The (neverthe)joy of life…thinking by an Apulian Architect
Architect's Easter
As many of you know, or can vaguely imagine, especially you friends and relatives of this supernatural human, the Architect's Easter is certainly different from any other Easter experienced by a Lawyer, Accountant or, I am sorry to say, by an Engineer. In turn, it is slightly intuible that the Architect's Easter itself is different from all the other Holy Holidays, because the temporal dilation of this Easter occasion, between the "couple of days" and "the whole week", makes it uncertain even the most resilient among us: that sense of existential uncertainty is instilled that oscillates between "today I swear I'll close the studio early" and "but no, I absolutely have to deliver everything before midnight on Saturday evening".
I'll explain specifically how our Holy Week evolves, or Holy Week, depending on the desperate cases:
HOLY THURSDAY:
On this day dedicated by mere mortals to the Holy Sepulchres, the architect is still in his office, with the trusty company of that mischievous eagerness to save that accursed file every 10 minutes, full of furniture blocks in CAD format. If we then find ourselves in the case of associated studies, we witness the true psychological defeat of the Architect, who assists helplessly as the lawyer from the next room leaves for the sea or the mountains, while his accountant closes the last paperwork with one hand , firmly gripping that backpack in the other in view of the trip organized 3 months earlier. The Architect's Holy Thursday continues until the usual late hour and, just before turning off the PC, his last thought is to check the weather forecast for the next few days, while a tutorial on how to perform the dance is shot on the PC screen of the rain.
Because Architects are like this, sweetly foresighted.
HOLY FRIDAY:
The architect continues his professional routine on a regular basis, heading to work as always, promising himself to close the pending works of the last few days and avoid the unexpected on the construction site with a feline snap. And then that phone call arrives, the phone ringing takes on a horror tinge à la “Dario Argento levate proprio”: it is the blacksmith who asks for a further full-scale executive of that iron canopy…”Architè by today”. The architect is thrilled, he would like to memorize all the name days of the 365 days of the calendar, but he doesn't do it out of respect for the religious holiday. He then concentrates on maintaining a joyful tone, even shouting a sincere "Happy Easter 'u mest!", already imagining 9 pm on Good Friday amidst drawings of bolts and improbable IPE120.
What superheroes, these Architects!
HOLY SATURDAY:
Finally the weekend has arrived. Expectations are skyrocketing, finally zero worries. The architect would like to stay calm, sleep until 11.30 and indulge in an English-style brunch, but the habit of this nocturnal being awakens him from the arms of Morpheus as early as 7.30, leading him to look at the ceiling of his bedroom, as if it were the vault of the Sistine Chapel. The rest of the morning rushes by in the house and the architect drags himself from one room to another sighing an "I forgot what I was doing" or "why did I enter the kitchen?". What extravagant beings we are. In the afternoon, the architect's brain lights up immensely and he suddenly remembers that he has not yet taken the Easter egg for his beloved partner (all beings candidates for sanctification soon, let's face it). And there he is, running to the first supermarket he finds to make up for it, a couple of slaloms between the grandmother who puts the minced meat for Sunday's Bolognese in the trolley and the child who improvises himself as spider man to get the pandistelle and the game is fact: all he can find, however, is an egg, a discount brand from the Middle East, on offer for €3.99, he thinks it will do just fine.
What extraordinary humans, Architects.
EASTER DAY:
It's finally Easter and the primary objective that comes to the architect's mind is one and only one: to survive lunch with relatives. Defining it lunch, then, would not be entirely correct: it is a sort of galactic black hole, where the concept of time and space fail and shirt buttons fly like shooting stars on the night of San Lorenzo. After a liter of tavernello, a triple round of limoncello and having glimpsed two reflections of himself in the mirror, the architect is pointed at by the classic aunt on duty and made the protagonist of a long debate, which always has the same sad epilogue: " So, when are you getting married?”. With a feline snap, the architect diverts any suspicion of embarrassment with courtly arguments, such as "peace in the world", while cleverly filling his aunt's glass with more limoncello to stun the enemy and gain 3 minutes of well-deserved respite. Exhausted, the architect then comes across, almost by chance, in the famous cousin, who improvises Renzo Piano to confuse his opponent, thus hoping for a 99.9% discount for the mega room set up the night before. during the Pasquale mass, and naively passed off as a trivial "technical room", perhaps of a building, thinks the architect. At that point of the day, the architect, who planned to dedicate a few hours of his Easter holidays to physical activity to get back in shape, finds himself 2 kg gained, positive for the alcohol test and with triglycerides over the limit (and Easter Monday is still missing).
The mood of a lifetime: I can't do it!
EASTER MONDAY:
On Easter Monday, the architect cannot escape the traditional out-of-town trip. Tradition punctually denied by rain, lightning and thunder that are unleashed without pity. Then the situation took place with yet another and eternal lunch, this time with friends. In reality, the architect loves being behind the stove and, indeed, thinks that this is just the right day to show off his ace up his sleeve, that is an unspeakable first aphrodisiac, a recipe rigorously stolen from Benedetta, to amaze all his friends. The delicacies that come out are a triumph for the eyes and a challenge to all the laws of gravity, i.e. improbable first courses that transform into solid New York skyscrapers, made of ravioli with gorgonzola and a mysterious sauce that shamelessly acts as a mortar, to compact the whole. After the epic lunch, we proceed to the classic walk made "to digest". The architect, who in the previous days and due to the aforementioned well-known vicissitudes had neither the time nor the strength to oppose such an incautious proposal, accepts what remains of Easter Monday with resignation. That's when he spends the last 6 hours of the day in traffic, squeezed in the back seat belting out Blanco's last song, losing the two crumbs of dignity he has left. In the evening, exhausted, the architect has back pain, as if he had drawn 12 consecutive hours on the drawing board, and is as nervous as when the inspectorate arrives at the construction site in unsuspecting times.
What a supernatural human the Architect!
TUESDAY IN ALBIS:
On Tuesday the architect remembered that he only had to finish some useless reports for a delivery to be made for the next day. Extremely tired and exhausted, he thinks he's living a dream when he's still in bed at 9.30. Then, from the darkness of his bedroom, he realizes that the unusual peace is due only to the battery of his cell phone, which is also exhausted. He has an instinctive and masochistic jolt that leads him to look for the power cable, feeling on the bedside table. Then, as if illuminated by a sudden wisdom and having exhausted all vital force, he sinks his head dead weight on the pillow, giving himself yet another 10 minutes of "holiday".
Well yes, they are wonderful, these Architects.
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Article author:
Semeraro Simona
Architect | Interior Designer