Friday, December 31, 2010

Retail-store-flashers Galleries

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.

Thursday, December 23, 2010

How Are Muncho Potato Crisps Made

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.

Friday, December 17, 2010

Bulldog Puppy Pneumonia

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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Friday, December 10, 2010

Uggs That I Can Pay With Paypal

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

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Quotes About Couples In Spanish

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?

Does The Perio Protect Have A Cream?

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


Sunday, December 5, 2010

Pink Tinged Cervical Mucus Early Pregnancy

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!

Saturday, December 4, 2010

Bottomless Or Topless

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:)

Friday, December 3, 2010

Single 01 Withholdings

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

Recipes For Carob Covered Raisins

REINDEER CANDY BLOG OF LINDA

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!

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