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New Year's Eve of 1989

At noon on New Year's Eve 1989 I handed in the orderly room red armband, I made and I signed the minutes and dismounted from corporal to the day. That night, after my ride for contrappello eleven thirty, we toasted with champagne and cake that Perez had bought at the canteen of the barracks. Apart from the large windows of the dormitory shone the words "Las Vegas" in an amusement park that stood in the parking lot of the Hippodrome: the time seemed insignificant, yet it is branded in my memory, listed among the best feeling. I see the faces of those who was there, I see the bunks, cabinets against the wall, the backpacks on the wall. Resent a bang the plug at midnight, cries, greetings exchanged, the toasts with paper cups.

I changed quickly and I gathered the gang with whom I had an appointment: we went to lunch at Haisrainer Weinstube in Piazza del Duomo. Five soldiers, five friends meet to share that first day of a year that would have brought many changes in their lives, beginning with that leave long-awaited. When we left the restaurant, and endless cold afternoon, we took the road to Quarazze, where school buildings are located and where we went to some film club on Thursday. We entered a bar out of the way to warm a cup of hot chocolate and a slice of blueberry pie. After a lot 'of time between serious talk and the usual jokes, we paid. On a thousand pounds of rest is up to date and place him Ferrario wrote, "Merano, 1/1/1989" and signed it. Then he handed us the bill and each of us wrote something in the blanks and signed as well. We did this in silence, without saying a word, as if an invisible force guiding our actions. Ferrario finally folded a thousand pounds, those with the Montessori on one side and the other kids at school, I made a little square that rests in your wallet. Only then spoke: "You guys do not know that I remember is this. I'll keep with me forever. Who knows what you think in a few years when I will get in your hands ... "

I do not remember who wrote the other three sentences, Perego, cantons and Bettoni. Unfortunately we do not even remember what I wrote, and I regret it. But always remember that table littered with cups, saucers, cups and spoons, and the thousand lire all written with a red pen. I will always remember New Year's gang in 1989.

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Night Christmas in the Russian steppe

On 24 December 1942, the Division Julia was near the Don, in burrows on the front line between Krinitscnaja and Ivanovka. The command was established in Nova Troitzkoije, the Germans of the 24th Armored Corps, which now depended on the division, but were staying beautiful comfortable in a kolkhoz, Stalinism. The Julia held on tight, trying to plug the leak caused by the Soviet breakthrough began with the fighting of 16 December. The losses began to be many, the cold was more intense.

On Christmas Eve the Alpine Giobatta Francescon was on guard just outside the moles from shelters covered with wooden planks of birch. The frost was hellish, the carved ice candles on the beard, on the face, the strange decorations hung from the ice cap, with a long coat lined with fur. And that's cold penetrated to the bone, make you numb your feet shod with those weird shoes sent by the command: pieces of wood of which were sewn canvas boots. had at least one of those valenki felt wearing the Russians!

shot out, somewhere along the Don, on the front line, where there were maybe the Cuneense or Tridentine . Those damned Germans were down more: it is always shunned, left to do all the work to others, but when I was there to enjoy the amenities were in the front row, as they did when most of the train journey, leaving the Italians to march under the sun steppe. How much powder! But at least it was hot then. Giobatta shakes his feet, he tries to resume a bit 'circulation to the memory of that July day in the fields of sunflowers.

Suddenly, a whirring of wings. Partridges. No, pheasants. But no, at this time of night ... She looks toward the river, toward the enemy, but the movement is closer, just beyond the barbed wire. There is a light, is about to sound the alarm, then stops abruptly, the light appears a beautiful angel dressed in blue, with blond curls and the band wrote with Gloria, as he had seen in the recordings of the Bible his mother. The angel is a sign to follow him. Giobatta prudence did not abandon the gun, narrows even further into a fur collar and proceeds with a residue of mistrust towards the angel. But all his resistance is overcome when he sees the source of light is its hut in the mountains of Friuli, covered with snow. The flame shines in the room cheerful and warm fireplace, went to the window and stare into his wife's shawl with beautiful auburn hair and send reflected the glow of the fire. Small child clinging to the breast, the one born in May, he has only had time to say goodbye before leaving for Russia. What a great serenity reigns in the house, and he here in the cold of the desert. But how is it that can be in two places at once?

not have time to mull over the thought that a Katyusha strike rends the air with a piercing roar and hit the very spot where he was to guard a few minutes before. Blow up a piece Netting, rises a cloud of ice and snow, flying here and there scraps of wood. Giobatta still staring at that empty space, on those pieces blackened, twisted the barbed wire that now makes him think the crown of thorns of Jesus .. Turned back to the angel, to his house: there is only darkness, only the uniform greyness of the steppe. Across the river singing, the voices come in the wake of the cold wind that sticks to skin and eye burns.

