Monday, January 31, 2011

Welcome Bag Thank You Note Sample

# 3 brothers and a wedding cake for the snow

On a Sunday afternoon so quiet that seems almost hear the sound of soft flakes that settle on the branches, on a Sunday afternoon, where even those who usually rushes remains locked in the house by an ordinance as stupid and pointless, a of the greatest joys for me is to drink tea. Not all tea, bought somewhere, with a taste of some kind, so then one takes the sugar, or lemon, or maybe the milk. No. For two decades the tea for me to be that of Mariage Frères. I discovered just such a long time ago in Paris, in a small street in the Marais. A wonderful shop, ancient, fragrant, with an adjoining tea room (one of the most expensive in the world, seeing is believing), very refined, a bit 'Art Deco ephebic where even the waiters are very beautiful and elegant.
varieties of tea are no longer know how many and their blends are scented and flavored only with flowers, fruits and spices. If you love the tea is to die for.
And of course there is anything you can imagine made with tea or the tea strainers, teapots, cups, jellies, jams, sugars, perfumes, samovar, a real magic! But we had to go to Paris, or even buy it by mail when the on-line purchases are not made. But I do not miss ... have never done
few years, however, in Turin, two delightful sisters have opened in Turin in Via della Rocca 's Ancienne Maison du Thé and everything became easier! Of course they will find only a selection Mariage teas, but is fine the same, my favorites are very close to all. Lately I got a fantastic blend of spicy and slightly spicy green tea: hot, with a little 'sugar cane is a marvel in the afternoons in the winter cold and sad, warms the heart, soul and hands! Especially if, in order not to miss anything, maybe one in the morning, just rolled out of bed prepared this "diet" for squirrel pie.


tart for squirrel :


150g butter 300g flour
70g
sugar 1 egg slightly beaten
a pinch of salt 100g hazelnuts
100g almonds 100g walnuts
2 tablespoons butter 3 tablespoons honey

First of course is preparing the pastry quickly knead the ingredients and putting it to rest in a cool place for about thirty minutes. While the pastry is resting prepare the filling of the tart coarsely diced dried fruit. The three tablespoons of honey to be made with a thick-bottomed pan that can also contain fruit and even after adding the butter melts and melt on low heat. You add the fruit and mix everything thoroughly.
The dough is stretched into a mold with low sides from tart and cook in white for about fifteen minutes in the oven to 180 degrees. When partially cooked is extracted out of the oven and are stuffed with the filling. Others in the oven for 10 to 15 minutes and is ready! Visually check the last area, you must keep an eye on the nuts that burns very easily ... bon appetit!

Saturday, January 29, 2011

How To Use Reverse Psychology Scorpio Man

The Reluctant Fundamentalist

In Pakistan, in Lahore, the old market of Anarkali, two people talking at a coffee shop. One is Pakistani, the other American. The Pakistan insists on telling his story to the stranger met seemingly by chance, and then began the long monologue that through the 134 pages of the book leads us to know the story of Changez, a brilliant foreign student graduated with honors in economics at Princeton and now become part of a major company Financial in New York. The young man lives his new life with enthusiasm neworkese meets a fragile girl he falls in love and it seems seamlessly integrated into this new reality. The September Eleven towers fall and the first instinct is to Changez to smile in the face of tragedy: it is as if suddenly an ancestral recall pushed him to feel a sense of pride in what they have done the terrorists.
From that moment his life is no longer the same, its Pakistani identity gained importance and relevance, the young man let his beard grow and simultaneously begins to neglect the job. Its decline is inexorable, he loses his job and forced to return at home in the bosom of his family. And we find ourselves at a table with dinner and an American with whom he wants to take back to the hotel along streets suddenly became dark and deserted. Perhaps the American hides a gun under his jacket, the reader is not given to know who he is and what we face in Pakistan, as well as Changez tells us exactly that folds took his life to return home, his monologue stops abruptly.
Mah! The idea of \u200b\u200bthe novel is beautiful, I expected more. Surely this intriguing character who despite impeccable western education can not deny his culture and its origins, it seems that the author cultural differences can never be overcome, but must necessarily be an element of rupture and separation. Unfortunately, the novel has left me with a sense of dissatisfaction with a story that not only do not know how it ends, but it also dealt a bit 'too superficial.

