Groundhog Day to write something? It
I need a little ...
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
How To Time Lapse Canon Powershot Sd780 Is
.
Groundhog Day to write something? It
I need a little ...
Groundhog Day to write something? It
I need a little ...
Friday, October 23, 2009
Deborah Samson American Revolution
Scalenghe, October 13, 1693 Literary Award
remember the sound of horses and the deep roar that rose until it became deafening while he filled his ears and head. I remember the smell of damp dust that penetrated into the eyes and throat and made you breathe. I remember the cries of those who said women to run away and hide somewhere. I remember the tears of a child left alone in the middle of the road, while soldiers and horsemen's darting around, miraculously without touching it. I remember the smashed gates of the fence as if they were paper, through which entered an infinite number of soldiers, after which we had foolishly deluded those poor palisades could protect and uncontrolled barbarian horde. I remember that came sweeping everything and everyone, because we had no defenses against them, we were not sure we few men, armed only with pitchforks and some old rusty sword in order to keep out of the country eager for a foreign army looting. Thus
broke in the middle of the square: first the cavalry, then the troops on foot. Next to them was the captain, proud and calm on his horse: General Catinat, they said. At a sign from him, some officers around him rushed orders and there broke barbarism. Groups of soldiers entered every house, which thankfully in the majority were empty. Who was able to escape had done to the countryside, or on the side of Cercenasco Buriasco, many, almost all the old, women and children had taken refuge in the church of S. Catherine, prompted by the priest who firmly believed that the solid walls and the relation of God would stop the invaders, and in this at least he was right.
Those who had not left their homes and were hiding in cellars or attics, deceiving themselves in this way to be safe and protect their property, had no escape. All were found and killed on the spot, or worse yet dragged down the street and murdered after being subjected to ridicule and torture of all kinds, which happened also to those who had been caught on the street to escape somewhere. In a dead woman was a prey to the desires of four soldiers: a group of men including Gio Battista and Anthony Ugo, intervened in his defense, but the soldiers responded with violence, and while one continued to hold the woman, the other poor villagers massacred that they had been disturbed. Anthony was killed with an ax, Gio Battista killed with the sword and thrown in a corner, the rest fled, then the barbarians make their offense and eventually even the woman was spared. At such times the life of a man had, for the soldiers, more valuable than a chicken or a rabbit. Nor any house remained unscathed by the ferocity of the French: it was of poorer where there was almost nothing be taken, or it was the richest man where the soldiers were all that were low. They took away what they thought of value destroying and throwing out everything else, furniture, clothing, household goods, in the end, without fail, set fire to the building. Surprised their incredible ability to empty a building and throw it on the street within a few minutes.
At night the country was reduced in flames.
And while all this was happening, the courtyard of the Lords Piossasco, General Catinat, sitting on a chair in the field of painting, sipping a glass of red wine, chatting amiably with his officers, while waiting for the end of the raid. At
end of the day had no better luck not even the same castle: the few servants who defended it were passed by the weapons in a few moments, then, after the savage looting, soldiers dragged in front of the building a gun campaign, making subject of many blows that opened wide gaps in the walls. So the foundations were undermined and eventually it too was set on fire. At night the heat of the fire did explode mines and down the castle was in ruins.
I saw this last scene from above, because impotent and incapable of doing something, even if I had taken refuge in the church, then I came up with other men in the attic of the building where we had removed some tiles coming out to watch the harrowing spectacle of our country destroyed. To the amazement of everyone, but as the priest had predicted, the church was not touched, even if its outside wall was the place chosen by the soldiery to urinate and defecate.
Yet all this did not come unexpected. The first sign that something serious would have happened had it at the end of September. We were intent on working in a ditch to go on the road when we saw Campolungo Castagnole of a convoy of two cars and four wagons loaded with household goods of all kinds, accompanied by horsemen. They were the inhabitants of the castle, lords of the family Piossasco, Scalenghe who left for Turin. It was very unusual because never in our memory Piossasco the Lords had left the country leaving only a few to guard the palace servants.
few days later, however, came news that the French had descended the valley of Susa and were attacking the Duke Vittorio Amedeo behind as he tried to take Pinerolo. In fact, paying attention, we realized that the gunfire had stopped that night, a few weeks, they felt constantly come from the direction of Pinerolo and we could not hear anything. But it was the day it was learned that four of the battle. We climbed the tower to look towards the north in the direction of Volver. Despite the distance, I distinctly heard the roar of combat. Clouds of smoke rose into the sky were seen throughout the day, while messengers to bring the countries reached some news. Now the Duke seemed to prevail, now seemed to have the best French. Then everything stopped and was never heard anything for a few days.
The first vanguard of those who escaped, coming from Airasca, clarify the doubts over who had prevailed in the terrible battle. The French! They had won the French! We all had clear in my head what would happen. They spent two days of relative calm, which strengthened the palisades while, someone dared to hope that the army Catinat would return back to the Susa Valley, or would direct to Turin. But the next morning was clear to all our destiny. And while the first riders looked out at the gates of our country, the inhabitants of the Parish had already fled to the countryside, leaving their homes as a sought-after prey in the rear of the invading army.
remember that we left the church in the early hours of dawn, after the French were gone. I remember us walking in the country, looking for someone between the houses that were still alive. I remember one of them will hear a faint cry and went up on the first floor, I saw that on the bed there was the corpse of a young woman, Rose, at his side lay a French soldier, who also died, with a dagger stuck in the heart. In a corner whimpering of a baby about a year, his son the girl. I picked her up and went out into the street. Meanwhile, I heard a distant rumble and I turned to see where it came from.
looked to the south. In the sky
Cercenasco already saw the smoke rise of the first fire.
broke in the middle of the square: first the cavalry, then the troops on foot. Next to them was the captain, proud and calm on his horse: General Catinat, they said. At a sign from him, some officers around him rushed orders and there broke barbarism. Groups of soldiers entered every house, which thankfully in the majority were empty. Who was able to escape had done to the countryside, or on the side of Cercenasco Buriasco, many, almost all the old, women and children had taken refuge in the church of S. Catherine, prompted by the priest who firmly believed that the solid walls and the relation of God would stop the invaders, and in this at least he was right.
Those who had not left their homes and were hiding in cellars or attics, deceiving themselves in this way to be safe and protect their property, had no escape. All were found and killed on the spot, or worse yet dragged down the street and murdered after being subjected to ridicule and torture of all kinds, which happened also to those who had been caught on the street to escape somewhere. In a dead woman was a prey to the desires of four soldiers: a group of men including Gio Battista and Anthony Ugo, intervened in his defense, but the soldiers responded with violence, and while one continued to hold the woman, the other poor villagers massacred that they had been disturbed. Anthony was killed with an ax, Gio Battista killed with the sword and thrown in a corner, the rest fled, then the barbarians make their offense and eventually even the woman was spared. At such times the life of a man had, for the soldiers, more valuable than a chicken or a rabbit. Nor any house remained unscathed by the ferocity of the French: it was of poorer where there was almost nothing be taken, or it was the richest man where the soldiers were all that were low. They took away what they thought of value destroying and throwing out everything else, furniture, clothing, household goods, in the end, without fail, set fire to the building. Surprised their incredible ability to empty a building and throw it on the street within a few minutes.
At night the country was reduced in flames.
And while all this was happening, the courtyard of the Lords Piossasco, General Catinat, sitting on a chair in the field of painting, sipping a glass of red wine, chatting amiably with his officers, while waiting for the end of the raid. At
end of the day had no better luck not even the same castle: the few servants who defended it were passed by the weapons in a few moments, then, after the savage looting, soldiers dragged in front of the building a gun campaign, making subject of many blows that opened wide gaps in the walls. So the foundations were undermined and eventually it too was set on fire. At night the heat of the fire did explode mines and down the castle was in ruins.
I saw this last scene from above, because impotent and incapable of doing something, even if I had taken refuge in the church, then I came up with other men in the attic of the building where we had removed some tiles coming out to watch the harrowing spectacle of our country destroyed. To the amazement of everyone, but as the priest had predicted, the church was not touched, even if its outside wall was the place chosen by the soldiery to urinate and defecate.
Yet all this did not come unexpected. The first sign that something serious would have happened had it at the end of September. We were intent on working in a ditch to go on the road when we saw Campolungo Castagnole of a convoy of two cars and four wagons loaded with household goods of all kinds, accompanied by horsemen. They were the inhabitants of the castle, lords of the family Piossasco, Scalenghe who left for Turin. It was very unusual because never in our memory Piossasco the Lords had left the country leaving only a few to guard the palace servants.
few days later, however, came news that the French had descended the valley of Susa and were attacking the Duke Vittorio Amedeo behind as he tried to take Pinerolo. In fact, paying attention, we realized that the gunfire had stopped that night, a few weeks, they felt constantly come from the direction of Pinerolo and we could not hear anything. But it was the day it was learned that four of the battle. We climbed the tower to look towards the north in the direction of Volver. Despite the distance, I distinctly heard the roar of combat. Clouds of smoke rose into the sky were seen throughout the day, while messengers to bring the countries reached some news. Now the Duke seemed to prevail, now seemed to have the best French. Then everything stopped and was never heard anything for a few days.
The first vanguard of those who escaped, coming from Airasca, clarify the doubts over who had prevailed in the terrible battle. The French! They had won the French! We all had clear in my head what would happen. They spent two days of relative calm, which strengthened the palisades while, someone dared to hope that the army Catinat would return back to the Susa Valley, or would direct to Turin. But the next morning was clear to all our destiny. And while the first riders looked out at the gates of our country, the inhabitants of the Parish had already fled to the countryside, leaving their homes as a sought-after prey in the rear of the invading army.
remember that we left the church in the early hours of dawn, after the French were gone. I remember us walking in the country, looking for someone between the houses that were still alive. I remember one of them will hear a faint cry and went up on the first floor, I saw that on the bed there was the corpse of a young woman, Rose, at his side lay a French soldier, who also died, with a dagger stuck in the heart. In a corner whimpering of a baby about a year, his son the girl. I picked her up and went out into the street. Meanwhile, I heard a distant rumble and I turned to see where it came from.
looked to the south. In the sky
Cercenasco already saw the smoke rise of the first fire.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Warrior Fitness Boot Campcost
town of Pinerolo
The story "The Piave whispered ..." ranked 4th place in the National Literary Prize XX City of Pinerolo. 
