The year kicked off with the announcement of FediMeteo and the warm, enthusiastic response it received.

I participated as a speaker in three conferences, all of them exceptional:

• OSDay 2025 - which brought me back to beautiful Florence after many years. I met fantastic people and learned a lot, stepping out of my "bubble." I spoke about BSD to many people who had never even heard of it.
• BSDCan 2025 - which took me to the American continent for the first time. I saw old friends and finally met new ones in person (people I had been in contact with online for years, but never face-to-face). I saw the city of Ottawa and experienced, at least in part, its atmosphere. I truly hope to go back soon. It was a fantastic event with wonderful people that made me feel at home, even if I was almost "halfway across the world". Chatting with the president of the NetBSD Foundation at the final reception and discovering a shared childhood passion (the Amiga) was the icing on the cake.
• EuroBSDCon 2025 - Zagreb is stunning, but the best part was being part of another marvelous event. Seeing some people again after a year, others after just a few months, and meeting many new friends. Strengthening bonds with people I’d stayed in touch with after Dublin was an unforgettable experience. Participating in the FreeBSD dev summit and Eurobhyvecon, then eating pizza in a random spot in Zagreb with one of my favorite authors is something I’ll never forget.

Unfortunately, I had to decline an invitation to a conference I would have loved to attend, but sometimes life chooses for you.

I met a friend in person in Bologna (something I really cared about), and we spent an unforgettable day together.

I reconnected with old friends and former neighbors; we got together for dinner several times, culminating in a trip to our favorite amusement park. After so many years, it was as if nothing had changed - sharing a truly memorable experience.

I launched a few projects, including BSSG and the illumos Cafe, as well as new services for the BSD Cafe. I handed out many stickers - though never enough; someone always misses out.

On the work front, I started new projects, closed others, gained a few great clients, and let go of a couple I couldn't wait to part with.

Thanks to some fantastic people who indirectly gave me the idea, I resumed writing on my personal blog. And thanks to one person who pushed and encouraged me, I started writing more than just my usual tech rants or technical articles; I’ve started sharing parts of my life and my memories.

I’ve eaten many pizzas, drunk many coffees, and had a few tiramisus. But mostly, I've met fantastic human beings who made me feel optimistic and gave me the energy to keep going with all of this. The world is full of negative noise emitted by a few, but fortunately, there are many positive figures who often remain in silence.

For all of this, I have to say thank you to the fantastic communities of BSD Cafe, illumos Cafe, and the general communities surrounding these great operating systems. They are the ones who pushed me forward and make me feel excited every morning about what a new day will bring. The positive atmosphere I breathed among these people - never as an outsider, but always as an old friend - was exactly the oxygen I needed in this phase of my life.

And I must thank (dulcis in fundo) my wife: she supports me, accompanies me, and pushes me. She is a special person in every possible way.

I wish you all a wonderful 2026, in the hope that the world stops spinning toward the spiral of madness it has been caught in lately and brings more positivity to everyone. The plan already includes:

• Many more pizzas.
• Many more tiramisus.
• Coffee.
• A wedding we've been invited to and will happily attend.
• Conferences - I won't waste any more time; I want to experience that atmosphere as much as possible, with my usual Smile(TM).
• Writing a lot - both on the tech blog and the personal one - and more (spoiler).
• Meeting friends and making new ones. Friendship isn't about geographical proximity; it’s about mental affinity. Even if we think differently. Even if we are worlds apart.
• Making my wife happy.
• Remaining the BSD, illumos, and Fediverse Barista (and meteorologist), trying to bring constructiveness and positivity to the world.

I hope we'll share a bit of this journey called life together. Just as we are sharing it now, through these words. Thank you to each and every one of you - because thanks to you, my life is better.

And that is why, on these evenings, my wife and I often go out. A stroll, savoring the lights, the colors, the sounds, and the scents that we have always, inextricably, linked to summer.

On Friday evening, one of these venues was playing music, with a great many people dancing. We, on our stroll, stopped to watch. People of all ages, strangers to one another, but united by the same feeling: the desire to relax, to have fun, together.

We stood and watched for a while, entertained by the music, by the constant, pungent smell of toasted bread, of cotton candy, by the sound of corks, deftly removed from bottles. By the contagion of the laughter and the movements (often clumsy, but spontaneous) of the people taking part. By life itself.