Friday, January 28, 2011

How To Connect A Bluetooth Headset To A Nextel

Evening Snow

The weather was still bad. "February this year is really short and cursed," said Maria watching the snow fall over the windows steamed up. Paola nell'arancia sank his thumb and cut in half, the sharp smell of the rind is popular in the small kitchen. "Contains many vitamins you should eat one too," said Mary, who looked quizzically.

The girls were young teachers, had rented the house recently. Without the math, they had decided to live under the same roof because of cost, but also for the company: that mountain village did not offer many leisure and the evening was pleasant to talk to someone. "He called Andrea," asked Paula. "Not yet." Andrew was the boyfriend of Mary, a doctor who was doing his military service as second lieutenant in Merano health service. They had been to visit him in August, the city was celebrating and the two girls immediately fell in love and flowers and romantic atmosphere of the Belle Epoque that you breathe. It was only two months to leave, then Andrew would return to the country. Mary had known him there, had also tried to convince him of the advantages of a big city, but he was still his opinion. And how he's wrong? Paola feared a bit 'the day that Andrew would be back: his evenings were those of old, lonely and sad.

Paola often thought to his only love, intense but short, a love that was never finished as an undeclared truce, but no more. He wondered from time to time if he was in that condition, still hoped that a new spark riaccendesse the engine. The phone rang. It was Andrea. Mary was a long talk with her boyfriend. Paola looked outside: the snow falling softly now for hours. He took a book from the shelf and began reading. The thought was in his heart of his incurable loneliness as a disease, such as the blanket of snow so heavy that enveloped the country for most of the year. Look at the pages but did not read: Fantastic. He dreamed of being called by Mary, "Do you want the phone, is a male voice" and she slowly approached the phone, the appeal almost in slow motion, and it was his love.

"On Saturday, Andrea returns to license ... Paola, but you're listening to? "The dream with open eyes faded like a soap bubble. "Yes, that beauty," said Paola and felt it was about to cry. The solitude weighed more, as if he really had phoned.

Jack Vettriano, "Winter White and lavender"

Monday, January 24, 2011

Littlest Pet Shop Horse Clipart

Rice Venus

I have a real passion for rice Venus, in particular the full and even more particularly from the family Perinotti grown and marketed under the brand "Heron's" . E 'fragrant, delicate and crisp with the grains remain separate and beautiful, a feast for the eyes and the palate. The kitchen in many ways, this time a laugh for an evening in late winter, cold but crystal clear, full of energy!

Ingredients: 300 g

black rice 1 medium leek 2 carrots

a handful of frozen peas

300 g of red cabbage 1 cup sunflower oil
soy sauce
Ages

Cook the rice in lightly salted water for 30 ', turn off the heat and let stand covered for 5'.
Drain well and cool, stirring occasionally. Meanwhile in a wok (maybe a pan capable) to braise the vegetables quickly reduced to small pieces in two oil and two tablespoons of soy sauce. Add the sunflower seeds. Adjust of salt to your taste, and when the vegetables are well cooked and tasty add the rice, mixing well on high flame. If necessary, add a little 'oil.
Bon appetit!

Friday, January 21, 2011

Gm Yukon Interior Light

Forfeiture

I.

The empire is now in the downturn on the parable of the decline. Between dwarfs and dancers at the court miasmatic languishes in a swamp, the circus of power is addressed in its mud, the pigs in the mire are not otherwise, except to be natural that their animals. The hired lovers walk the corridors of the villas, parade naked through from room to room, you leave and shake violently, and in turn touch you cling and move up the bodies of men that the next day find yourself on the high benches, on bodies of women who fill the brothels and slum.

is a quiet night of this decay, the moon cut into slices the sky, pouring its light on the buildings cold, unable to cleanse the filth that fills the streets. The wise, the honest will cower in their homes, read by the dim light, looking for answers to frequently asked questions unresolved, warming to the flame of genius. Rare carve through their shadows in the alleys, they advance with the air of conspirators. But everyone knows what happens in high places, everybody knows the exaggerated pomp, the unbridled luxury that senators are granted, the secret connections between the militias and dirty deals. Nobody does anything, nobody can denounce what is visible to all: do the strolling players in the cantons of theaters, but no one can believe who wears a mask, who grins and does not take life seriously.