The story "The Piave whispered ..." ranked 4th place in the National Literary Prize XX City of Pinerolo.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Internship For Def Jam
Ousitanio
The four stone houses form a square that is little more than a widening of the road is so narrow. On one side of a wisteria salt clinging to a small balcony that juts out toward the four players who are giving their best performance of a curent of Varaita. Sitting
the table of the old inn, go listen to the imperfect and the hurdy-gurdy organ to which they make to counter the flute and violin, while at the center of the square two men and two women perform with the popular figures of the dance steps.
From time to time the evening breeze leaves the mountains and down to fill the streets and the courtyards between the houses, while the moon peeping out from somewhere above the rooftops.
There is an old man sitting in front of the house, apparently deep in thought, and I imagine he's thinking about a night like this, when you were young and in this square, after a day of toil on the steep field, tried still find a way to talk to the girl in front, be seen that without looking at him from time to time, hoping to invite her to dance. The players change
music, attacking a Bouree and I start thinking about how beautiful this music, ancient and modern together, that seems locked in the mountains, but it suddenly flies away and then feel that speaks of Provence and Gascony, with the scent of lavender and larch, which smacks of polenta with anchovies, travel, wind, sun and sea.
the music ends, the dancers stop and the old part of the house, then I get up and go by the players, I just want to congratulate him, but we begin to talk and talk and little by little I do find out what it means to Occitan. It 's late, then a final finish bicchiere e vado anche io, mentre penso alle parole della canzone:
“Remesclas. De sang e de musica, de temps e de gents, de raives e d’ideas. L’òme que coneis sa terra a ren pòur, se mescla. E remescla. Aquò qu’aiva dran a-n-aquò qu’al a devant. Aquò que ven da luenh e aquò qu’es siu. Aquò que se pòl veire e aquò que se pantalha. Lo sonarie que vira viatgia e pòrta via, ritorna e pòrta a-n-aquò siu aquò qu’a vist e aquò qu’a escotat. Sonaire de viola. Sonaire de valada. Valadas occitanas, valadas de frontiera. Valadas de remesclas.” (Lou Dalfin)
the table of the old inn, go listen to the imperfect and the hurdy-gurdy organ to which they make to counter the flute and violin, while at the center of the square two men and two women perform with the popular figures of the dance steps.
From time to time the evening breeze leaves the mountains and down to fill the streets and the courtyards between the houses, while the moon peeping out from somewhere above the rooftops.
There is an old man sitting in front of the house, apparently deep in thought, and I imagine he's thinking about a night like this, when you were young and in this square, after a day of toil on the steep field, tried still find a way to talk to the girl in front, be seen that without looking at him from time to time, hoping to invite her to dance. The players change
music, attacking a Bouree and I start thinking about how beautiful this music, ancient and modern together, that seems locked in the mountains, but it suddenly flies away and then feel that speaks of Provence and Gascony, with the scent of lavender and larch, which smacks of polenta with anchovies, travel, wind, sun and sea.
the music ends, the dancers stop and the old part of the house, then I get up and go by the players, I just want to congratulate him, but we begin to talk and talk and little by little I do find out what it means to Occitan. It 's late, then a final finish bicchiere e vado anche io, mentre penso alle parole della canzone:
“Remesclas. De sang e de musica, de temps e de gents, de raives e d’ideas. L’òme que coneis sa terra a ren pòur, se mescla. E remescla. Aquò qu’aiva dran a-n-aquò qu’al a devant. Aquò que ven da luenh e aquò qu’es siu. Aquò que se pòl veire e aquò que se pantalha. Lo sonarie que vira viatgia e pòrta via, ritorna e pòrta a-n-aquò siu aquò qu’a vist e aquò qu’a escotat. Sonaire de viola. Sonaire de valada. Valadas occitanas, valadas de frontiera. Valadas de remesclas.” (Lou Dalfin)
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Exercise Instruction For Golds Gym Xr5
From L'Eco del Chisone
Well, let me return the article published in L'Eco del Chisone of July 8, 2009 that speaks of my book, you know, I care.
In the new historical novel Candide Bottin
The mystery of the Church of Scalenghe
It was released earlier this year for "The publisher Boopen" the novel "The new church. The reconstruction of the Parish of Scalenghe" of young architect Candido scalenghese Bottin.
The author has already published in 2007, "The Border", a short novel set in Gorizia, on the square Transalpina, where in 2004 he was removing the border that separated Italy from Slovenia.
This is a short historical novel (easy to read with a fresh and free and easy), based largely on a true story, which emerged from the consultation of documents kept in the parish and that embraces the history of Piedmont Savoy between 1680 and 1740.
and 1732 with the fall of the old church of Pieve di Scalenghe and the parish priest, Father Piero Berruto, is committed to the reconstruction of the church, designed by none other than arch. Gian Giacomo Plantery. But there is little mystery in which the priest does not know: in the former church is hiding a secret that some notables of the time, including the Count and Baron Folgore Piossasco Salvey Cumiana, do not want to come to light
... "With this second - explains Bottin - I approached more to the interests and knowledge of my life as an architect. "
The book can be purchased on the Internet, www.boopen.it, the library or even order in Scalenghe library. 
Well, let me return the article published in L'Eco del Chisone of July 8, 2009 that speaks of my book, you know, I care.
In the new historical novel Candide Bottin
The mystery of the Church of Scalenghe
It was released earlier this year for "The publisher Boopen" the novel "The new church. The reconstruction of the Parish of Scalenghe" of young architect Candido scalenghese Bottin.
The author has already published in 2007, "The Border", a short novel set in Gorizia, on the square Transalpina, where in 2004 he was removing the border that separated Italy from Slovenia.
This is a short historical novel (easy to read with a fresh and free and easy), based largely on a true story, which emerged from the consultation of documents kept in the parish and that embraces the history of Piedmont Savoy between 1680 and 1740.
and 1732 with the fall of the old church of Pieve di Scalenghe and the parish priest, Father Piero Berruto, is committed to the reconstruction of the church, designed by none other than arch. Gian Giacomo Plantery. But there is little mystery in which the priest does not know: in the former church is hiding a secret that some notables of the time, including the Count and Baron Folgore Piossasco Salvey Cumiana, do not want to come to light
... "With this second - explains Bottin - I approached more to the interests and knowledge of my life as an architect. "
The book can be purchased on the Internet, www.boopen.it, the library or even order in Scalenghe library.
Monday, June 22, 2009
The Difference Between Darvocet And Percocet
Being in the middle of the afternoon with this heat I had a great effort. The air heavy, wet, sticky and sound that could cut into blocks and stacked like stones of a cathedral, would not let me breathe. Above, the sky gray and uniform, that prevented refreshing view of the mountains, closing the circle of annoyance. Then came
, announced by a rumble and the darkening of the sky beyond, towards Liguria, with a violent roar, liberator. After the mass of clouds opened, freeing the mountains here and there, the air finally cooled returning with pleasure to fill the lungs.
Even plants and grass in the garden we met understood, almost as ducks and geese could not believe the luck of an unexpected and wonderful puddle in the yard. The fig tree in the corner of the garden, waiting for me dripping from ripe fruit. We were all blessed the most valuable asset.
Then, just in front of me I saw a pink open and enjoy the life that the water was offered.
And so, I also wet from the rain, I wanted the world to be like my garden, and each man as the rose and can also enjoy the water of life that is offered.
, announced by a rumble and the darkening of the sky beyond, towards Liguria, with a violent roar, liberator. After the mass of clouds opened, freeing the mountains here and there, the air finally cooled returning with pleasure to fill the lungs.
Even plants and grass in the garden we met understood, almost as ducks and geese could not believe the luck of an unexpected and wonderful puddle in the yard. The fig tree in the corner of the garden, waiting for me dripping from ripe fruit. We were all blessed the most valuable asset.
Then, just in front of me I saw a pink open and enjoy the life that the water was offered.
And so, I also wet from the rain, I wanted the world to be like my garden, and each man as the rose and can also enjoy the water of life that is offered.
Cuticle Swollen Painful
Summer ... The Photography
had supported the photograph on the desk in front of the computer, after it turned and turned over a hundred times trying to get me to be an inspiration or 'any idea. Certain that the examination of the course of Italian literature had a most pleasant thought for the story to propose the final exam. Instead of the usual written record, which had always been given in previous years, this year had provided a photograph in black and white: a porch with a century against the figure of a man who was advancing. And on this we should develop our narrative.
No, I would not have ever made, two years of being thrown away without even receiving a diploma, this was the expected result.
Okay, today was enough, so it was not anything out of acceptable, it was better to go to sleep hoping that the night brings counsel.
turned off the light, and with my eyes closed I still think of photography, my mind floated between sleep and wakefulness and in that situation it seemed to me that image was not entirely new, it was like in that place, under these arcades were already there I was, because that was not for me any one photograph, but an image that was digging into my memory for a distant memory. And while
sleep took over I was sure that I really under that porch was there already.
No, I would not have ever made, two years of being thrown away without even receiving a diploma, this was the expected result.
Okay, today was enough, so it was not anything out of acceptable, it was better to go to sleep hoping that the night brings counsel.
turned off the light, and with my eyes closed I still think of photography, my mind floated between sleep and wakefulness and in that situation it seemed to me that image was not entirely new, it was like in that place, under these arcades were already there I was, because that was not for me any one photograph, but an image that was digging into my memory for a distant memory. And while
sleep took over I was sure that I really under that porch was there already.