"Francescon" cried "Francescon, if you indove finio . Like waking from a dream, will be charged Giobatta, staggers into the frozen snow, comes close to the burrows dug in the ground. "I'm here," answered "that botanical ," but still thinks the angel, think of the mirage of his house, his wife, his son, who saved his life. "A miracle," repeated "a miracle" and meanwhile gavettino of gruel drink coffee, but they call that half of grappa is found somehow. The lieutenant gives him a pat on the back, smiles and says "Merry Christmas, vecio.

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time in the hands

That afternoon the sea was a flat gray table, a gigantic slab of slate laid on the sand of the coast. The sails we stood out like white butterflies impaled, the wind-surfing moved just past the signs indicating the maximum limit for bathing. On the beach boredom reigned supreme, the music of radios mingled with the cries of bathers, taken away by the wind died down. Under the umbrella, hot in the shade, I was reading a book by Kundera: at the end of every chapter I stopped to look around and drink greedy gulps of fresh water.

Daniel was sitting on deck chairs next to me. She had a bikini with flowers and the sun was drawing on his streaked blond hair. He took a handful of sand, in the closed fist and the left filter slowly and the wind picks up the flow of gold grains and brought them to the sea, toward the white handkerchiefs of sails, to the coves on the other side of the gulf, where cotton-like white clouds were piled above the pine trees and the towers of condominiums.

The wind blew stronger hours, the wind-surfing off the coast began to fly, the hem of the umbrella is moved along the north-east wind waves: a case of Daniel's face was filled with light, marveled at his regular features, the tan. After completing his game again, opened his fist, dropped the sand, rubbed his hands. "Love," I said, "you had time in their hands" ...

Photo ©

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Christmas Tale

This was almost Christmas. Giuan Tott intrösc in the era of thoughts ... I know this story should be told so, but I am well aware that few would be able to read it. Then I'll try to make the story current in Italian that develops in a quiet corner of Lombardy, lying between hills and plains that cover the province of Lecco, Como, Monza-Brianza and Milan, not far from the border between the old and the Duchy Serenissima, marked by the course of the Adda and known to the literature for the flight to Milan in Renzo Betrothed. Beyond that is the border with the province of Bergamo its quarries and its cement, with trucks that travel by cable car carrying their loads.

It was almost Christmas. John was busy with his thoughts. The snow coming down slowly helped him to get lost in the maze of the mind with hypnotic power of large flakes that are deposited as small feathers. It took more than a moment to realize that someone was addressing the word. Vincent was the "German", decked out with the Scottish wool scarf, a huge black windbreaker and wool cap with the emblem of Juventus. He was not really German, indeed: the very name betrays its origins south. No, he had worked in Germany long ago, never knew when, before finding its location on the banks of the Adda. Of the idiom he had learned in the days of childhood and youth there were only the shadows closed in some accents and strangely opened in other words. But sometimes ventured into the territories of the dialect difficult parts without too much disfigure Monza.

And now he was talking about something that would happen soon. John did not read the first few sentences, it was like one who wakes up and takes a little to connect, maybe moving a little 'arms and legs, stretches to restore tone to the muscles. "Tomorrow I'll win the Lotto." That was the gist of the long speech by Vincent, also spoke with gestures with his hands and his words were saying that he went to play in the early morning of the station bar the bookies - he drank a cappuccino, ate croissants, Tuttosport bed with the record of winning the match in Catania and Juventus player, the "German" when he had to say something still started Adam and Eve.

