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.

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!

Can You Bake A Cake In Corningware?

Books and jams

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.

June 2009

Black And White Checkered Jester Hat

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