I was eight, I walked with my father holding me by the hand, I do not know what city it was, remember that the day was beautiful, but cold. Suddenly we saw coming towards us a man who was advancing with firm steps, which, when we pass, I touched his arm, then after a few steps he stopped suddenly, turning to look at me. Even I stopped and turned detaching from my father. The first figure that had seemed dark and heavy and now he was no longer looked at me with a smile. Then, not to mention the man held out his hand, inviting me to follow him I do not know why I did it, but I followed him. We turned in a side street where the porches were gone, and we entered a doorway which gave access to a small courtyard surrounded by high brick walls. At the bottom there was a passage closed by an iron gate, and we walked right into that, with a firm step: it was as if the man knew exactly where to go the other side we saw a garden full of trees and vegetation. We entered the garden, seen from the outside did not seem too great, but once there seemed to be rather wide, indeed we could see no boundaries.
- Where we are and where is my father? - I asked if finally with fear.
- Do not worry, Your father will see her soon - she said - now you have to take me to a place.
- But you, who are you? - I insisted again.
- Who are not important, then you will understand, now come and visit this garden.
I was not afraid because the man's tone was calm and then I was particularly intrigued by that place so strange, that now that I looked better, did not seem even more of a garden, but almost a forest, a forest rather large, but how was it possible? - Since we were in a city, or so I thought.
We went into the forest that was full of oak and beech trees, through a winding path. As we advanced the forest became more dense, so that not even filtered almost the rays of the sun. At one point we reached the edge of a small clearing, I was now convinced that he ended up in a forest, on the one hand you could see a small brick building, on the other hand, a bigger house. The man took me up to it. Had two floors and it looked very old, it was a great rose garden in front of the facade and two framed windows. We went, there was a large room, with the rather high ceiling, a table and some furniture. It seemed that the man knew the place well because he went to the back of the room and took a piece of a cardboard box, covered with red cloth.
- Sit down - I said - See what's in this box.
He opened it, was full of very old photographs and yellowed.
There were portraits of people, men, women and children who had never seen, all dressed in clothes that were not used more, more pictures of objects and houses of some unfamiliar places.
I looked at those pictures and I did not know what to think, what meaning could have for me, then I came in my hand a photograph of a child. A
it was about my age. Even my hair was as clear and slightly wavy. Contrary to good look at him just like me, more if it were not for the dress I would say that was me. I was impressed to see the photograph of a child who looked like me so much. The man caught the wonder of my eyes and said
- Preview That's me as a child.
- I ... I like a bit '- I said, stammering.
- Yes, a bit '- the man confirmed.
I turned the photo and read a date: 1912 and then a name, Candido.
- Even my name is Candido! - I cried.
The man smiled, then rose again from the same mobile and always drew a biscuit tin, opened it and invited me to eat:
- They are good - he said.
I tasted one, it was really good, as I had never eaten, I took yet another and another, man ate and laughed. When the box was finished he said:
- Come we go, your father is waiting for us.
He put the box with photos and even the cookies, even if it was empty, then we left the house and went back into the clearing, when we entered the woods seemed smaller than before, perhaps because we had already passed, so that the space a few moments we reached the iron gate and went out into the yard, and from thence into the street.
When I turned the corner of the street I saw my father in the arcades that looked the other way.
- Hello - I whispered to the man - now go.
- Hello - I answered.
- Dad.
- Candide Oh, come on, do not remove, that the gentleman you already have nearly knocked to the ground. Who knows where he went so fast, it's already gone.
- But Dad did not you tried? - I asked.
- No, why? I only turned for a moment - he replied.
I was impressed by the response, then I realized that even though I thought that I was away for a long time for my father that time was not spent for him and I had always been there. So what happened?
- Dad, we have been in this city? - I asked.
- No is the first time that we come from, but it is very beautiful, I think we will come back again.
- Dad, listen, but how come my name is Candido?
- Ah, what a question is ... a strange story, do you think your grandmother had a brother who bore your name. Accadutogli an accident while helping his work in the fields that died was a child, just eight years. Then no one in the family, for one reason or another has given this name as his children and only at your birth, mother and I, we thought it would be good to remember that distant great-uncle.
- But when his uncle died exactly Candido?
- Oh I remember, I think in the early years of the century.
- In 1912?
- Yes, in 1912, right, but how do you know?
- Nothing, nothing, I took a guess.
After sleep I woke up early and noticed that the picture leaning against the desk had fallen. I lifted it and giving it a look before going out again I was sure that today an idea for my story, I would certainly come.
- Where we are and where is my father? - I asked if finally with fear.
- Do not worry, Your father will see her soon - she said - now you have to take me to a place.
- But you, who are you? - I insisted again.
- Who are not important, then you will understand, now come and visit this garden.
I was not afraid because the man's tone was calm and then I was particularly intrigued by that place so strange, that now that I looked better, did not seem even more of a garden, but almost a forest, a forest rather large, but how was it possible? - Since we were in a city, or so I thought.
We went into the forest that was full of oak and beech trees, through a winding path. As we advanced the forest became more dense, so that not even filtered almost the rays of the sun. At one point we reached the edge of a small clearing, I was now convinced that he ended up in a forest, on the one hand you could see a small brick building, on the other hand, a bigger house. The man took me up to it. Had two floors and it looked very old, it was a great rose garden in front of the facade and two framed windows. We went, there was a large room, with the rather high ceiling, a table and some furniture. It seemed that the man knew the place well because he went to the back of the room and took a piece of a cardboard box, covered with red cloth.
- Sit down - I said - See what's in this box.
He opened it, was full of very old photographs and yellowed.
There were portraits of people, men, women and children who had never seen, all dressed in clothes that were not used more, more pictures of objects and houses of some unfamiliar places.
I looked at those pictures and I did not know what to think, what meaning could have for me, then I came in my hand a photograph of a child. A
it was about my age. Even my hair was as clear and slightly wavy. Contrary to good look at him just like me, more if it were not for the dress I would say that was me. I was impressed to see the photograph of a child who looked like me so much. The man caught the wonder of my eyes and said
- Preview That's me as a child.
- I ... I like a bit '- I said, stammering.
- Yes, a bit '- the man confirmed.
I turned the photo and read a date: 1912 and then a name, Candido.
- Even my name is Candido! - I cried.
The man smiled, then rose again from the same mobile and always drew a biscuit tin, opened it and invited me to eat:
- They are good - he said.
I tasted one, it was really good, as I had never eaten, I took yet another and another, man ate and laughed. When the box was finished he said:
- Come we go, your father is waiting for us.
He put the box with photos and even the cookies, even if it was empty, then we left the house and went back into the clearing, when we entered the woods seemed smaller than before, perhaps because we had already passed, so that the space a few moments we reached the iron gate and went out into the yard, and from thence into the street.
When I turned the corner of the street I saw my father in the arcades that looked the other way.
- Hello - I whispered to the man - now go.
- Hello - I answered.
- Dad.
- Candide Oh, come on, do not remove, that the gentleman you already have nearly knocked to the ground. Who knows where he went so fast, it's already gone.
- But Dad did not you tried? - I asked.
- No, why? I only turned for a moment - he replied.
I was impressed by the response, then I realized that even though I thought that I was away for a long time for my father that time was not spent for him and I had always been there. So what happened?
- Dad, we have been in this city? - I asked.
- No is the first time that we come from, but it is very beautiful, I think we will come back again.
- Dad, listen, but how come my name is Candido?
- Ah, what a question is ... a strange story, do you think your grandmother had a brother who bore your name. Accadutogli an accident while helping his work in the fields that died was a child, just eight years. Then no one in the family, for one reason or another has given this name as his children and only at your birth, mother and I, we thought it would be good to remember that distant great-uncle.
- But when his uncle died exactly Candido?
- Oh I remember, I think in the early years of the century.
- In 1912?
- Yes, in 1912, right, but how do you know?
- Nothing, nothing, I took a guess.
After sleep I woke up early and noticed that the picture leaning against the desk had fallen. I lifted it and giving it a look before going out again I was sure that today an idea for my story, I would certainly come.
Half Itilian Half Indian Good Mix
The Three Alarm
The three alarms were lined up on the library, each marking a different time. I looked at every now and has already spent two nights because I had in mind a belief that the more absurd it seemed, the more I feared it would become real. The clocks had stopped for months, even years, and of course I did not know who they belonged to the least since the time my mother had laid up there before, like landscaping - he said - of the house. Yet I felt that those hands had not stopped there by chance, I knew I wanted to tell me something.
In the bed in front of me the residue of my father's breathing hard, now immersed in his unconsciousness from which emerge from time to time only for a few moments. I looked at him and could not believe that this man so strong and full of life we \u200b\u200bwould be leaving shortly thereafter. The relentless disease, had turned into a very short time in the shadow of himself, but to us, in those times, almost seemed that this was his normal, and even in that state, instead of normal had nothing, we would have taken with us forever, so as not to lose it. Then suddenly reminded us that no, that he was no longer in pain and thought his life that still true was so close in time, but suddenly it was over that summer so painful.
There was a strange air in the house, many people came and everyone, we too, showed themselves very busy, caring, positive, strong. Convinced it was a way of hiding and unaware of the tragedy, to face and overcome a difficult time and that would end a painful, a hide from our father and ourselves, what we all - and he - knew.
The house where we lived those moments, in fact it was not even his home that he built with his own hands, and where we had lived together for thirty years. No, was a house that he always had just arranged to complete his life with my mother, a natural step that you do when children become adults and create their own families.
In the vast living room on the ground floor, we had also placed his bed, because at some point he could no longer climb the stairs.
In recent days I was more moved by the house. I did not want to miss a second of time remaining and continually saw what we had done for her condition, if we were wrong, if we could do better, because we had noticed it so late, if only because it's our fault or was inevitable.
are thoughts that I have more abandoned and yet I often come to mind even now that many years have passed already.