Suddenly, the music stops, to everyone's amazement. A few seconds of silence. The gazes of strangers meet. Everyone asks the same question, beyond any language barrier. Suddenly: "Is there a doctor here?". Silence again. The gazes, now, are worried and frightened. Those who did not understand the question, understood the atmosphere. No one steps forward. That silence, at that point, seemed as if it would never end.

A murmur begins. A young woman had felt unwell. "She's a young woman with cognitive disabilities - she had an epileptic seizure". Once again, worried and silent glances, yet deafening in their intensity. Passersby begin to draw closer, curious. Interminable moments.

And yet, in a few seconds, something happens. All the 'dancers' join together. They form a circle, their backs to the young woman in distress. Protection. They did not organize themselves; it happened instinctively.

Many took out their smartphones, but for one purpose: to call the emergency services immediately. No photos, no videos, no attempt to sensationalize the moment. Composure, respect. Protection. The paramedics arrive, and the wall opens and closes again.

After a few minutes, the young woman is accompanied by a friend toward her hotel. Visibly confused and frightened, she was nonetheless doing better. The paramedics, as they left, reassured everyone: "She's going to be fine. It was just a bad quarter of an hour".

The group disperses, each person returning to their own table. Without another word, without another glance.

The First Story

My grandmother was born into a peaceful and economically stable family. They weren't rich, but they lived well. Her grandfather had a textile business that produced specific garments for the Vatican. Her father was a cultured person, intelligent and passionate about technology (I wonder where I got that characteristic from!). He collaborated in the family business, but was also a stationmaster and wrote for some local newspapers. Very active and appreciated in the community. In the early 1900s, he also had a small photography workshop, and many historical photos and postcards of important events were taken by him. For this reason, we have many photos of my grandmother, born in 1920, as a child. Some with her gramophone, which she adored - like many little girls of that era. Many of these photos, unfortunately, have been lost.

When fascism took power in Italy, my great-grandfather was immediately contacted and "advised" that he would have to join the party and write articles aligned with the system. His father was essentially forced (under penalty of losing work contracts with the Vatican itself) and, although reluctant, accepted. He did not. He decided not to openly oppose them, but believed that period was an anomaly that, in his opinion, wouldn't last long. Things, however, went differently.

He was "disowned" by his father (at least publicly) and penalized - the most barbaric and violent part of the community (those who saw him as "successful" and modern) couldn't wait to turn against him. His wife, my grandmother's mother, died very young (I don't know exactly why), but he, as a loving father, still took care of his children with the help of his sister-in-law.

I still remember my grandmother's eyes when, very few times in her life, she told about her family's "night of broken glass". The sun had set a few hours earlier and her father was still at work because some trains had been delayed (so much for those who say trains were always on time back then), so he hadn't come home. As always happened in these cases, his sister-in-law was at home watching the children - my grandmother and her brothers, who were already in bed. She heard knocking and, looking out from a small hidden window, saw a group of men dressed in dark clothes. They were shouting my great-grandfather's name. She understood immediately, ran to the children's room and made them hide under the beds, where she also hid to stay with them.

The thugs broke down the door and began searching. They wanted to give him "a lesson" and, not finding him, decided to break everything they found. Plates, glasses, objects of every kind - both from the house and the children's belongings. They tore clothes, kicked tables and chairs, threw pots on the ground to bend and break them. Unheard-of violence. My grandmother still recounted, with terror in her eyes, those moments. The sound of all their things on the ground, broken and destroyed by the violence of these people. When they entered the bedroom, they saw the children's beds still unmade and thought they had fled. They "limited" themselves to breaking my grandmother's gramophone and the photos of my great-grandmother - the only memory these children had of their mother, who had died recently.

Then they left, saying they would go look for him at the station. To avoid being seen, my grandmother's aunt decided to climb out a back window and run to warn her brother-in-law - but this window was so narrow that, to manage to get through, she injured herself all over (my grandmother remembered the blood) and hurt her shoulder badly. She managed, however, by running, to reach the station before them, and my great-grandfather took refuge, hiding inside a stationary train on a secondary track.

The next day he went to file a report. The local authorities collected the complaint casually and advised him to "understand what times were underway and behave accordingly". The podestà, the highest municipal position in those times, was a close relative of his, but this was of no help.

He died very young - probably, it was said, of brain cancer, but the suspicion of poisoning always remained deeply rooted in many people's minds. My grandmother was orphaned at 15. Some years later, one brother had died, the other was at war. She was alone. She, of extreme intelligence and culture, who associated with the most educated people in the area and dreamed of studying Medicine at university, found herself with distant relatives, not even very kind ones, and with nothing.