John took one hand from his pocket, passed it on the chin: a habit that sometimes when he had to ask a question. Vincent, who knew him well, are prepared to listen: in that attitude seemed to be a child waits for Christmas morning. "You played the Lotto, all right," said John, "but what makes you think you'll be right to win, given also played in many because the jackpot is high, is it? 102 million? "" 104 million, € 127 000 and 258 "Accounting just his friend. "Behold, 104 million-odd, and you'll win? Just you? But can you tell me why do you believe? "They were standing under the canopy of the dispenser. Vincent looked around, rolled umbrella and closed quietly, so that John finds it hard to understand, said: "He told me an angel ..." 'Cuse? "Said surprised John," what? " Vincent and the silence, the almost even put a hand over her mouth. "An angel, come to I'll see if I was still there. "

They went under the snow, which fell more heavily. On the streets there were at least ten centimeters, but remained compact, cracking under the soles. Vincent took his friend on the right side of the parish church. There, in a recess in the wall was a cave with the crib. A blond child wrapped in a cold wind jacket that clearly showed extensive dirt was there sitting in the ox and the donkey, on the bottom. "Ossignùr, Tudèsch but thee mea ciamàa the Police?" snapped John. "The police? And why? Do not you see he's an angel? He also wings ... "As if he had been specially trained, at that very moment the child, who has had a five-six years, he turned and sprang from the jacket two large sections of foam padding. "Vincent, but it is the feather." John moved to St. Joseph asking him mentally excuse for that barbaric act, bowed before the Virgin Mary and approached the child, kneeling. "Are you lost? Where are your father and your mother? "" Here "said the boy, pointing to the statues of saints. John saw instead "here, out here," and so "Six of the country?" He asked again. "No, I live here." And so saying, he jumped into the manger, left empty until Christmas Eve, when the priest was to place the statue of baby Jesus and bless the crib. It was when the child is lying comfortably in the manger, which began a wonderful music and a choir began to sing. "But, Don Cesare this year has put up a good program," thought John, "also made the choir practice on Friday morning ..." At that moment he realized that the choir could not be, since all were probably in school or at work. Vincent was on his knees and his eyes in ecstasy over the cave. He looked at him, a dozen angels sang "Glory in the highest and on earth peace to men of good will. " The snow was falling more and more dense, the cave was now illuminated, the light was indeed a blessing from the baby in the manger. "But, that all dirty and tattered jacket?" Dared to ask John. "The sins of the world leave traces," said the Child Jesus.

now the snow had become a blizzard, the wind blew hard, the cold was very intense. John Vincent lifted and led him inside the church, through the side door. Don Cesare was praying sitting on a bench. He saw the two men get covered with snow. "What happened?" He asked in alarm. The two could not speak, but pointed to the door to the priest, accompanied him in front of the cave. Now the snow fell less dense, needle. At the center of the cave, in the manger, was the Infant Jesus of gypsum, that was always the priest. "Well," said Don Caesar, "is back. But I do not recognize? It is the statue of the Infant Jesus, who had stolen last year. Who knows who will set the ... The providence of God ... "So saying lifted the statue, wiped the snow with a black wool scarf and went to church ... "This put the Christmas Eve!" Almost shouted shutting the door. John and Vincent remained as two fools. They looked at the cave once again, cold and dark as much as it was warm and bright a few minutes before. The silence seemed louder now that the choir had stopped singing, the snow muffled all those noises. They went to the Central Bar and ordered two glasses of white sprayed with Campari.

The next day, according to the prophecy of the angel, Vincent "the German" won the Lotto: 204 euro and 42 cents reward her four. We bought a heater bar and glow on Christmas night, unseen by anyone, put it in the cave, close to the Baby Jesus, because he might not suffer the cold.

Crib eighteenth century "to belch" - Church of Santa Maria della Neve, Acireale

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my christmas tree 2010

Proudly I present my Christmas tree (for my camera) for Christmas 2010!

I call country-romantic, as there are Gingerbread small and large, wool gloves, wool red hearts and white soft plush (both made by me), and bright stars rosse.A balls to complete a mega star the tip!

you like it?

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fairies hanging ...

Good evening girls admit that it was time that I was not and that do not achieve sth but I must say that the mental time to create because it is poorly absorbed by problems of more "practical." cmq I took these two fairies (the third is in progress) of cloth with hair, dress, wings and all crocheted hat. I was driven by wanting to create a new type of decoration natlizio, cmq commendable, but very experimental. I greet you
ciaooooo

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PORTATORTA pannolenci

course of the last track I made in a portatorta pannolenci .. I like it a lot and were months that I wanted to try to make one!

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BOW IN BIRTH

The small of my friend Simon could not wait to be born and decided to arrive a few weeks ahead of schedule: Monday morning I was on holiday and I woke up with the wonderful surprise of his early arrival.
So I set to work and the materials I had at home I have created this comes on a balloon reindeer .. All travel and superfretta but I hope that the result like the new mother!

also the basket in which was placed the Reindeer was created by me. In prossimoi day account to have a little 'time to put the tutorial on how to achieve it:)

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The trick

my dearest love and lost, now that I look through the lens of memory and dreams, here you find in the features of this other woman who shares his days with me and believed to be the exclusive love that I give you: he believes that roses are the doors for her, believes that the poems that I write are all for you, believe that My kisses are his own, that my body is his, the chocolates, rings, cards, earrings are his own.