And I was thinking also of my life with him and on it, luckily, I did not have many regrets, only great nostalgia, even if at times perhaps a few more words between us would have been helpful and nice.
The first crisis was one o'clock at night, thought it was the dreaded hour, lasted a few minutes, but then he recovered. I watched the clocks aligned over our heads: one and twenty, five and a half, four and forty, were the hours when the clock had stopped years before.
I was standing beside the bed of my father and me in the room there were other people, as was always been in those days, my brother, our mother, the brother of my father.
waited.
The second crisis came about five o'clock, and was longer and as they passed the minutes his breathing became more difficult, difficult.
We understood it was over, but we did not want to accept it.
Then my brother asked me to let him go, because we could not keep him with us.
I shook his hand and freed him.
Even his heart to let me go. Finally, with the left hand I have closed my eyes.
Then I looked up on the furniture, the clock marked in the middle half past five. Also my wrist watch said half past five. After a few
while my brother and I we went out, the night was cold, but you could see the stars up there just now realized that we found our father.
We were silent for a long time, then we returned home.
I went on the cabinet and took the alarm and in a burst of pain I have thrown away.
I have not wanted to take but perhaps also the other two signs hours of my life.
In the bed in front of me the residue of my father's breathing hard, now immersed in his unconsciousness from which emerge from time to time only for a few moments. I looked at him and could not believe that this man so strong and full of life we \u200b\u200bwould be leaving shortly thereafter. The relentless disease, had turned into a very short time in the shadow of himself, but to us, in those times, almost seemed that this was his normal, and even in that state, instead of normal had nothing, we would have taken with us forever, so as not to lose it. Then suddenly reminded us that no, that he was no longer in pain and thought his life that still true was so close in time, but suddenly it was over that summer so painful.
There was a strange air in the house, many people came and everyone, we too, showed themselves very busy, caring, positive, strong. Convinced it was a way of hiding and unaware of the tragedy, to face and overcome a difficult time and that would end a painful, a hide from our father and ourselves, what we all - and he - knew.
The house where we lived those moments, in fact it was not even his home that he built with his own hands, and where we had lived together for thirty years. No, was a house that he always had just arranged to complete his life with my mother, a natural step that you do when children become adults and create their own families.
In the vast living room on the ground floor, we had also placed his bed, because at some point he could no longer climb the stairs.
In recent days I was more moved by the house. I did not want to miss a second of time remaining and continually saw what we had done for her condition, if we were wrong, if we could do better, because we had noticed it so late, if only because it's our fault or was inevitable.
are thoughts that I have more abandoned and yet I often come to mind even now that many years have passed already.
And I was thinking also of my life with him and on it, luckily, I did not have many regrets, only great nostalgia, even if at times perhaps a few more words between us would have been helpful and nice.
The first crisis was one o'clock at night, thought it was the dreaded hour, lasted a few minutes, but then he recovered. I watched the clocks aligned over our heads: one and twenty, five and a half, four and forty, were the hours when the clock had stopped years before.
I was standing beside the bed of my father and me in the room there were other people, as was always been in those days, my brother, our mother, the brother of my father.
waited.
The second crisis came about five o'clock, and was longer and as they passed the minutes his breathing became more difficult, difficult.
We understood it was over, but we did not want to accept it.
Then my brother asked me to let him go, because we could not keep him with us.
I shook his hand and freed him.
Even his heart to let me go. Finally, with the left hand I have closed my eyes.
Then I looked up on the furniture, the clock marked in the middle half past five. Also my wrist watch said half past five. After a few
while my brother and I we went out, the night was cold, but you could see the stars up there just now realized that we found our father.
We were silent for a long time, then we returned home.
I went on the cabinet and took the alarm and in a burst of pain I have thrown away.
I have not wanted to take but perhaps also the other two signs hours of my life.
Friday, June 19, 2009
I Was Cured From Herpes
The Piave whispered ...
"The Piave whispered calm and warm to the passage of the first infantry May 24 ...."
I was about 10 years that Sunday afternoon when I arrived at my grandfather's house, running and singing.
- Grandpa, Grandpa! Did you hear that this beautiful song. They played in the square this morning the soldiers to celebrate the anniversary of the victory. Did you know already?
The grandfather could not hold back a laugh, exclaiming:
- Oh, blessed son, how long since I heard sing this song! Of course I know and as I could. Come, come, sit me tell you - and meanwhile had opened the cupboard to take a box of torcetti butter.
- Listen, then fall away, right here in the town square, people never missed an opportunity to sing and everyone seemed overjoyed at the recent end of the war and I heard them sing while sitting on a bench in front of the wall of the house I enjoyed the last rays of sun that season again granted. I was also recently returned from the war and the wound right forearm caused me more pain, even though it was a year old now and completely healed.
In those days everyone sang and even hear talk about the war seemed to have been quite strong, that it was just an adventure. Yes, the war had been won in the euphoria of victory and it seemed that everyone had forgotten the pain, massacres, the dead who had accompanied us in those years. The song was beautiful, but the wound was hurting and I came back to continue with the mind and soul of what I had experienced so much meat, so I complained.
- Grandpa, tell me how it went then? - Asked through a mouthful of tasty torcetti.
- I had to see Trieste! It seemed that she only had to fight in August of 1917 on the plateau of the Carso. Our commanders tried in every way to instill in his head a little more than fighting spirit that the continuous sight of the dead and the suffering they had caused the loss of everything.
- But this - we repeat - would have been the decisive effort, the final push that would have overwhelmed the Austrians and we would finally led to Trieste.
- It was somehow Trieste! We think of it as a fantastic city where the people there eagerly waiting to erupt when we arrived in a wonderful party, but honestly I do not believe it would be so easy and that we were finally overwhelmed the Austrians. I was in the army for three years and too many times I had heard similar phrases without ever seeing more young people sent to slaughter and that far too many lost friends. But the one thing seemed to be the loss of sense of the commanders who insisted on us to fight a war that seemed never to end. In those three years we had turned around like tops the Italian front in a continuous series of controlled movements that gave the impression that it has no logical dall'Isonzo Asiago, Pasubio from the Cadore, Gorizia allo Stelvio, all places had the same appearance as full of death and tragedy. Now it was up to the Carso. I
I was a kid but I saw the old man who could hardly speak and his eyes sparkled, even if it had been more than fifty years since that time. Then, as if to break the anxiety, he remembered a few funny episode.
- Do you think that once, during our wanderings we happened to meet even the king! Yes, because the king was moved to the front at the beginning of the war to closely monitor the operations and that day while we were on patrol, we did fix it a little ahead of us had stopped King for lunch.
- But it was on the horse? - I asked.
- useless, I was very impressed when I saw him: in the meadow and some blankets were spread over were placed with two baskets of food. Some men in uniform were to crown a middle-aged man sitting on a stool when he saw that he stood up.
- That's the king? - I thought. A little man appeared very little was Vittorio Emanuele III. Then he came and asked our names and where we came from. When I told my country lit up a moment and speaking in Piedmont asked if he would like something to eat: "It 's just bread and cheese" but I did not have the courage to say yes. So I persisted and led the way, the tablecloth was cheese, salami, eggs. I accepted a piece of cake with a little 'for the thrill of bread that I could not swallow. The king was summoned and walked away. In my fantasy I had imagined that kings were always solemn, wearing the crown and cloak and was deeply shaken, but also a little 'fun - his grandfather.
- Yeah that's funny - I said, adding:
- But how you get hurt you are, Grandpa?
- The month of May came the tragedy! The Italian High Command was preparing for yet another battle, now I know that it was then called the Tenth Battle of the Isonzo, the one that was meant to be conclusive. We were crammed like sardines in the trenches. I had never seen before so many troops together. There were so many that we could not even lie down on the ground and had to rest by sitting or leaning on the parapet of the trench. And with each passing hour, kept coming more and more and more. Before us was a small mountain but with a name that scary "the Hermada" We had to conquer at all costs to open the way to Trieste.
Even our name was terrible, "Lupi di Toscana" and for this reason we were entrusted with the most difficult tasks.
The battle began in the early hours of the morning, when, as usual artillery bombardment was unleashed: thousands of guns began to fire simultaneously on all fronts. The noise was terrible and we had to protect the ears with pieces rags. After some 'never seen anything so was the smoke that covered the hills that we were facing. Suddenly there was a strong wind and against and we were overwhelmed by the smoke of explosions. Even many of the guns grenades, diverted by the wind, began to fall into our seats as we feared that we would be affected sooner or later, unless we had already died of the poisonous smoke.
We expect that waiting and anxious I was wondering if I should ever come back or if I would have died that day. I knew that the battle would not have served for nothing, because it seemed impossible to break through the enemy lines just this once, because we had never previously failed. But most of all I did not understand why our leaders persist in sending them to slaughter knowing that against machine guns and barbed wire there was no way to go, trying and try assaults even when logic and experience were opposed. Have not had pity on us? Possible that there was no way to devise a different strategy to attack the Austrians? And as for us, how could we accept that the attack still going to die needlessly like thousands of other boys had already done before? There was no answer! I could not ever give me a reply. Meanwhile, I thought I drank a bit 'of brandy and tried to make me courage.
The trench was hot awful under the sun of May, the uniform of cloth did not breathe or was it fear, thirst tormented us, but there was no water to drink we were going to attack and we had a drop of water to drink!
Then it was time. The lieutenant leaned against the railing looking at his watch and suddenly shouted "Savoy" and we set off to cry out. Many children had not yet taken a step that was affected. I ran like a madman forward without knowing where I went. Everywhere you could hear screams and saw soldiers falling. It was terrible the incessant noise of machine guns: rat-ta-ta-ta, rat-ta-ta-ta. If I think I still feel now. But I do not know which Strange Case of fate I was not impressed. I ran and slipped between two networks with a few companions and I arrived, I do not know how, at the first enemy trench. Inside were the Austrians and we faced with the bayonet. Suddenly I felt a strong pain: an enemy soldier had defended himself slipping his bayonet right forearm.