My grandfather treated her exemplarily, recognizing her intelligence, culture, and abilities. He was a baker, but felt honored to be beside this woman so beautiful and intelligent, cultured and refined. And she always acknowledged this, thanking him. But she could never forget that everything she was, everything she had, was destroyed in a few years. Her family, devastated. Her dreams, erased. And she didn't tell everything, of this I'm certain. And I will never forget her eyes when she told about all this.

The Second Story

The second story concerns another member of my family, but I won't give further details for privacy reasons. He was a farmer and owned land.

He was a young man who had been orphaned very early. He had sisters who were still very young and his mother, but for various reasons, they couldn't provide concrete work contribution, so he found himself managing everything alone and very, very young. He had the intelligence to understand that he couldn't make it alone and, as was customary in those times, decided to get help from sharecropper families. He, however, was careful but positive, so he gave these people much more than the law itself provided. A few years ago, for example, we met a person who, as soon as he learned of our family connection to this man, told us that his grandparents had been sharecroppers for this gentleman. When their daughter (this man's mother) reached school age (and wanted to study), he said that for the entire duration of the daughter's studies, he wouldn't demand his share, to help the family support her. This person managed to study, graduate and fulfill herself, to the point that she named her son after this gentleman. We had never known this; he had never told anyone. Because those who do good from the heart don't need to tell everyone about it. But anyone who dealt with him knew how good he was.

They were small country villages and there were people who, out of attitude or envy, spoke badly of this gentleman and his family, seeing them as "rich", but they weren't, since they shared much more than necessary with those who worked with them. Not to mention other private reasons and historical dynamics that further reinforced this perception.

When fascism arrived, the village was small and this gentleman tried not to get dragged in. He had an "elderly" mother, sisters still quite young and, despite being of the right age, hadn't married yet. He was absorbed in work, in not going to ruin, and in creating a future for his sisters and for the families who helped him. Even as the years passed, he was focused on the hard daily life, worried about feeding the people he cared about. He therefore didn't join fascism and didn't enlist with the partisans, continuing to work.

Given his condition as fatherless and his role, he wasn't obliged to leave for war and thus managed to continue maintaining a dignified standard of living both for himself and for the families who collaborated with him. For the local anti-fascists, this was "clear proof that he had connections in the party, otherwise he would have gone with the others". Gossips, from whatever political side they may be, always know how to find something to cling to.

When the war ended, in that area there was a strong retaliation against those who had been fascists. In the case of this gentleman, there was no direct attack since, in fact, he had never been one, but that sense of "retaliation" always remained because he hadn't left for war and hadn't enlisted with the partisans - and people who disliked him tried to take advantage of the situation to "punish" him. Specifically (and I have the document that proves it), some of them became politicians and municipal officials. The post-war demographic expansion had generated quite significant growth in the village, and new constructions had become necessary to house the new families.

There was already a law that required a certain amount of public green space for every certain number of inhabitants. That law, over the years, has been further strengthened, but it was already in effect. When this gentleman realized they had made buildable and contracted out (to companies that, it would later be discovered, were connected to cooperatives doubly linked to these officials) the construction of entire buildings right at the border of his land and without any public green space around them, he immediately asked for clarification at city hall: he didn't understand the point of this encirclement. They reassured him because, they told him (and I've seen the related documentation), "in an emergency they could waive that law" and, to prevent the village from expanding too much, they could designate another area as public green space, as long as it was in the same municipality, even if kilometers away. He was reassured but not entirely convinced.

