Arcipelago Donna, with the fruity notes of lemon, mandarin and apricot. That velvety hand that spread the cream and tenderly embraced her, that soft neck in which to sink when life was too hard, would from now on have a special perfume: that of the sea and its wild flowers, those that blossom in the sand and follow you with their thoughts wherever you go, even when you move away, even when you sink your feet into the snow, filling you with beauty and courage, forever.