The Red Swing

Summer 1965. “Mariacristina! How long have you been on that swing?” “Mum, you know I love it…”. It’s a summer Sunday afternoon. My mother is busy in the kitchen preparing dinner. Every now and

Summer 1965. “Mariacristina! How long have you been on that swing?” “Mum, you know I love it…”. It’s a summer Sunday afternoon. My mother is busy in the kitchen preparing dinner. Every now and then she casts a glance at me swinging in the garden of our house in the mountains in Usseglio. My swing is beautiful. It’s red. When I swing, I see the whole world rise and fall around me. Thirty-seven years later. Massimo, my husband, has resigned from his company. One day, last spring, he came home and said with excitement in his voice: “I’ve found a small company that makes keys… it seems they are selling it. Should I try to buy it?”. “Massimo, let’s not miss this opportunity”. A few days later we found ourselves in front of a notary: “Mr. Bianchi, please, sign here: from this moment on Keyline is yours”. After making a toast with our glasses filled with Prosecco, Massimo asked me: “What do you think about being Keyline’s Chief Executive?”

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