Construction began and finished. Families moved in, and the gentleman received a notice: a summons to city hall. Obviously he went and, to his surprise (but not too much), they informed him that they had built "too much" and needed to create a public park and other "public utility buildings", having reached the critical mass of citizenship for those buildings. They therefore asked for the possibility of purchasing the gentleman's land or, "in case of refusal", to expropriate it. He was stunned: selling was impossible - there was his house, his tools, and the families who worked it. The proposed price, moreover, was insufficient to cover the purchase of another piece of land, cutting off a good part of his family's subsistence (he had another, smaller piece of land not far away). But he positioned himself positively and constructively, trying to find solutions that would be acceptable to everyone, while emphasizing that they had deceived him from the beginning. There was no way to discuss it. This gentleman, no longer very young but not elderly either (a little older than I am today), fell into total anxiety. So severe that he had a serious heart attack, coming close to death. The doctors told him he would have to rest, but he couldn't. He was trying to save the situation. A meeting was scheduled that he tried to postpone, but the officials were inflexible: "if you can't come to us, we'll come to your house". And so it was. When he, still recovering from the heart attack, tried to make a few small observations about how there were other (uncultivated) lands and space to use, the official shouted, "Listen, stop it. You fascists must be stripped of all your assets. If you don't give it to us willingly, we'll take it by force, that is, through expropriation!" He was dumbfounded. Okay, this official was one of those "sitting at the bar talking badly about people who work", but it seemed absurd that after so many years, there was still this (unfounded) accusation of fascism. It was useless that everyone in the village knew this person was foreign to such dynamics. This was the spirit of these people, those who "sat at the bar and envied those who worked". Years later, it would be discovered that in those parts (and not only) many were accused of fascism for the sole purpose of appropriating their assets. But at the time, calling someone a fascist was enough to put them in the public pillory, even without any proof or evidence. And many people, for their own gain, presented themselves as "anti-fascist" solely and exclusively to ride the benefits of the time.

The procedures went forward, so quickly that an expropriation authorization document arrived. Upon seeing the document, this gentleman became so upset that he remained locked in his room for two days, not even having the strength to get out of bed. Then came the final, fatal heart attack.

I'll stop here. I'll only say that, given the "unexpected" event, they managed to hastily organize the execution of the expropriation within 48 hours (incredible timing, in Italy), to carry it out during this person's funeral, convinced that all relatives would be absent. One of them, at the end of the funeral, went to the site of the expropriation and saw the official, with a satisfied smirk, boasting about how he "had taken the land" from this person during his funeral.

Years later the truth would come out: they had built too much, maximizing the builder's profit (a cooperative whose members were, strangely enough, the former "bar chatterers"). In this way, they had cashed in while passing the burden of public green space and services onto this gentleman. For the expropriation of his house, he was awarded a sum comparable to what one would pay today for a mid-level laptop computer.

And the expropriated land? Today it lies uncultivated, almost abandoned. After all, it served no other purpose than to "comply with a law". Public documents today prove this. But many years have passed and all the actors are deceased. In the name of anti-fascism, they plundered a family of honest, correct, and altruistic people.

Conclusion

A man of culture destroyed by fascist violence. A generous man annihilated by the hypocrisy of those who claimed to be anti-fascist. This legacy makes me a convinced anti-fascist, but also a fierce opponent of anyone who, under any banner, uses ideology to crush others. This is why respect for life, freedom, and the dignity of every person are the non-negotiable foundation of my worldview, and this, in turn, I transmit to all my activities.

There was an entire generation, at least in Italy, that benefited from a period of extreme, surreal prosperity. So surreal, in fact, that it eventually imploded on itself. Of course, not all of them. Many worked hard and with foresight. But I'm talking about the system that allowed and encouraged these dynamics, a system that created a fairytale-like expectation of eternal growth and well-being.

I'm talking about the "Boomers", the generation between 60 and 80 years old. They were born after the Second World War into a society that was poor and devastated but in constant growth. They benefited from reckless policies that assumed constant, infinite growth in both GDP and population. They enjoyed rights and privileges that we can only dream of today, but which, for many of them, might as well still exist.

Salaries were good, and interest rates on savings were so high that in just a few years, you could afford things that are completely unthinkable now. I think of my grandfather, a baker (an employee, not the owner), who in a handful of years managed to buy both his main home and a small house by the sea. He was careful with his money, but not obsessively so, and managed it well. Double-digit interest rates on savings, relatively low prices. Today, someone in his same position couldn't even dream of affording a decent rent. My grandfather was savvy, and he was able to benefit from an era of growth and economic optimism.

My next-door neighbor? She retired at 38 (and that's not even one of the worst examples), having worked for only 3 years. She paid to have her university years count toward her pension, had five (or six, I don't remember) children, and took every possible leave she was entitled to, including for her kids. She's almost 80 now and has been enjoying her pension for 41 years—and who knows for how many more. An unsustainable system, but back then, the thinking was that we'd be numerous and all rich. A policy that was perhaps too optimistic, perhaps short-sighted - or perhaps, simply, indifferent to the consequences of its decisions. And this is the world whose crumbling foundations we, the forty-somethings of today, have inherited. Because the debts incurred back then are being paid by us today, diminishing our purchasing power and our quality of life.