Of course they are his, in the sense that physically, materially them and own them: flowers, hugs, jewelry, sweet embraces. And then the long trips, pizzas, dinners in restaurants, movies, his arm over her shoulders. But is the spirit that she has, that he could never have, because each of these gifts, every attention, every care is actually intended for you, are sacrificed on the altar of memory. In a sense, she unwittingly reads your part, indeed is nothing but an imitation, as far as his talent is not talent but only a surrogate, so that eventually there's a saying that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. This is not to belittle or denigrate him - and how could I? - Given that I have reserved your role and then I have unconsciously chosen a woman who seems too much.

Now she smiles. And with the memory of your smile is what I intended. Remember? I told you it was your smile to innamorami, which I practiced in the evening to recreate the mirror. Must be entered in my deep, so that now her smile is yours. And the gestures that hour, that cut the air with his hand as they were talking, then turn over the rings on his fingers, that haunt a lock escape styling, are your gestures, your are the same way as ports, gesturing while stories of the places you've visited, people you've met. In fact, you're telling me a guy who had boarded importunate in a cafe in Marvel Street. If they knew my thoughts, who knows how to get angry, I wonder how you would feel humiliated, betrayed. He should be slamming the door, I punched storms, I massacre with a kitchen knife ... But now I observe with your eyes, asks me what's wrong. I tell you are just tired, I worked too much. I'm getting closer, as he always does in these cases. I close my eyes and massaged his temples, he kisses me and I guess it's you. For a few minutes work, but then recognizes the trick, an illusion. I open my eyes and do not love, not love, although it is showing exactly the opposite of kissing and hugging, unbuttoning her blouse. Not you, not you ...

Photo © Elise Hardy

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Linda With heart and hands held a giveaway in which I participate too!!

for grabs there will be its Christmas decoration, if you do want to participate in a visit to his blog and leave a comment ! Good luck!

Bezaclin Before And After

The machine

The sky was a purple stain, his brilliance was incredibly sharp, was lost to the hills, spreading over diverse in huge tentacles of jellyfish, in flounce of quirky clothes, covered with veils streaked precious stones that reflect light. And the hills were blacks clusters, enormous beached mastodons, giant sperm whales stranded in the country: roads meandered here and there that you would have said to have been designed with electrical wires or strings of the big white. The campaign then was a series of plots that were thinking about a painting by Mondrian, few farmers and machinery stood out among a large group of Scarecrow from the queer posture, adorned with huge hats and big scarves fluttering. Above them flew large tin crows, flapping his wings with a creak of the vane.

Professor Tobias looked at me Buzzetti admired: he could not hide a hint of complacency, I could read the pride and the pride in the bright eyes, the smile that she could not suppress. When he finally spoke, waking from the vision, I understood: "What you see is not. This room is just the extreme offshoot of a huge machine that generates dreams and illusions. Does nothing more than tap into our subconscious and mix everything, creating universes that are made from dreams, memories and fantasies of those who come to pass in this place. The crows of iron, for example, are one of my childhood memory: I had seen a move in a spring showcase of Ortisei when I was six or seven years. I know exactly who was one autumn evening sky with the strange colors. " The tentacles of jellyfish so they were mine, got stuck in some part of my neurons, tangled in the synapses. The large jellyfish on the beach of Gabicce, a chandelier from which came those milky colored ribbons. I would have liked to meet the technical ol'operaio that led Mondrian in that group: I would have gladly talked about art with a drink in the cafeteria.

"Do not is everything, "said Professor Buzzetti: in fact we are also testing of the variants. He pressed a button on the remote control in his hand. "Well, now you hide a piece. A piece of your subconscious, I mean. " I looked, but nothing seemed changed in that scene. But I had the impression that someone hid a piece, as if the missing piece of a puzzle and just one pass was necessary to reveal the whole secret. Or rather, I felt that the card was there but was hidden from my eyes. That is, had failed its the only fragment that gave direction to the rest. The vision for the rest was unchanged: the purple sky, jellyfish, fields of Mondrian, the scarecrow, the hills, the crows ... The universe, however, was altered: looking more closely, the peasants wore white masks with large Bautte, the streets had become the deep cuts in the skin of sperm whales, the sky had taken on a tint more bloody. As if the axis on which all that universe had turned virtual or fictitious tilted a few degrees, or if the rotation had imperceptibly slowed or accelerated in order to change even slightly, however the details. Then I realized: "You are hiding a piece" that showed, not only my subconscious, but that of all those who go to make that vision. The hidden piece, the keystone, took away the peace I had felt in front of the breathtaking scenery adds a thin veneer of concern, if only for that secret is not revealed, the element capable of changing things unspoken.