The scouts are around the walls while building the odalisques shake their navels. They say that the emperor burns Rome, which will make a pile of blackened wood. Nothing could be easier. Now it will be clinging to the kidneys of some dancer or flute players, or he may have wanted to experience the thrill of a Nubian slave. But meanwhile, lost to chase these thoughts of lust and power, I arrived at my destination. The door is bolted, large rusty hinges seems impossible that they can turn on themselves. Busso with the conventional sign and look, look around if you ever someone had been following me. The door creaked open: it seems that there is none, but I know that there is a huge dark shadow fisherman ready to attack a centurion or an assassin sent by the emperor.

II.

Inside, the rich palace, the same faces, more and more frightened. Gaius Licinius scrofula is narrating the last emperor found: it is preparing the table on a slave naked and takes liberally from his body the food. "Never have we seen a similar triclinium" comments in between the angry and smiling Junius Quiet Vatinius. The slave meanwhile Falerno pours into the cup, the same Falerno flowing rivers in the festivities of the Emperor. Rumors even say that we make the bathroom the most prestigious lovers.

But now it's time to leave the jokes and rumors, it's time to finalize the strategy. Now that we're all here, Lucius Nonius Beast says it's better to talk about serious things. How to save Rome, how to save the empire from this corruption of morals that all mud, which overwhelms pigs and pigeons, which affects the guilty and innocent alike. There would be the brother of the emperor: we can count on him? We can support? Publius Valerius Gavio says no, if he looks like his mother, who was voluptuous mistress of the emperor and the father of these simultaneously, then there is little to make us rely. The philosopher Marcus Brutus Rufino preaches of alternative forms of government, but he is the first to know that you can not beat the empire, the connections between political and military power. We should return to the days of Cincinnatus, the consuls of the Republican.

The night became even more silent when I listen you can hear the voice of the waterfalls of the Tiber. Does not end anything, not even tonight: these meetings are becoming more and more intellectuals are in a clique where spilling vain and beautiful words. Then came a messenger, is alarmed, tired. Extends a dispatch to the landlord, in a low voice, looking down. Gaius Cornelius Agrippa rips the red seal, place the roll, the eyes move rapidly on the text, then looks at me and bleaching in the face. "We're lost." He can not say more. With dagger drawn from the gown's cut his throat. Then, sharply to the sword, the other five. Had long suspected that there was some light at the palace. The same is my job, look at that combination ... The emperor will reward me tonight: will repay me with a slave of Pannonia, but I want sesterces, only sesterces ...

Photo © Permanently Scatterbrained

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

How To Make A Race Bike Cake

A late winter season: winter # 2

Yesterday morning, opening the door, a magnificent sunrise.


participate to this blog Kosenrufu mama "A Season: Winter"

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Memory Card Stuck In Printer

A tree and a book

More about Il matrimonio dell'anno Tree tile is designed by Ada Fenick for GAAA, the book is a book to be avoided like the plague is so ugly, dull and poorly written! Why I'm done? Because it's stronger than me, I know encroaching dangerously in masochism, but I will finish the book begins.
The book then is this: "The wedding of the year" by Fiona O 'Brian, no good to read even under the umbrella!

The tree is rather cute, very fun and easy to implement, Ada Fenick created it in honor of his Jewish school friend who married an Irishman. Both cultures share a symbol of the Tree of Life which is then central to the work, the plots are to symbolize the bond between the couple and are printed on the invitations to the wedding. Nice story, no?