Grandpa pulled up her sleeve and showed me the long scar on the inside of the forearm from the wrist started and ended at the elbow.
- Just then, a grenade exploded close to us and many men were killed by jumping in the air as if they were paper. I was buried by the corpses that I had fallen on him and that was probably my salvation. Tightening in some way sleeve of the jacket I was able to dab the wound. All around the battle continued. I thought that was really the hell I was there and fell in, just did not know what was my fault. I also believed that war would never end as long as even one man was left alive. Then I lost consciousness. I do not know how long I remained unconscious, but when I woke up the fight was over. Above me I felt an unbearable burden, the terrible smell of the dead was even more. My throat was burning with thirst, I was short of breath. With great effort, little by little I got rid of the soldiers died that crushed me and tried to get up. I looked out of the trench. The view was untenable thousands and thousands of dead soldiers, Italians and Austrians, lying on the ground in the most absurd, carbonized, limbs and body parts scattered everywhere and an acrid smoke that hung in the air. On all sides could be heard cries and moans. We won? We lost? But who could have won that tragedy? What sense could you win? There were thousands of broken lives, nothing else mattered. Mount Hermada was behind me, threatening as ever. I was thirsty, but the only thing I could drink were my tears.
- And how is it over? - I asked again, impressed by this story.
- At night I managed to fall into our lines and was sent to the military hospital. For me the war was over, even if it lasted more than a year, an enemy I had wounded but rescued. Then, fortunately, was peace. I tell you about these terrible things that they may serve as a warning, remember that we were not enough and we had to take another war to realize how wrong they were and how much harm they have caused. You guys never forget and never forget our suffering.
I was a bit 'thoughtful, then flashed a question in my little head.
- Grandpa, but tell me one thing: Trieste is beautiful?
The grandfather lovingly looked at me and stroking my head told me
- I do not know dear, there never was!
I was about 10 years that Sunday afternoon when I arrived at my grandfather's house, running and singing.
- Grandpa, Grandpa! Did you hear that this beautiful song. They played in the square this morning the soldiers to celebrate the anniversary of the victory. Did you know already?
The grandfather could not hold back a laugh, exclaiming:
- Oh, blessed son, how long since I heard sing this song! Of course I know and as I could. Come, come, sit me tell you - and meanwhile had opened the cupboard to take a box of torcetti butter.
- Listen, then fall away, right here in the town square, people never missed an opportunity to sing and everyone seemed overjoyed at the recent end of the war and I heard them sing while sitting on a bench in front of the wall of the house I enjoyed the last rays of sun that season again granted. I was also recently returned from the war and the wound right forearm caused me more pain, even though it was a year old now and completely healed.
In those days everyone sang and even hear talk about the war seemed to have been quite strong, that it was just an adventure. Yes, the war had been won in the euphoria of victory and it seemed that everyone had forgotten the pain, massacres, the dead who had accompanied us in those years. The song was beautiful, but the wound was hurting and I came back to continue with the mind and soul of what I had experienced so much meat, so I complained.
- Grandpa, tell me how it went then? - Asked through a mouthful of tasty torcetti.
- I had to see Trieste! It seemed that she only had to fight in August of 1917 on the plateau of the Carso. Our commanders tried in every way to instill in his head a little more than fighting spirit that the continuous sight of the dead and the suffering they had caused the loss of everything.
- But this - we repeat - would have been the decisive effort, the final push that would have overwhelmed the Austrians and we would finally led to Trieste.
- It was somehow Trieste! We think of it as a fantastic city where the people there eagerly waiting to erupt when we arrived in a wonderful party, but honestly I do not believe it would be so easy and that we were finally overwhelmed the Austrians. I was in the army for three years and too many times I had heard similar phrases without ever seeing more young people sent to slaughter and that far too many lost friends. But the one thing seemed to be the loss of sense of the commanders who insisted on us to fight a war that seemed never to end. In those three years we had turned around like tops the Italian front in a continuous series of controlled movements that gave the impression that it has no logical dall'Isonzo Asiago, Pasubio from the Cadore, Gorizia allo Stelvio, all places had the same appearance as full of death and tragedy. Now it was up to the Carso. I
I was a kid but I saw the old man who could hardly speak and his eyes sparkled, even if it had been more than fifty years since that time. Then, as if to break the anxiety, he remembered a few funny episode.
- Do you think that once, during our wanderings we happened to meet even the king! Yes, because the king was moved to the front at the beginning of the war to closely monitor the operations and that day while we were on patrol, we did fix it a little ahead of us had stopped King for lunch.
- But it was on the horse? - I asked.
- useless, I was very impressed when I saw him: in the meadow and some blankets were spread over were placed with two baskets of food. Some men in uniform were to crown a middle-aged man sitting on a stool when he saw that he stood up.
- That's the king? - I thought. A little man appeared very little was Vittorio Emanuele III. Then he came and asked our names and where we came from. When I told my country lit up a moment and speaking in Piedmont asked if he would like something to eat: "It 's just bread and cheese" but I did not have the courage to say yes. So I persisted and led the way, the tablecloth was cheese, salami, eggs. I accepted a piece of cake with a little 'for the thrill of bread that I could not swallow. The king was summoned and walked away. In my fantasy I had imagined that kings were always solemn, wearing the crown and cloak and was deeply shaken, but also a little 'fun - his grandfather.
- Yeah that's funny - I said, adding:
- But how you get hurt you are, Grandpa?
- The month of May came the tragedy! The Italian High Command was preparing for yet another battle, now I know that it was then called the Tenth Battle of the Isonzo, the one that was meant to be conclusive. We were crammed like sardines in the trenches. I had never seen before so many troops together. There were so many that we could not even lie down on the ground and had to rest by sitting or leaning on the parapet of the trench. And with each passing hour, kept coming more and more and more. Before us was a small mountain but with a name that scary "the Hermada" We had to conquer at all costs to open the way to Trieste.
Even our name was terrible, "Lupi di Toscana" and for this reason we were entrusted with the most difficult tasks.
The battle began in the early hours of the morning, when, as usual artillery bombardment was unleashed: thousands of guns began to fire simultaneously on all fronts. The noise was terrible and we had to protect the ears with pieces rags. After some 'never seen anything so was the smoke that covered the hills that we were facing. Suddenly there was a strong wind and against and we were overwhelmed by the smoke of explosions. Even many of the guns grenades, diverted by the wind, began to fall into our seats as we feared that we would be affected sooner or later, unless we had already died of the poisonous smoke.
We expect that waiting and anxious I was wondering if I should ever come back or if I would have died that day. I knew that the battle would not have served for nothing, because it seemed impossible to break through the enemy lines just this once, because we had never previously failed. But most of all I did not understand why our leaders persist in sending them to slaughter knowing that against machine guns and barbed wire there was no way to go, trying and try assaults even when logic and experience were opposed. Have not had pity on us? Possible that there was no way to devise a different strategy to attack the Austrians? And as for us, how could we accept that the attack still going to die needlessly like thousands of other boys had already done before? There was no answer! I could not ever give me a reply. Meanwhile, I thought I drank a bit 'of brandy and tried to make me courage.
The trench was hot awful under the sun of May, the uniform of cloth did not breathe or was it fear, thirst tormented us, but there was no water to drink we were going to attack and we had a drop of water to drink!
Then it was time. The lieutenant leaned against the railing looking at his watch and suddenly shouted "Savoy" and we set off to cry out. Many children had not yet taken a step that was affected. I ran like a madman forward without knowing where I went. Everywhere you could hear screams and saw soldiers falling. It was terrible the incessant noise of machine guns: rat-ta-ta-ta, rat-ta-ta-ta. If I think I still feel now. But I do not know which Strange Case of fate I was not impressed. I ran and slipped between two networks with a few companions and I arrived, I do not know how, at the first enemy trench. Inside were the Austrians and we faced with the bayonet. Suddenly I felt a strong pain: an enemy soldier had defended himself slipping his bayonet right forearm.
Grandpa pulled up her sleeve and showed me the long scar on the inside of the forearm from the wrist started and ended at the elbow.
- Just then, a grenade exploded close to us and many men were killed by jumping in the air as if they were paper. I was buried by the corpses that I had fallen on him and that was probably my salvation. Tightening in some way sleeve of the jacket I was able to dab the wound. All around the battle continued. I thought that was really the hell I was there and fell in, just did not know what was my fault. I also believed that war would never end as long as even one man was left alive. Then I lost consciousness. I do not know how long I remained unconscious, but when I woke up the fight was over. Above me I felt an unbearable burden, the terrible smell of the dead was even more. My throat was burning with thirst, I was short of breath. With great effort, little by little I got rid of the soldiers died that crushed me and tried to get up. I looked out of the trench. The view was untenable thousands and thousands of dead soldiers, Italians and Austrians, lying on the ground in the most absurd, carbonized, limbs and body parts scattered everywhere and an acrid smoke that hung in the air. On all sides could be heard cries and moans. We won? We lost? But who could have won that tragedy? What sense could you win? There were thousands of broken lives, nothing else mattered. Mount Hermada was behind me, threatening as ever. I was thirsty, but the only thing I could drink were my tears.
- And how is it over? - I asked again, impressed by this story.
- At night I managed to fall into our lines and was sent to the military hospital. For me the war was over, even if it lasted more than a year, an enemy I had wounded but rescued. Then, fortunately, was peace. I tell you about these terrible things that they may serve as a warning, remember that we were not enough and we had to take another war to realize how wrong they were and how much harm they have caused. You guys never forget and never forget our suffering.
I was a bit 'thoughtful, then flashed a question in my little head.
- Grandpa, but tell me one thing: Trieste is beautiful?
The grandfather lovingly looked at me and stroking my head told me
- I do not know dear, there never was!
Can You Bake A Cake In Corningware?
Books and jams
June 2009 
I arrived at the age 42 years without ever having done before two interesting things: write a book and making jam. In the first
not say much. E 'come alone, almost by chance, without which we'd never even thought of.