"The memory handlers, in this case is not" explained Tobias Buzzetti, "that is modified and assumes a different value, you lose the characteristic that made him remember it, with that intense emotion, with that passionate tenderness. Look at the crows, now ... "I looked. Crows mechanical childhood Tobia Buzzetti now had a flap on the belly from time to time the opening dotted with small bombs that fell on the roar contain scarecrow creating an ironic retribution. And my jellyfish? Looked better: the sky was turned red because they had large tentacles long, strong spines, like those of the acacia trees, and tore the sky with those surging as a shield.

"The machine is able to calculate virtually direct our thoughts, to process the memories and place them within the scenario: they change and rearranges them according to the billions of combinations that are accessed," said the professor. "Regulate even chaos," I said, painting and drawing and I saw that smirk on his face that just could not hide. Still pressed a button on the remote control in front of me now opened up a huge maze. "Let's try another function," he said, "The wire is to quit you ..." When I found myself in the dark, I began to curse Tobia Buzzetti, then his eyes became accustomed little by little, I understood what the teacher wanted with the words "The thread is to quit you ..." Marta smile when I saw the splendor of its sixteen. Tobias had given me an exciting journey into the territories of my youth: to exit, simply had to recognize my mistakes and not commit them again.

Checkered Zebra, "Dream Machine"

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STORK FOR THE ARRIVAL OF JOHN CHRISTMAS TOYS

I made a bow for the coming birth of John, second son of my friend Michael .. I hope you come to the mother before the baby .. Michi, you like it?! of course if you had other ideas we had time to change project! This idea sfagiolava me somewhat, and then I would have implemented in a way! ;)


materials: pannolenci to achieve the stork, satin ribbons for blue ribbons, raffia to attach the heart to the stork, checkered cloth for the heart e. .. hot glue to attach it all! (Not having a sewing machine ..)


find the pattern here , search Bread, Love and Creativity .. There are a lot of good ideas!

Levi's Belt Loop Problem

Naples

"You were unlucky," he repeated the Neapolitan friends "you are getting the rain." I have said on the waterfront, they told me the Via Chiaia, I have said in Martyrs Square. No, I was lucky, however, because the Naples I saw was the real Naples, that far from the stereotypes, the one who knows just who lives there. Too easy to associate the idea we have of a city with a picture postcard - the two pine trees in the background of Posillipo with the sea and Mount Vesuvius, in this case. Too easy to get and sing "O sole mio". This makes the tourists.

Instead, sitting and drinking a coffee in the Galleria Umberto I, I felt part of this city. There was wind, there was wet, the rain fell intermittently, could also be in London, given that turned umbrellas. It could have been Milan, in a gallery so similar. But it was Naples, just one of his spirits, the theater, set design - it is no coincidence that a few steps from there are the Teatro San Carlo and Piazza del Plebiscito. They told me that there are gathered the evening of tango dancers. The soul of the city is also in this. Hard to think of tangueros dance on the mosaics in front of Prada, prefer the quiet of a trivial local on the canals. In Naples, however you can.

I had already seen the sea on the Riviera di Chiaia, I was in love with the view that ranged from a Posillipo Castel dell 'Ovo and lay under a sky where the light varied continuously, in which the clouds were arranged as a backdrop to the stage. I had already had a taste of Naples: the curly puff that melts in your mouth and fills the taste buds with its delicious aroma to the palate with cinnamon and orange peel. I was already immersed in the soft delicacy of a baba watered syrup, eaten with the eyes before the mouth on that plate of metal from parts of the station.

The rain, I said. The greatest regret, the sorrow of my real friends. Naples is the sun and sea. But it is not true: Naples is the people, it is the exquisite hospitality and warmth. The best compliment that I did was tell me I'm a misuse in the North, that my documents are fake, which actually I am a "street urchin". I have even submitted to an examination of Naples, to try to catch me in chestnut, but perhaps for the soul of Toto hovering everywhere in the inn where we dined, the test was not conclusive - or so I believe, perhaps really They found that the cassoeula I much prefer the pizza!