Monday, January 17, 2011

Isse Test Performance

Stockings, what a beauty!

sisters mate, Penelopes the north of the Alps and beyond, have created a new branch knitted , a wonderful new group that brings together manufacturers of socks and leg warmers: we just needed this ! Now I'm constantly tempted to put points on my irons to make the socks that do not also do not know so well ... I've only made two pairs the other year and I must say that the technique does not mastered at all. If you think that women once knitted Burst socks for the whole family without even looking at what they did.
it occurred to me that my mother told me that he had worked very young and produced dozens of socks for soldiers at war. Unfortunately, when I wanted to learn she was no longer here to teach potermelo.
Invitation to sadness, there are the sisters to help out! And the great and free models DROPS .

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Grim Reaper Kingdom Hearts 2 Port Royal

Pandolce, like I do

A pandolce I often do, perfect for breakfast or a cup of tea. It 's the result of several recipes a bit' mixed, we do it all, is experienced, they add, subtract, the eternal search for the perfect recipe! Now I seem to have reached a fair result, is a sweet-tasting simple but enhanced by the slight aroma of spices.
Ingredients: 350 g flour


150 g butter 125 g brown sugar + 1 tablespoon of honey
8 tablespoons milk 1 tablespoon baking
bio (cream of tartar)
1 tablespoon of mixture of four spices
1 packet Vanillin
100 g raisins, 70 g candied orange and citron peel

2 tablespoons pine nuts 1 egg, slightly beaten
The process is simple, combine and mix dry ingredients well in a bowl, then add liquid ones previously beaten and mixed.
is cooked at 160 degrees for 45 'about the result you see in the picture, enjoy!

Friday, January 14, 2011

How Many Calories In A Salad From School

The blanket

It's your voice I hear, your beautiful voice just a little 'nose. He invites me from afar and I can not tell whether that is spatial or temporal distance, if you call me from the Andaman Islands or a lost summer day a few years ago, if you're waiting for me or whether I expect el ' opportunity is now lost. Odysseus are now and your voice is a melodious siren: I tied to the mast, my fellow hard working at the oars, at the helm, the ropes, with the wax in the ears paid for that you can not hear, not to go crazy 's instead love like I do. And you call and call and songs and calls me and whispers my name ...

I wake up. I understand that these dreams are a kind of security blanket for my timid insecurity. A blanket too short, however, that warms me up only slightly, which leaves me helpless in the open looks. Could have been worse, I could be Charlie Brown ... It is four o'clock, the dawn is still far away. A faint glow in the dark shadows and reflections to draw the moon likes to play with the mirror, the mirror blank of love that once welcomed the voluptuous cascades of your hair, our faces close, the kisses, the sparks of passion. Now I just have these recurring dreams, I have only your memory: the other day it was suddenly presented by the parties of Vitruvius Way. Turn your back the white marbles of the Central Station, the red curtains Hotel Gallia: you were beautiful and elegant, dressed like that day we left for Venice in pursuit of the Mannerist painters in the museums of Venice. The sky was of molten lead, which is identical. But I had to work, my black shoulder bag was pounding on the hip, I remembered that I had to urgently go to the office, practices and acts that were waiting for me on the desk. I also directed a gesture of greeting, fleeting, a little embarrassed '. But your memory stayed with me all morning, I was escorted on the documents, distracted me, I did make mistakes.

So you are no longer remember. The dream is in fact nothing more an elaboration of memories and desires. You are like the flowers that are preserved in boxes and then dry slowly leaving a fine chalk dust. The velvet petals of paper and then becomes ash. I do not have scales that you, as you were that reconstruct fragments. But love does not live in arid and barren land, wants a good ground for its flowers can blossom and flourish. Perhaps it is the seed, it is certainly not seccume. I turn on the side, maybe I can go back to sleep. Maybe I can even dream of and if your lips touched mine, I will settle for the illusion languid.

Image © Schulz / Peanuts

Thursday, January 13, 2011

What Does A 30 Mean In Bilirubin

One season: winter # 1

But that beauty, I also participate to the Kosenfru mama. But I should be a little ', more present to myself and to know what day I live, and maybe realize that today is Thursday, and noticing a little' before 19 ... This morning on the other hand I put out the bin for recycling paper convinced that it was already Friday, should I worry? Well, for now I'll put my photo now, pretty late, I'm sure I'll do better next week!