Indeed, today we live in a society where adult children, under the same conditions, are poorer than their parents. We have fewer services, less protection, and fewer opportunities for growth. A worrying international situation, a pandemic not entirely behind us (at least economically), and a political landscape that has completely changed. Many of them, thankfully, understand this - they realize they lived most of their lives in a society that, yes, had its problems but was optimistic, growing, and full of opportunities. They are worried about the future and, where possible, they try to help (not just financially, but even morally) the generations that follow.

Others, however, seem to remain entrenched in their golden world. In their 1970s or '80s convictions, in their general mindset, in their social checklist where, to be "good", you have to achieve a series of goals. Goals that might have been valid back then (though, in my opinion, often so loaded with hypocrisy as to be almost disgusting with today's hindsight) but are now, for many, nearly unreachable. But they don't get it, and they look upon the younger generations almost with disdain, seeing them as incapable (in their words) of matching their achievements.

I look at the new generations with affection. I think about how I, a forty-five-year-old, experienced the beauty of Europe's falling borders, the golden age of low-cost air travel, that euphoria of feeling like citizens of the world. Of a world, or at least a Europe, that was becoming closer, more accessible. Wonderful. For the new generations, the world is already different: the specter of new wars on the horizon (and not so far away), of internal societal problems mismanaged by short-sighted politics that, over time, are becoming true social blights. Take healthcare, for example. Italy has always had (and in many parts of the country, still has) a first-rate healthcare system. But things have become much more complex, waiting times are getting longer, hospitals are closing. Yes, closing: because in those golden years, for electoral reasons, "full-service" hospitals were opened in every town and village - because it all brought jobs and votes. Many, in those years, believed that the growth of bureaucracy and public facilities, at least in certain areas, was a way to create jobs and win votes. Today, those retiring public servants are not being replaced - but the bureaucracy is still there, holding back development.

The new generations see an uncertain, bleaker world with very few certainties. They will adapt - the young are brilliant at that - but it's not a good thing.

Returning to the opening question, my answer is always the same: "Nowhere. Or maybe a few days somewhere. The servers don't stop, and frankly, I'd go into withdrawal without being able to connect to them. We'll take a few interesting day trips, here and there, based on the time we have." My answer is a summary of our times: the 'summer-long holiday' is a conceptual luxury, even before it's a financial one. It's an answer that merges my professional reality with a broader economic truth: a 'villeggiatura' (a prolonged seasonal vacation, traditionally involving relocating from the city for weeks or months) as they understand it - weeks on end - would impact a modern family's budget so substantially as to be virtually unsustainable. But for the person asking, it's almost incomprehensible. Their expression remains the same: that of someone who has always believed that in summer, everyone goes on holiday - or rather, on villeggiatura - for at least a month. Because that's how it worked in the '80s: everything shut down, especially in August, and entire families would relocate for weeks to their vacation spots. They still think the world is like that, that it hasn't changed, except when I point out that these days, only certain privileged retirees can afford to do that (because many of them have pensions so high we can only dream of them, they stopped working so young they can enjoy life for many years, and they have enough financial resources to afford a month-long vacation that is prohibitive for younger people today) - a fact confirmed by a quick look at the average age of people in these places.

But, as punctual as a TV segment on what to do during a summer heatwave, the same question returns the following year: "So, where are you going on vacation this year?"

This isn't a BSDCan report, but a general reflection that emerged after participating in the event itself. There's the event, but there's me inside it.

The first question I received, when I went to greet the BSD community present in the days before the conference (there for the FreeBSD dev summit and tutorials) was asked by someone I deeply respect and admire, extremely active and positive for the entire BSD world. "Where have you been for the last 20 years?"

Off the cuff, I replied that I'd been busy doing things, but the truth (which I clarified the next day) is that I didn't feel ready to be an "active" member of the community itself. And the reasons are many, too many and too personal to be expressed here, but at the core there's a specific reason: I didn't feel up to it. Perhaps a form of impostor syndrome - without wanting to put a name to it, basically I felt like a tiny gnat among a group of giants.

I'm not an operating systems developer or an expert dev, I don't work at a company with thousands of servers, I'm not an ISP and I don't work for one. What could I have said or done, me, among them? And for so many years, I witnessed wars of every kind - online and not only - between people (even experts) who, just to excel, feel entitled to mistreat or offend others.