I was in Naples ... I was with friends ... I was lucky.

Naples, Piazza del Plebiscito © DR

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platform 14

They announced the delay of the train, heading out of the metal shells of the speakers declared that "the region of 7027 hours 16 and 40 for Lecco, Sondrio and Tirano leave with about forty minute delay. " And this mishap spread more salt in our wounds, we freeze in this new time that we spend together. We met by chance coming from the windows of the station of Porta Garibaldi, where they reflect the skyscrapers of the business center: I looked at those reflections, she brings her usual walking distraction, we nearly collided. "Hello, Chiara" "Hello, Andrea." A little 'cold, and not because it is November and cold and sharp wind down from the Alps has invaded the city. Cold for an indecipherable and unresolved issues between us, a malaise that has poisoned our relationship, which has polluted the love and stayed. A week already we had not seen and there called. Not even a text message.

We sit on the lower edge of the flower, in the twilight. Light characters on the board every now and then dance and crossing: a train leaves, another arrives, another delay accumulates. But we can not eradicate this black that devours us, to throw on the table the issue. We do not know if we can revive this love, if we suppress it. Nor do we know if our friendship will survive, in this case. We remain inert in this languor, indolence boredom minute rushing. Are missing at least thirty the train's departure, they have not even yet brought to the track. It's cold now, ice that we carry has teamed up with the atmosphere. It began to rain, the wind cuts like a knife. "Let's go get a coffee at the bar?" She nods, the aid to rise.

The bar is warm and smells of grilled sandwiches. Do we prepare two cups of coffee and bring them to a table. Out of travelers arriving at or leaving the station to take the green subway line or corridors leading into the Corso Como, the white taxi start over again. The light is cold, the neon giving a aseptic this venue. But that argument does not take off. Clare continues to look at me in passing, looking for something in the bag. Digs up bag and takes out the make-up, remodeling is the eyes, lips. I feel limp, like a puppet after the show. I want to shout: "So, this love is gone? Tell me. " Here, among the people, the waitresses with the cap, professionals with twenty-four hours, students with backpacks, the Senegalese sitting in a corner. It is not my style. I do not want to humiliate me or her. Announce that the train is arriving at platform 14. "Andiamo" I say and my words come out disheartened, empty note. Drops already dark, I realize when emerge from the subway stairs. Particularly noteworthy are the oasis of "Self bar full of drinks and snacks.

The regional is coming: his white eyes emerge from the rain, they become progressively larger. When it stops, the crowd let him vent and then we go up, we find a place in the leading car. It is no longer the time is not the place. I take from my folder to the newspaper, Chiara puts the white iPod earphones in his ears. The train leaves, makes a hissing sound before putting the long tunnel. Among us only silence, a sharp, pointed silence that rend the heart as an ice punch.

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Work in progress ... The

Good evening girls are days that I finished this doll as a "draft" and still waiting for a worthy vestitino.L 'idea is inspired by the dolls Kouklitas but it my way, since I'm not a designer, I create a character ... cmq say a fairy or something similar, so it takes more than just a dress.
We think about it, if I'm glad you give me sth idea, so I'll need as well, while you put the doll still naked;)
kisses to

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One night

was falling the night is dark and noisy. The lights of the waterfront mingled with silvery reflections of the waves, the southwest wind made them tremble shaking the leaves of eucalyptus trees. The sea was rough, moving like a restless soul groaning and howling beneath a sky cut in two by a sharp crescent.

was already dark in the room, but we got up to turn on the light to illuminate a lamp to pour his soft haze around it. We stayed there in the shadows, sitting together on the leather sofa to confess, to haunt us. With her fingers she tortured rings, redirecting them with continued employment. I put my hands to the face or let roam around the knees. Our stories were fed to remain silent and say that, but slowly we built something day after day, brick by brick. When I seemed to sense that a note had tears in his voice that cracked as a sudden crack opening in the ice, I realized immediately mistaken: it was one word to ignite the shadow, that I had to open wide horizons calculated to invade the fields of my thoughts as a fast, well-armed army. "We." It was a long speech and articulate what she was doing at that moment, maybe I was distracted. "We", the mind registers, we wrapped a moment, recovered from hearing the last sentence. "Now we can be ourselves." As a matter of fact, a cell, a pair. One plus one.