E 'on the lawn of Saint Orso in Cogne Valley d'Aosta and the mountains in the background is the Gran Paradiso. But the whole area is a paradise, the beauty of nature in these valleys is spectacular in every season. It 's a place I love, is my second home.

participate to this blog Kosenrufu mama "A Season: Winter"

Sunday, January 9, 2011

Free Penthouse Letter Stories

Two books and a heart Bits of

The heart is a fantastic design Claire and is the first work done in 2011, the books are the other two beds during the holidays in the mountains. Both are a little known writer that I love very much, Elizabeth von Arnim. I have read almost everything about her intrigued by a delightful movie saw many years ago and this is precisely one of his book. It is "Enchanted April," the story of some friends who are granted a holiday on the Italian Riviera, leaving husbands and obligations to his native London. But of course it is not the movie I want to talk, rather than this writer who lived at the turn of two centuries earlier, it was always in defense of women's rights against the bullying and the power of men. Intelligent, aristocratic and very bright, Elizabeth has contracted three marriages, was twice countess, has had five children, he attended the English high society and the most refined cultural settings. He has written many books, often rich in autobiographical notes and in Italy believe they have all been translated. The ones I have just read "The Father" and "The Story of Christine".











"Father" is very ironic and funny, tells the story of the ugly daughter of a mature and old and despotic writer who takes advantage remarriage of the father groped for an escape and a new life in the countryside, "The Story of Christine" takes its cue a private affair of the author and tells of a young British violinist who goes to study in Berlin just before the outbreak of World War I and suddenly finds itself alone in enemy territory. In fact, the writer lost his sixteen year old daughter sent to perfect his musical studies in Germany and when the book came out in 1917 was a tremendous success attracting the charge of fomenting anti-German propaganda.
Both books are written very well, although involving the reader in a very different way, Jennifer, the heroine of the first, is delicious and determined, Christine is a figure very sweet, fragile and defenseless, a girl.

Friday, January 7, 2011

How To Know If A Scorpio Man Is Attracted To You

The roses that I caught

There is a day between us, one day between me and the dark corridor of your rented house where you have invited me to revive the memories. One day between me and the skin of your living room and antique furniture and the window closed to let out the dust and noise of the city. And soon I will return to you. Yesterday your hands, your legs in the skirt, the white feather duster, yesterday your hair swaying as I was running toward the first image of you in a long time after that phone call: "Come, I want to see you." Yesterday your eyes I wrapped hot as when we were together yesterday, your face, your cheeks and on my thirst for lost time.

And soon I will return from you. Spoke, sitting in a chair, tortured and rings with your fingers; watched your lips and I expect that will open in a smile, one that you used to make me fall in love. Suddenly, as one awakens from a dream, I discovered a woman in the heat of the afternoon and the boredom of the city, the lights of a night you stay in your eyes and he told me. But I do not feel I was a prisoner of the feeling that had flashed into me: that I left you were still a girl and you were a woman. Woman in pink dress your woman in the legs crossed, wrapped in pantyhose, sweet and tender woman, woman to defend and to love. Guido

to your house, soon I'll be with you. I've offered tea and I I started to talk, to remember when you were my sweet love and tears of honey, when, dressed in autumn and wind, sitting on the edge of a fountain to who you thought had betrayed the heart and I will rubandoti consoled. Love chooses his moments in the golden moments and our time that summer was fantastic that we lived together, the summer that knocked Italy and football and flags were flying in the wind. The tricolor waving in the blue of a Sunday in July, the streets mad with horns and olé. I still remember the distant lights, the tip and the lighthouse, the amusement park, sand, games and poems that I dedicate those naive.