It is written, it is printed, every now and reread it, some change, but I like it. Talk of past wars, I bombard my head and I never cease to learn. Sometimes it's like someone else had written.
Another question is the jam.
There is a plant in the garden of figs, near the old brick wall of the shed, there is a perfectly exposed in the south and collect all the rays of the sun arrives.
Figs are a godsend, very sweet, very delicious, but fragile as the life that you take every day with the knowledge that the next one might already be gone.
But nobody in my family loves figs too, but me. From June to October, establishes a competition between myself and the plant of fig. I do my best, but the tree above me: it produces more than I can eat with a relentless commitment and therefore, in the end, she always wins.
The normal consumption of figs is already too complicated thing. The fruit should be served at maximum ripeness and then it's sugary jelly, soft mousse that melts in your mouth at the first contact. But you can not go beyond that, too is an afternoon of ours is to be thrown away, unused, and even a little 'repellent. Anticipate too much to eat is also silly because the fruits do not ripe only give a faint idea of \u200b\u200bwhat will be the right time. It 'just as impossible to try to keep them for more than a day or two and savor the best solution is freshly picked from the tree, having chosen one by one depending on the state of maturation. Is resigned to sacrificing a lot.
Then last summer, during dell'estenuante battle, I thought of a way to continue the race even in winter, when I can eat, but the plant can not produce and I decided to make jam!
Well, make a jam is not a small matter if you have never ventured. And if you like me to cook an omelet is a major complication, it takes a special character.
In any case I recovered from books and the Internet three or four versions of the recipe and I started to work.
The first question was regarding the definition, "but they say marmalade or jam?" Just to clarify I took the dictionary and I have consulted: as it says jam and marmalade are synonymous, so it is like saying the same thing, but I still think, whilst not being thorough. I read a cookbook that according to the "classification of the Community" is the only one that is jam made with citrus fruits. For all other fruits is said to jam. So "technically" I was going to make a jam. What bad luck! I liked it better the jam, marmalade is too sophisticated, too commercial. Marmalade is more childish. Okay, decided! The mine will be "fig jam Viotto" so I do not sell, I have to eat me.
The first production consisted of five experimental jars, according to the recipe that it planned to leave the figs to soak in water for a day, then cook them with sugar and vinegar slowly, time and patience. Turn, turn the pan with a wooden spoon, the result was excellent and the five jars have not stood the test of the winter because I finished it was still autumn.
Without the second production of nine pots, I have experienced, because at that point it was inevitable. Find recipes here and there I tried the jam (sorry, jam) of bananas - not bad, but maybe too sweet and exceedingly energy - then the variant with figs and spices - especially taste - the green tomato (but not fried and away train stop) and the wine jelly made with apples and wine, in fact, a jam and then "technically" true, namely that oranges, figs and after, as goodness, head straight to the second place.
But nothing above the figs, then so good that I wanted to put away too syrupy, placed whole in the vessels, that when you open them and eat them - perhaps topped with melted chocolate - are a taste of ecstasy. So
pots of jams and marmalades in neat wine fell over the winter and are now only a few to witness the first year of storage.
This year we are in June, it seems the other day we had mountains of snow and then rain in buckets, instead, as I have always seen it happen, the summer has arrived.
Daily monitoring of the plant figs.
The battle is about to start.
not say much. E 'come alone, almost by chance, without which we'd never even thought of.
It is written, it is printed, every now and reread it, some change, but I like it. Talk of past wars, I bombard my head and I never cease to learn. Sometimes it's like someone else had written.
Another question is the jam.
There is a plant in the garden of figs, near the old brick wall of the shed, there is a perfectly exposed in the south and collect all the rays of the sun arrives.
Figs are a godsend, very sweet, very delicious, but fragile as the life that you take every day with the knowledge that the next one might already be gone.
But nobody in my family loves figs too, but me. From June to October, establishes a competition between myself and the plant of fig. I do my best, but the tree above me: it produces more than I can eat with a relentless commitment and therefore, in the end, she always wins.
The normal consumption of figs is already too complicated thing. The fruit should be served at maximum ripeness and then it's sugary jelly, soft mousse that melts in your mouth at the first contact. But you can not go beyond that, too is an afternoon of ours is to be thrown away, unused, and even a little 'repellent. Anticipate too much to eat is also silly because the fruits do not ripe only give a faint idea of \u200b\u200bwhat will be the right time. It 'just as impossible to try to keep them for more than a day or two and savor the best solution is freshly picked from the tree, having chosen one by one depending on the state of maturation. Is resigned to sacrificing a lot.
Then last summer, during dell'estenuante battle, I thought of a way to continue the race even in winter, when I can eat, but the plant can not produce and I decided to make jam!
Well, make a jam is not a small matter if you have never ventured. And if you like me to cook an omelet is a major complication, it takes a special character.
In any case I recovered from books and the Internet three or four versions of the recipe and I started to work.
The first question was regarding the definition, "but they say marmalade or jam?" Just to clarify I took the dictionary and I have consulted: as it says jam and marmalade are synonymous, so it is like saying the same thing, but I still think, whilst not being thorough. I read a cookbook that according to the "classification of the Community" is the only one that is jam made with citrus fruits. For all other fruits is said to jam. So "technically" I was going to make a jam. What bad luck! I liked it better the jam, marmalade is too sophisticated, too commercial. Marmalade is more childish. Okay, decided! The mine will be "fig jam Viotto" so I do not sell, I have to eat me.
The first production consisted of five experimental jars, according to the recipe that it planned to leave the figs to soak in water for a day, then cook them with sugar and vinegar slowly, time and patience. Turn, turn the pan with a wooden spoon, the result was excellent and the five jars have not stood the test of the winter because I finished it was still autumn.
Without the second production of nine pots, I have experienced, because at that point it was inevitable. Find recipes here and there I tried the jam (sorry, jam) of bananas - not bad, but maybe too sweet and exceedingly energy - then the variant with figs and spices - especially taste - the green tomato (but not fried and away train stop) and the wine jelly made with apples and wine, in fact, a jam and then "technically" true, namely that oranges, figs and after, as goodness, head straight to the second place.
But nothing above the figs, then so good that I wanted to put away too syrupy, placed whole in the vessels, that when you open them and eat them - perhaps topped with melted chocolate - are a taste of ecstasy. So
pots of jams and marmalades in neat wine fell over the winter and are now only a few to witness the first year of storage.
This year we are in June, it seems the other day we had mountains of snow and then rain in buckets, instead, as I have always seen it happen, the summer has arrived.
Daily monitoring of the plant figs.
The battle is about to start.
June 2009
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Saturday, March 7, 2009
What Is The Term For Pay For Own Food
The white feathers. Red
This guy here has a smile of the Virgin Mary, literally beautiful, smile say, the rest is really appreciable, is called G . is not very big nor very small, has an inherent capacity to be able to put you at ease even if you're naked as a worm, with only your shoes like dress.
Said, this guy just look at it, the first time you do not say anything, but nothing, of course sometimes you are too busy from the outside, but then comes, it comes as a blow, a fist full face, tight and with the knuckles sinking, and will reward every nerve ending.
also know the air like a good guy, but when you look you realize that there is much more, which attracts more interest to him, as when listening to a song for the first time, I forget the verses, but what do you remember it right, if the song is done on purpose, is the main chorus, no introduction, no interlayer or down, nothing other than its chorus redundant ... Then
to observe it well, you realize that his back has two thin scars, scars that you know to see, but you know they are hidden, but when you wake up and the first thing you do is coughing out a white feather and soft, then you know that scars us I am really. 
This guy here has a smile of the Virgin Mary, literally beautiful, smile say, the rest is really appreciable, is called G . is not very big nor very small, has an inherent capacity to be able to put you at ease even if you're naked as a worm, with only your shoes like dress.
Said, this guy just look at it, the first time you do not say anything, but nothing, of course sometimes you are too busy from the outside, but then comes, it comes as a blow, a fist full face, tight and with the knuckles sinking, and will reward every nerve ending.
also know the air like a good guy, but when you look you realize that there is much more, which attracts more interest to him, as when listening to a song for the first time, I forget the verses, but what do you remember it right, if the song is done on purpose, is the main chorus, no introduction, no interlayer or down, nothing other than its chorus redundant ... Then
to observe it well, you realize that his back has two thin scars, scars that you know to see, but you know they are hidden, but when you wake up and the first thing you do is coughing out a white feather and soft, then you know that scars us I am really.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Iron Tablets Can Cause Dark Skin Of Fetus
night and day a little less ...
let me sleep at least 100 years, for me it's great that my angry, furious, deadly but very tired, sleeping only a few hours and when it becomes uncontrollable ... he is a good thing, but when becomes confused, unfocused and so big that it hurts ... then I do not know, you kill yourself ... and I now have a huge headache, and now I want to transform into a book for already possible to read the end ....
... my ignorance is all mine, all mine this soup heated, but with an infinite goodness of vegetables. And the soup
misses a aczzo, but if someone understands it, then that someone has arrived.
I'm going to make me love ... but who gives it to me? 
let me sleep at least 100 years, for me it's great that my angry, furious, deadly but very tired, sleeping only a few hours and when it becomes uncontrollable ... he is a good thing, but when becomes confused, unfocused and so big that it hurts ... then I do not know, you kill yourself ... and I now have a huge headache, and now I want to transform into a book for already possible to read the end ....
... my ignorance is all mine, all mine this soup heated, but with an infinite goodness of vegetables. And the soup
misses a aczzo, but if someone understands it, then that someone has arrived.
I'm going to make me love ... but who gives it to me?
Friday, February 20, 2009
Pb Charleston Sofa Slipcovers
is a beautiful prison
do not know if I really did the right thing, but my brain says yes .. the rest is quite insecure ... so sad ... maybe it's sleep that is not was one of those refreshing sleep and maternal, that put everything to rest for a while ... well, the evil to live is not very complicated, if you put in mind that once Boredom is just incomprehensible to two ... I did not sleep a dick ... but I want to sleep at least 4 or 5 months, so let slide this time so complicated ...