My sadness already waved a white flag, surrendered without a fight, he softened. Us. That is, the two of us. I fell on his neck and kissed me. I began to undress her passionately, feeling his skin beneath my fingers, to caress the body that smelled of citrus. I felt the sea incattivito mix with our rapid breathing. I felt his hands on his back, the tip of the nail. I was inside her now, it was moving fast on her hips and I was wondering if it was joy or pain, if I had fallen into a hell or a new paradise.

Mike Jory, "Thinking of You"

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kouklitas

Hello all!
Somewhere in the network because I discovered quite by chance that there is nothing short of fantastic dolls, which I do a fair competition to Matilda's addict, and call themselves The Kouklitas: it is obvious that dolls are very sophisticated and glamorous from Because they are dressed as haute couture.inoltre faces have very specific and well designed. There
place which is the official source: www.kouklitas.com
Meanwhile I'm working on a new doll in the footsteps of these Kouklitas .... missing the dress which must be sought.
ciaoooooooo

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Last Thursday I attended a creative platform 9 and 3 / 4 (one store in Reggio Emilia) to make the Christmas puppets. I enjoyed a world, today published the photo, just a moment of time I will also explain how they were made.

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POINT FELT AND EMBROIDERY pannolenci

I posted a short video to explain the point that I use to embroider the edges of my work in pannolenci / felt

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A landscape painter

How does a landscape painter who is preparing to paint a new opera? First, choose an image to portray: it may have been sudden inspiration to convince him of the subject, or there has long meditated, or even been to bring the case where the landscape, for its beauty or for a particular , hit him so that he dangled the idea of \u200b\u200ba new framework.

Anyway, now has its own theme. It sketches the design on paper or take a photo, but this second case involves a technological shift that distorts the whole of his work and makes an interpretation rather than an imitation. Now is the painter in front of the white canvas, Virgin, placed on a tripod. Grab a piece of charcoal and shows the design that has splashed on the paper. Here and there adds or subtracts something, depending on how the memory suggests, maybe sometimes closes his eyes to review the landscape in his mind.

Now is the time to make the palette and brushes: it begins to roll out the background colors, the blue sky, green grass in the foreground, the gray-purple of the mountains. It is probably the most tedious part of work, this preparation, but already on the canvas begins to appear in the soul of the landscape. The beauty is afterwards, when it passes to the finest brushes, and outlines figures that give depth to the picture: a bunch of edelweiss, a fence, two cows grazing, a group of larches. Now move to even smaller brushes and paints the most minute details: the embroidery on the leather band of cow bells, the cones of coniferous trees, the seeds of the edelweiss, the movement of a waterfall in the background there, veins wood of the fence, a snowfield on the far mountain, a hidden refuge, tufts of grass ...

When I write a story, I often act like that landscape painter: it can be sudden inspiration to hit, as news or read the newspaper or a memory out of oblivion by a conversation between friends, read a passage in some book. Or I racking their brains for something that we can tell, review the events of which I was the protagonist in the recent past or even date back to periods further away to friends and people I met, events I witnessed. Or fantastic, I venture into the territories of the absurd, I suppose that time is spent differently or not the past or even transportation facts now in the past or the future, always taking a look at Buzz, the author of my favorite stories .

is the time to make a sketch, not drawing, I write. And generally I write a poem in heroic verse, to be used as a track, more rarely a small stylus on the key points in the story that needs to happen. At this point the painter shows the sketch on the canvas. I turn on the computer, open a word processing program and start to put words - once I took a blank sheet of paper, a pen and began to leave traces of ink in the form of sentences. In this case I would probably have written: "How does a landscape painter who is preparing to paint a new opera?". Sounds easy, but it takes time to compose the opening words: it is one of the most important, especially in a short story, is the key with which they read or the business card that people writes extends to those who will read. And this is a difference between the narrator and the painter.

Then the work proceeds, however, parallel: if there is preparing the background, you write the whole story here. If you go beyond the figures, here they are introduced and re-read sentences and entire paragraphs. When the painter goes to finishing, painting the details, the narrator does the same filing and correcting, changing a word, choosing a different noun. When the last brush stroke and the last point are placed at work, painter and storyteller look as satisfied as they have produced.

Photo © Moritz

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Guilt Pulp

By now you all know, the news is in the public domain. The octopus Paul, the legendary seer who became famous during the World Cup in South Africa for its weather, fits perfectly, was found dead in his bathtub precious crystal. The keeper of the aquarium Oberhausen Reverse has found lifeless in the water. According to news agencies, poor Paul died of natural causes.

