In those years there is not much prosperity.
The wardrobe is reduced to the essential.
I have a party dress that my mother bought at the Mercerie from the "elegant child".
Mrs. Nella is the owner of the shop.
Plump little girl with chubby cheeks; as soon as we cross the front door, he welcomes us with a dazzling smile.
Strange, I think, he has never seen us before and he seems to have known us all along.
Shopkeepers must always be nice to customers if it is better that they change jobs.
"I would like a dress for this child's confirmation" asks my mother.
"This prince of Wales is very good to be a beautiful child" mentions the lady In waving her golden bracelets under my nose and clinking the hanging amulets, drawing my attention.
In two seconds, Mrs. Rosa has framed us and served us just right because the gray-style dress I really like very much.
When we return to the bar my father is satisfied with the purchase of that new dress: "It takes a good hair. Goes to Tofani "he suggests smiling.
Tofani is a bar customer who has been selling Borsalino hats for a lifetime in a shop located at the foot of the Rialto Bridge.
"Look how beautiful a child" Tofani repeats to me when we arrive.
Surely it was forewarned by my father who explained that he needed a new hat for ometo.
The saleswoman, seeing that we are friends of the owner, accentuates the natural dowry of courtesy of the Venetian shopkeepers, traders who have always been accustomed to compliment those who buy their goods.
"Here I am shooting a beautiful hair," he says with a twenty-four-toothed smile.
When he opens his mouth it looks like a beaver and I have to put a hand in front of my face to hide an expression of ungraceful teasing.
He pulls out a not very wide-brimmed hat from the shelves, which he instinctively caresses from the side of the hair with a black velvet brush.
It is gray and fits in with the newly purchased Prince of Wales dress.
It is love at first sight.
It is certainly not a sign of exaggerated consumerism, we are buying the things that are strictly necessary.
The only sign of luxury in the family is a black Balilla.
For Venice owning a car is a great luxury especially if you do not use it for work - but certainly you do not sail in gold. The car is sometimes used on Sundays.
It's always a big party to go around with the Balilla.
Leaving the island crossing the Liberty Bridge is always an emotion. It is a matter of breaking a siege, of winning that laziness that leads to a certain isolation inherent in the structure of the city.
The father in the rare days of rest that you take, especially in winter when the Bar works less, takes us for a walk in the car for the Veneto countryside to have a snack in the taverns.
During the war - he participated in the Russian campaign - he was a truck driver.
Driving for him is not a problem. Venetian motorists are always ready to make fun of the Venetians for their lack of driving ability due to the fact that they drive little if they do not use the car for work.
My father's driving style is safe and prevents joking comments.
Usually the purpose of the trip is the search for taverns that serve some particular snack, perhaps based on sopressa or fried cod.
The father looks for those who offer a good glass of clinton. His favorite half is from "Sporco" in Treviso.
It is nice to immerse yourself in the green of the Via del Terraglio breathe a bit of scent of grass and maybe stop somewhere in the countryside to see, in spring, the fields that start to sprout.
The snack is a typical way to end in joy a day of vacation based on cicheti, fritata, hard eggs, fried cod, creamed or Vicentine if you add a plate of sopressa the snack is perfect. Eating and drinking is easy for my father to socialize with other customers of the local who want to participate in their stories or their jokes to spend time in the company.
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