I stay on my tile 30 cm by 30 cm and Sassuolo ... I remember his face that I no longer ... and I wonder how I can keep myself in my back ... we are friends ... for the rest limps a little ...
prison is a beautiful world ... 
do not know if I really did the right thing, but my brain says yes .. the rest is quite insecure ... so sad ... maybe it's sleep that is not was one of those refreshing sleep and maternal, that put everything to rest for a while ... well, the evil to live is not very complicated, if you put in mind that once Boredom is just incomprehensible to two ... I did not sleep a dick ... but I want to sleep at least 4 or 5 months, so let slide this time so complicated ...
I stay on my tile 30 cm by 30 cm and Sassuolo ... I remember his face that I no longer ... and I wonder how I can keep myself in my back ... we are friends ... for the rest limps a little ...
prison is a beautiful world ...
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Midi Controller With Soundcard
the world I want to go girl ... Very bad
know that when I go to bed tired, I need to hear the sound of rain, that tichettio infallibbile constant and, as a child I loved the time, secretly went out into the courtyard to hear all that water on head, and every time I stayed hours to ask where it came from.
Now I have not lost the taste, sometimes when there is so much fog, if you approach the towers of the wires, you can hear the sizzle fog, and in the morning there is an unmistakable smell of youth, the smell that did you know a child that had come the spring, and who was also the time to observe the beautiful flower in the night unfold as the sun.
very little was enough to make you happy, the smell of the rosemary plant knotted throughout the course of the near and distant chatter heard in secret.
that child has not been lost is still here, every so often comes to mind and I see the same girl in their eyes.
Maybe when I see it I feel to save her, maybe sometimes I can not save her from everything, but at least I know when I'm not mistaken, I can show him the world, the beautiful, made even ground km cycling with the evening air on the face, the wind and jackets that inflate like balloons Move your feet to the brake pads, that's when you close your eyes from sleep and it was nice to fall asleep without having to think about what to do tomorrow ... 
know that when I go to bed tired, I need to hear the sound of rain, that tichettio infallibbile constant and, as a child I loved the time, secretly went out into the courtyard to hear all that water on head, and every time I stayed hours to ask where it came from.
Now I have not lost the taste, sometimes when there is so much fog, if you approach the towers of the wires, you can hear the sizzle fog, and in the morning there is an unmistakable smell of youth, the smell that did you know a child that had come the spring, and who was also the time to observe the beautiful flower in the night unfold as the sun.
very little was enough to make you happy, the smell of the rosemary plant knotted throughout the course of the near and distant chatter heard in secret.
that child has not been lost is still here, every so often comes to mind and I see the same girl in their eyes.
Maybe when I see it I feel to save her, maybe sometimes I can not save her from everything, but at least I know when I'm not mistaken, I can show him the world, the beautiful, made even ground km cycling with the evening air on the face, the wind and jackets that inflate like balloons Move your feet to the brake pads, that's when you close your eyes from sleep and it was nice to fall asleep without having to think about what to do tomorrow ...
Friday, January 30, 2009
Lakme India Cosmetics Price
What's wrong?
There is turned off and I feel empty, tired and embarrassed, disappointed, but also very angry, but only when I find the quiet I understand that I also instill the error of my own. Do not ask
why, but you are only listening. This
helpless children play with soap bubbles and break all always, as it is a bit off the head off her favorite doll, they never do it on purpose, but only by accident, by inadvertence.
Because sometimes they run their hands to their cocks, do not respond to basic commands of the brain, but only heard a whistle and then tearing, scratching and beat.
You know I do not know, but it is very bad right there in the middle.
Almost like getting a bullet in the head.
There are wings that take us away from here, there is hope that it will change us, because nobody ever changes, we are all equal in front of her.
And I tell you that remained the same, only this has changed my way I have, how to never open your eyes on the essentials, but beautiful and terrible, terrible, why do not you know never to be hurt until you finish the blood, beautiful because you can take everything, collect everything in your head and your heart, everything that makes you feel alive when the years are to reap their true justice.
I fell in love I can, but then crash all, there are times when I wake up and when I open my eyes I see it smashed at the foot of the bed.
There are moments when I try too much and the wrong people and I wake up in between the sheets to the poison, he thinks, if I turn to look at who is on the other part, I only see a mask that I like a lot but that is fintissima, the baroque and grotesque.
Maybe it's because I can not walk standing still but I just try to crawl, or maybe because I would finally sit down, do not you say.
But shit, I should really stop dreaming, even though it hurts to lose all hope, even though it hurts to lose thrust.
If you really lose that momentum, the one that makes me laugh even when the time is right, even when I hear a rump too bitter, it will mean that they are turned off and that the brain does not work with the thoughts, but only with the vulgar impulses electric, and my heart leaps just because there is too much oxygen in the blood, and that those memories are nothing but impressed in the memory of odors instinctive.
shit how much it hurts.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Groin Pain And Pilonidal Cyst
Oibò. What patience
This morning I went there, the chick who knew my sister had a half cuddly when he saw me.
"... you like her, it's awesome, as beautiful as her, it also resembles your aunt"
I asked if he could tell me something about her, but the lady said that we will and time to do it.
Today is her birthday (my sister) and I saw people who wanted to help her, all by coincidence.
This means that my guardian angel (the working poor!), Is telling me that I can do it, but rather that there I will do it!
So I smile: D 
This morning I went there, the chick who knew my sister had a half cuddly when he saw me.
"... you like her, it's awesome, as beautiful as her, it also resembles your aunt"
I asked if he could tell me something about her, but the lady said that we will and time to do it.
Today is her birthday (my sister) and I saw people who wanted to help her, all by coincidence.
This means that my guardian angel (the working poor!), Is telling me that I can do it, but rather that there I will do it!
So I smile: D
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Pediatrician, Markham
Now that everything is asleep, now that the silence has been placed on this house, I can tell you that I miss very much, that I do is rewind and concern that thin strip of the handful of memories.
wonder how you were, who knows what you thought, I do not know ... I have an idea of \u200b\u200bmy own, but I know that this is the exact idea of \u200b\u200bwhat they were, a male fragile and full of sensitivity, sensibility hidden in that air gruff and grumpy, always with a cigarette in his mouth and eyes blinded by desire to redeem himself with his arms and large hands to grab onto if every moment, every subtle desire and ambition.
My memories are very confused, but enough to see your face in trying to remember what your true voice, even if that voice in moments I heard my own and very true.
I have a picture near here, I have billions of your things, disks, pens and papers that they know more about you.
wonder how you have been strong to overcome everything that you deleted.
I can not find you in another man, I can not hope that the heart be still, but I can only remember and hold on the heart near me. How
love when someone is gone?
I remember you and I can only say I love you so much and the music that you left me, enough to not feel alone anymore, because I know somewhere you're still struggling to me.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Dell Optiplex Gx620 Windows 7
MIAO! DISSONANCE
You should know that my mother had a friend quite a bit younger than she, this girl is separated and has a son my age, this guy had to go back to hometown for some things.
This guy has (had) a beautiful cat named Felix, unfortunately, living with other roommates (who absolutely did not want this poor cat) has asked us kindly if we could address it for a few days waiting behind it shortly after.
You have to see this great big cat, is fatal to die, it behaves like a true predator, is big in size is the same age muffler with the only difference is that about twice and loves to sit on the balcony.
My mother passed the days when Felix was staying here temporarily, call her friend who, without hair (cat) on the tongue tells ..
"My son does not want the cat, his housemates threaten to throw him out of the house if the cat back"
My mother and I decided to take Felix that changed as well, Cagliostro, a bit like the cat in ink, so called because it is completely black, or rather black / blue, has a pair of big eyes big and yellow like the moon, in short, the classic black Gattaccia impressive and healthy film about witches (good though). The first few days
have been traumatic enough for pot, you had to see it was all offended, Cagliostro did nothing but pull his monstrous paw, knocking him out of bed in the evening, since the muffler was used to sleeping next to me leaning on the pillow like an angelic guardian, now they play and sleep together, muffler can no longer sleep in my chair dejected, but of course has changed their attitude, after she peed everywhere have decided to become friends, but only because the black cat (damn smart and a bit) decided to ally with him, unfortunately, has become the dominant male, you want to put the month in which the most difference, either for the rating that is double that. Cagliostro is
a cat, bold, sensual and combative, she loves to sit on the balcony and saw that our balcony is quite large, does not hesitate to climb over the network to go to roost on the hood venting, practically curled to the moon on the fireplace which consistently produces steam, Unlike most wild muffler though, is much more crafty and cuddly, slips under the covers and shamelessly begins with his Ronfi Ronfi whenever the slightest relief ....
So now in my bed there are two principles, one black and one blue, and perfectly reflect the main and opposite sides of my character.
but MIAO! 
You should know that my mother had a friend quite a bit younger than she, this girl is separated and has a son my age, this guy had to go back to hometown for some things.
This guy has (had) a beautiful cat named Felix, unfortunately, living with other roommates (who absolutely did not want this poor cat) has asked us kindly if we could address it for a few days waiting behind it shortly after.
You have to see this great big cat, is fatal to die, it behaves like a true predator, is big in size is the same age muffler with the only difference is that about twice and loves to sit on the balcony.
My mother passed the days when Felix was staying here temporarily, call her friend who, without hair (cat) on the tongue tells ..