I didn't feel up to it. I didn't feel worthy of participating in conferences or events with people of this level. Except then, every time, I would look with sadness and healthy envy at all the reports, videos, and images of those who had participated instead.

I missed wonderful conferences, fantastic locations, but especially the opportunity to interact, years ago already, with amazing people - some of whom, unfortunately, are no longer with us.

When last September I participated in EuroBSDCon in Dublin, I understood that I had gotten everything wrong and that I hadn't fully grasped how wonderful the BSD community was, made up of real and respectful people, people who, like me, want to share their ideas, experiences, projects, and intentions with openness and respect.

And from here, an even stronger feeling took root inside me. Namely, that it's important to live life and leave nothing untried. If we want to do something, as long as it doesn't harm others, let's do it. Time flows and what's past doesn't come back.

In my case, it's not too late. BSD Conferences will continue to happen, year after year, and I'm already excited and preparing for the next EuroBSDCon - after all, it's only three months away. Because the people who organize them, the people who participate, and the entire BSD community in general have much in common with my way of seeing technology, software, and life.

I had the honor (and terror) of speaking right after Margo Seltzer, but everyone put me at ease. English isn't my native language and I was still a bit dazed from jet lag, but seeing BSD world friends sitting and ready to listen to what I had to say gave me the push to speak, to talk, to tell and tell about myself. And the feedback was really positive - many came to talk to me and share their experiences, ideas, and thoughts. In a healthy and positive way. Making me feel extremely comfortable.

Some speakers cited my talk, sharing the passion and enthusiasm. Unexpected, extremely appreciated.

I'm not a particularly extroverted person. I like to talk and communicate, but deep down, I'm shy. And I saw many shy people, both in Dublin and Ottawa, participate in the event without having any problems. Because the BSD community doesn't force anyone to be talkative but cares that everyone can be comfortable. Just as I should have done 20 years ago, going to attend conferences, in the serenity of being able to be myself.

I lost something wonderful for 20 years, but it's not too late.

Live life. Don't postpone, don't feel uncomfortable, don't worry about being judged by others. Overcome fears, overcome hesitations. Because one day you'll be disappointed about what you wanted to do and didn't do, but you'll never be disappointed for having at least tried.

For me, BSDCan was this: going to Canada for the first time, the journey, the preparation, the anxiety before my presentation and the relaxation, peace, and joy in the subsequent phases, talking with fantastic people and always feeling at ease.

Unless there are particular problems, I won't miss it. Because life must be lived and we must do what makes us feel good, finding ourselves among friends talking about the things that unite us. Without limits, without geography, without narrow ideologies.

Let's focus on what we like, on what we have in common.

Live life. Every single day.

I then lived for a few years in a house in a busy area again, and I decided I would move to a quieter place.

Without listing the subsequent steps, I eventually arrived at my current home, in a quiet area. But here I've come to know a new phenomenon. It doesn't just concern this place but, in general, all the non-urban places I've frequented in recent years: the constant use of cars for laughable distances.

Saturday afternoon, with a bit of peace and 30 degree Celsius weather, I lay down on my bed for a bit after lunch, intending to rest a little, with the window open. The Azores High, increasingly rare in Italy lately (the African anticyclone, much more humid and hot, has been dominant in recent years), gave that sense of peace. I could hear the late spring birdsong, the warm air caressing my hai... er... face, the peace of a Saturday afternoon. All of this was continually interrupted by car noises.

I went to the window to watch and noticed that, in the end, it was the same 3 or 4 cars constantly passing back and forth. Many of my neighbours, like many residents in small towns, take the car even to go 200 meters.

And I remembered a time, a few years ago, when I made a sort of bet with my father-in-law: my wife and I would walk from his house to the pizzeria (a few hundred meters away) while he would drive. He went out, got into his car, and only then did we set off. We arrived at the door, and he was still maneuvering to park.

I wonder: why have people in small towns, or generally outside large cities, developed this dependence on cars even for minimal journeys? Is it habit? A perceived lack of alternatives? Laziness? A status symbol?

Many of them, when I've brought up the subject, couldn't give an answer. Perhaps in small towns, thanks to the ease of parking, there's still that very 20th-century philosophy of "only those who can't afford a car walk". But I'm not sure.

What makes me smile is that often people who live outside the city do so for peace and fresh air... and then they pollute and make noise just to go a hundred meters from home.

Sometimes, human beings are truly curious creatures to study.