But our correspondent in Oberhausen, the clownfish Nemo, we can reveal all backstage. Now the leaders of the aquarium dell'indovino have suspected that the death was not so clearly natural. Animated After consultations, reviewed all the major detective, Annelore Locascio, an employee of Italian origin has suggested to call the Inspector Montalbano. These, it was time for a holiday in Boccadasse flirt with Livia, already was tired and jumped at the chance to reach Oberhausen - also would investigate the torture of the flies but to abandon the oppressive and jealous girlfriend.

"Montalbano".
"Pleasure, I am the director of the aquarium. As I mentioned over the phone, we would investigate the death of Paul "
" Paul ... the purpo? "
" Yes, poor Paul. "

cataminò Montalbano, turned around the casket in which lay still catafero the purpo, Tupputi on the glass, as if hoping that Paul could arrisbigliari, then beginning to spy on some asking:

"Dutch around if they are not seen?"
"No, sir . We thought that we wanted revenge for the prediction of the final "
" The Germans instead? "
" No, the Germans loved him, everyone. After the 4-1 to England, then ... adored him "
" Sure there is around a few pieces of cheese, you know, the one with the red rind? "
" No, I assure you "
" Ah, but the Dutch are the main suspects ... However, potatoes? Tomatoes? Peas? You did not find the sauce? "
" No, but he says? "
" I thought ... No, you know, a good stir-fried "
" The octopus is there "
" And Ahmadinejad? "
" Like Ahmadinejad? "
" No, because he'd long ago shed words on the decadence of western people, our counter-charms ... You did not find an assassin around Iran? Qualichiduno varB longa with suspicion and fog? "

Suddenly ciriveddro of Montalbano addrumò like a light bulb, its scent hound's diciva qualichicosa that there was boring place. He noted a display case next to that of Paul purpo, intifica accurate, but vacant.

"And what is this? Secunda the home of Paul? "
" No, it's another tank: until recently there was a female of Octopus Vulgaris "
" No, let me know Pirch, explain better
"There was Mary, a female octopus. We moved to the aquarium of Genoa
"Genova ... Macari her! "
" How well? "
" No, look, do not worry. I was thinking about my girlfriend. "

Montalbano took a seat and you assittò front of the tank. Thallium purpo in the eyes. The look languid from cephalopod was even sadder off. "Epperforza, is dead," whispered the little voice in his head According to Montalbano. "Not now, I'm investigating." Thallium in the purpo longo and persuaded surfaces.

"Your purpo Paul was killed"
"But who says?"
"Suicide d'Amuri was"
"Love?"
"Paul and Mary were like one soul. When you transferred air attract Mary, Paul did not care to live longer. Accussi killed himself by beating his head on the edge of the rock. It is not known because the vucche, yes, the tentacles are all 'nzemmula, but the exterior shows the hematoma. He did it for so 'zita. I explained? And now I can tell the best Italian restaurant nearby? "
" There's Fork Golden
"He for the case of tilefono nummer?"
"Yes, look, it is written on the fold: it is an agreement with the 'aquarium'
...
"First, the fork of gold? Montalbano. I prenotari between half an hour for lunch? Okay. There the ancestral purpo in the wet? "

Butal Apap 325 Caff Mik

TICKETS CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS CHRISTMAS

I made some Christmas cards ..

this is the overview, the next days I will post the individual tickets.

To realize I have used 3D decorations purchased in Austria (thanks !!!), Katia colored card, pasta snow, gel pens and colored ribbons.

this is the first ticket ..

.. and this is the second .. I also added details

(pictured to the right are the details of the interior of tickets)

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I know, Halloween has not arrived yet but are already struggling with the Christmas decorations. . in fact a bit 'soon, but soon I will be very busy and away abroad for work, so I decided to put me on ..

I realized of hearts in felt, embroidery floss with string and decorated with the ribbons .. What do you think?!?!

Advantages Histograms

A gift for me ...

Hi girls how are you?
here in Rome began to make a bit cold, and waiting for the right job-stage (because the proposals received so far have declined), I seek 'inspiration for some work.

Yesterday a friend of mine came to tea and tried to teach the use of ferri.Diciamo that I can but I much prefer my magic wand, that is the hook.

In the meantime I did not realize that a little bit, I will publish a gift from my girlfriend's cousin, at my specific request and supervision (as they are pretentious) just for me! A wonderful bag

wool bag with pom-poms! beautifully hot hot! Tell me if it is not delisioza!