"My son does not want the cat, his housemates threaten to throw him out of the house if the cat back"
My mother and I decided to take Felix that changed as well, Cagliostro, a bit like the cat in ink, so called because it is completely black, or rather black / blue, has a pair of big eyes big and yellow like the moon, in short, the classic black Gattaccia impressive and healthy film about witches (good though). The first few days
have been traumatic enough for pot, you had to see it was all offended, Cagliostro did nothing but pull his monstrous paw, knocking him out of bed in the evening, since the muffler was used to sleeping next to me leaning on the pillow like an angelic guardian, now they play and sleep together, muffler can no longer sleep in my chair dejected, but of course has changed their attitude, after she peed everywhere have decided to become friends, but only because the black cat (damn smart and a bit) decided to ally with him, unfortunately, has become the dominant male, you want to put the month in which the most difference, either for the rating that is double that. Cagliostro is
a cat, bold, sensual and combative, she loves to sit on the balcony and saw that our balcony is quite large, does not hesitate to climb over the network to go to roost on the hood venting, practically curled to the moon on the fireplace which consistently produces steam, Unlike most wild muffler though, is much more crafty and cuddly, slips under the covers and shamelessly begins with his Ronfi Ronfi whenever the slightest relief ....
So now in my bed there are two principles, one black and one blue, and perfectly reflect the main and opposite sides of my character.
but MIAO!
Monday, January 5, 2009
Photgraphs Of Rabbit Genitalia
Placido Felsina,
dell'uggiosa race,
holy god such as weirs and push,
god tired as you cry and scream, look
,
amazed
not think for the love of the stars that never will be all yours,
not think for the love of giiovinezza lost, because she never
return,
will never turn the stones and the leaves dance.
Look how bright and vivid,
feel like singing high and imposing,
what is it?
hate
or simple surrender to love not to live, sleep
the joy that brings you the instant before you shut your eyes?
jumps and turns, weirs
drunk you get up again and then ask again, because nothing can
sated altogether, perhaps a flight
epic and infinity,
but nothing that is not only you, only that image
with whom you love even billions of times,
until the time is not wasted and does not fade. As long as the cock cominzia
not to sing until
that heart does not rot in a few words,
that not even care so they would know this far, then
not speak for God ever,
or simply for love of you ...
Friday, January 2, 2009
Can Cone Biopsy Make You Infertile
Not Return. The non-return
"I'm here, and it happened yesterday, I do not remember very well, death comes when you take away, but with you also drain all your memories.
I just remember that the moment was not too bad, so sudden.
I have not seen his good form, I heard only the slow sensation of abandonment, that bitter sweet taste, the taste of a moment that you know will not come back.
About me came as a warm caress, a hint of motherly and warm a bit like when I was still inside my mother.
unthinkable things I remembered that I had forgotten so much time that I could not even comprehend.
At that moment I heard the voice of myself desperately trying to fight, one of those voices you hear when you know you are really in danger.
Mouth is filled with metal, the head gave me a slight buzz.
I have not heard, even if I had to do, I locked in a small space muffled and dark, where it is trapped.
And it happened, my soul is detached from the body back, that body for some moments before evacuation was agitated, he did a lot wrong, and say who say that death should result in peace.
I gave an absolute nuisance when I left I felt like just out of the washing machine, but without the evil as before, only more cumbersome, as if gravity had changed in a nano second, it was difficult to understand what were in my arms, the light was really too much. The doctors are
courses soon after that my body has stopped having seizures.
The chief of cardiology has tried everything, took shots at my chest for at least twelve minutes, tried to make me breathe again, in my mind came the panic in the running as a runaway horse, the down force was tremendous, but then I managed to free myself from that thought, I can not tell if it was more like a thought or a feeling.
did not come back from her, was too ugly to view outside, I was really so?
Really I spent all those months in those conditions?
should make a memorandum of death for the terminally ill, should give you the choice to leave without evil and the pain that I took with me from behind.
now is the pain in my chest that I moved on my shoulder and runs along the back, is the same evil that is when you stay in bed too, one of those unbearable tingling that spreads repititivamente.
The doctor who has followed me throughout the hospital, I was covered with my blanket, I went with him when he told me.
My father and sister were the first to cry, but my mother has turned to white and then blood He must have gone all the way to the face.
He did not say anything was limited only to nod.
I felt like crying myself when my sister, younger than me, I embraced it.
is was horrible, I felt his arms about me, her hot tears fall on top on the neck.
He wanted to stay with me, has also opened the bedroom window, looked out into the trees orange and yellow, then looked at the green grass and damp, maybe he was about to jump from the window, but when I tried to support the hand on his shoulder, he must have heard me, and he changed his mind, call it telepathy or just willpower, but she was able to hear me.
She sat next to me, it did not go away when they took me in the basement, in the mortuary chapel.
it was she who decided to dress me.
What made me cry from the legs, what I put on my twenty-fifth birthday.
I was really beautiful.
the function were all there, Gianluca and Katia, the Alice and Henry, missing from Mark, and I realized, I did not have power at all, but I know he was what I was most attached, was that to which I was a little bit as a psychologist.
We know how to do it with friends, the important thing is to always be able to listen to them, the solution is not very important, but the important thing is to make him feel you are there,
even after you're dead.
They took me in the cemetery next to the house, Philip Conlie played guitar throughout the mass, the song that I had asked, that of Jeff Buckley that I liked so much, but to tear trailer was perfect.
My mom had destroyed the faces, you could see he did not sleep the night before, the night when I'm dead.
I died in autumn, my favorite season, the season when the streets feel the smell of chestnuts and mulled wine. What a nice
the Ilaria, next to all the flowers we put a nice red candle with the Cheshire side. Smoke
wonder how he is, tried a lot to me, that cat was the best thing that had happened to me in the last years of my life.
I had taken to the cattery, my mother had insistinto lot, believed that pet therapy has the power to heal completely.
I'll miss his little legs in the hair and the hum of his purring before falling asleep.
There are also my former classmates, there was incredible how many people there were really all in the church there was not.
I've moved to the funeral, I was next to my dead body all the time, close to the black pine coffin with inlays of gold, just like what I had seen in the movie house of Gianluca. Don Benigno
could not even speak, and say that there are young people who die every five minutes at least in the world, but perhaps what has made me cry was the rage to all who have always had that hope, to the hope that they had in my comparisons, I could really do it ...." 
"I'm here, and it happened yesterday, I do not remember very well, death comes when you take away, but with you also drain all your memories.
I just remember that the moment was not too bad, so sudden.
I have not seen his good form, I heard only the slow sensation of abandonment, that bitter sweet taste, the taste of a moment that you know will not come back.
About me came as a warm caress, a hint of motherly and warm a bit like when I was still inside my mother.
unthinkable things I remembered that I had forgotten so much time that I could not even comprehend.
At that moment I heard the voice of myself desperately trying to fight, one of those voices you hear when you know you are really in danger.
Mouth is filled with metal, the head gave me a slight buzz.
I have not heard, even if I had to do, I locked in a small space muffled and dark, where it is trapped.
And it happened, my soul is detached from the body back, that body for some moments before evacuation was agitated, he did a lot wrong, and say who say that death should result in peace.
I gave an absolute nuisance when I left I felt like just out of the washing machine, but without the evil as before, only more cumbersome, as if gravity had changed in a nano second, it was difficult to understand what were in my arms, the light was really too much. The doctors are
courses soon after that my body has stopped having seizures.
The chief of cardiology has tried everything, took shots at my chest for at least twelve minutes, tried to make me breathe again, in my mind came the panic in the running as a runaway horse, the down force was tremendous, but then I managed to free myself from that thought, I can not tell if it was more like a thought or a feeling.
did not come back from her, was too ugly to view outside, I was really so?
Really I spent all those months in those conditions?
should make a memorandum of death for the terminally ill, should give you the choice to leave without evil and the pain that I took with me from behind.
now is the pain in my chest that I moved on my shoulder and runs along the back, is the same evil that is when you stay in bed too, one of those unbearable tingling that spreads repititivamente.
The doctor who has followed me throughout the hospital, I was covered with my blanket, I went with him when he told me.
My father and sister were the first to cry, but my mother has turned to white and then blood He must have gone all the way to the face.
He did not say anything was limited only to nod.
I felt like crying myself when my sister, younger than me, I embraced it.
is was horrible, I felt his arms about me, her hot tears fall on top on the neck.
He wanted to stay with me, has also opened the bedroom window, looked out into the trees orange and yellow, then looked at the green grass and damp, maybe he was about to jump from the window, but when I tried to support the hand on his shoulder, he must have heard me, and he changed his mind, call it telepathy or just willpower, but she was able to hear me.
She sat next to me, it did not go away when they took me in the basement, in the mortuary chapel.
it was she who decided to dress me.
What made me cry from the legs, what I put on my twenty-fifth birthday.
I was really beautiful.
the function were all there, Gianluca and Katia, the Alice and Henry, missing from Mark, and I realized, I did not have power at all, but I know he was what I was most attached, was that to which I was a little bit as a psychologist.
We know how to do it with friends, the important thing is to always be able to listen to them, the solution is not very important, but the important thing is to make him feel you are there,
even after you're dead.
They took me in the cemetery next to the house, Philip Conlie played guitar throughout the mass, the song that I had asked, that of Jeff Buckley that I liked so much, but to tear trailer was perfect.
My mom had destroyed the faces, you could see he did not sleep the night before, the night when I'm dead.
I died in autumn, my favorite season, the season when the streets feel the smell of chestnuts and mulled wine. What a nice
the Ilaria, next to all the flowers we put a nice red candle with the Cheshire side. Smoke
wonder how he is, tried a lot to me, that cat was the best thing that had happened to me in the last years of my life.
I had taken to the cattery, my mother had insistinto lot, believed that pet therapy has the power to heal completely.
I'll miss his little legs in the hair and the hum of his purring before falling asleep.
There are also my former classmates, there was incredible how many people there were really all in the church there was not.
I've moved to the funeral, I was next to my dead body all the time, close to the black pine coffin with inlays of gold, just like what I had seen in the movie house of Gianluca. Don Benigno
could not even speak, and say that there are young people who die every five minutes at least in the world, but perhaps what has made me cry was the rage to all who have always had that hope, to the hope that they had in my comparisons, I could really do it ...."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)