It appears the sky is never silent. Here in the heart of the Dolomites, planes fly overhead at a constant rate leaving their smoking trails behind them. At one point I counted eight that flew passed south west of our apartment, criss-crossing each other. They all look too close for comfort but, no doubt, they are flying at different altitudes. Although scary to watch from afar.

On our way up from Riva del Garda, lorry traffic never stops. A constant flow of heavy goods vehicles plough through the extensive bridges and tunnels. The huge infrastructure makes every piece of land reachable, yet where we stay now is so peaceful and idyllic.

At this time of year, we experience the Ladin way of life as it is meant to be, untouched by tourism life.

The children play excitedly during the school breaks, the local mini market only open at specific hours houses all sorts of goods, each customer is known by first names. Though we, as temporary blow-ins, take them by surprise as we awkwardly review Italian, possibly German labeled groceries. The tourism information is closed—no requirement now. The church bell chimes every hour and echoes throughout the valley. The only other sound is the distant roar of rivers pouring down the mountain among heavy snow.

School is now out. Homework must be done. I hear the sound of a recorder, and later, an accordion being played. From the children’s persistence in practicing their music, it brings back memories of my attempts to play the piano and clarinet. I smile as I recognise a Christmas carol among the tunes.

Though I doubt that these children have younger siblings like I had, who constantly scorned my feeble attempts of playing well, especially on the clarinet. I got disheartened too easily by their bemoans.

So if you are an older or younger sibling, be careful what you say to your kin who attempt to play an instrument. Encouragement will make them go a long way rather than your discouragements.

Although I've still have aspirations to play the piano, maybe one day!

Kenneth Dutton was his name and Lawrence was his friend. Can it be me that I remember running around trying to get close to him and maybe kiss him. Must be as it's a vivid memory.

But the oddest thing of all, I can't remember what he looked like. Only that Lawrence would make sure that he was between me and Kenneth.

Anyway the next term, Kenneth was no longer in school. His parents had immigrated somewhere far away.

Was I that bad?!

P1 didn't get off to a good start for me. My teacher, Mrs McMahon, had big hair and wore lots of makeup. Compared to my mum, she must have looked intimidating.

I think it was the first day of school so we'd only been recently introduced. All I remember was that I was lying on the classroom floor and was kicking at her desk and her shins.

Was I frightened that I felt I had to attack her? Or was it a dream? No matter, dream or not, my mum was called.

I still had her for the whole of P1.

It was P3, Mrs Glass... an elderly lady, white hair, wrinkled skin, teeth that were lovely and white, but too large for her mouth. She had a big smile and a twinkle in her eye.

I felt safe with her. She called me "Sarah suck-a-thumb". I made the mistake in telling my mum one day, who promptly made an appointment to see Mrs Glass. Even at 7 I was mortified that my mum was telling her off for calling me that.

But did Mum not know that she said it affectionately. Something that warmed me... it's not that I got that at home!