"If you were a flower transplanted into the heart
so you do not wither ever.
If you were a docile doe bind me to you and caresses you

every minute and you look in your eyes every moment.
If you were the summer you'll chase between the hemispheres.
If you were a star I would to heaven to be with you.
But you're a woman and I can not help but love you. "

A field of poppies in the sun, swaying in the wind of the red flowers in May. I stop to think about how it would be great to race with you in the midst of all those poppies and watch the sun drop behind the hill and the sky darkens amid clouds of copper, hear the crickets chirping and feel the wind in your hair ... But time has divided us, or rather you have changed and now I would not want you were only a star dead, which sends the light from his past. You have been heaven for me that they look far behind, five minutes at a motorway stop for a coffee and rest your legs. You were only one node within the heart that has melted and I found that the days are just memories as I read your letters in the early spring sunset yellow.

I know I owe you a lot about personality, I know how you've been important to me. A little 'you were falling into my account and maybe it was your fault or the wind that has stained the city. Your sun is fading more and more, I saw the girl who once loved you and you were, you know? She had your face, your body, your legs but her face does not read the time you had changed my heart. Or maybe it was me that was changing. Yesterday. All night I thought of you. And now I'm here in front of your home. I

festive open the door. I do accommodate. And he began to speak: "Of course then the secure future in the hands of love, with your eyes in mine, maybe I was close to happiness there. Today I do not know: I say" who cares what you'll do tomorrow? " , there is less tension and more desire to be, I'm looking for someone to live with me. But this is my fate: I like Gozzano do not like the roses that I caught, what could be and yet it was not. I do not like that the data never kisses and the words never said, I do not love that loves the unborn. " Of course then I was
with you and you said I love the streets, you a rose bush, your bright eyes two hummingbirds, herons your lovely hands as they moved with measured gestures. How beautiful the nights with you, the stars flickering in the blue pinholes. Summer was born on your skin and waiting for us growing up in the evening, came to life the word "together" and not ashamed to take off your bikini. You were my Phryne and I thought I was dying to your young body naked breasts on your new love was born.

Now you remember: those days you were coming with blond hair just above my face and in your eyes reflecting the gold chain. You say you were laughing on me, you want that matters. You say you've just never cried, I turned around I and you were there: the poems you wanted, you wanted to dedicate that to you. You wanted to be the queen of my heart - now I confess - the undisputed master of the feelings, the mistress of the mind. You wanted to but was not. And you agree with me: Roses are the most popular ever caught.

"But you never think of that?" How about changing the position of the legs "Love is a voodoo ritual where the pins are the eyes that you rummage in my soul. They are the eyes, feel me? headlights are pointing in a dark street and you're coming by car the other lane and you dazzled me. " Your eyes are precious ones now that the tears wet, rigandoti face. "Sorry," he said. But what are you sorry? To show you how are you? "I am a stupid" you say still turning their eyes to me. "No, you're not: it is only tenderness" I can tell you. "Are you still my desire" - finally found the courage to say - "I love a idealized figure who reflect. But now I see you, talk to you, has reignited the old flame that never goes out in all these years. Still smoldering under the ashes. That's it. "

And when you went away - now I know - barattai a part of me with your kisses: the part of you that I have inside the heart, written in love Lampostyl on wooden seats in a train that has divided. Smoke of chimneys in the morning and the sun woke up rolling over the rivers, the campaign behind the windows and I was crying thinking about you. "You know at night you I thought "- I say -" who knows if ever I come to mind. Maybe an object, a word, a gesture reminds me ... Maybe it was the hope or resignation, do not know. Maybe it was just nostalgia. I wanted for myself your eyes and your looks, the sweet caress of your words. It was not jealousy. Or at least I do not believe, if anything, was possessive desire. I wanted for myself your kisses and your clothes on the chair and the lure of your hands, your games banned. But nothing and no no. So you can not go forward, you must always have something and someone, a sincere friend know that you understand, in those moments when you realize you made a mistake. You need a love that will always turn on life, like when you were there beside me and the wind swept the sky and the streets and my fears. Among the skyscrapers a flight of doves and the first lights that were lit. Distant echo of voices and you held me tight. "

" I know it hurts the love that goes on. I saw you turn away slowly becoming a dot and I knew that you were mine now. I cried like a baby and I felt an emptiness in my heart. But it falls and then we got up, we slowly recovers and it feels a bit 'stronger. And how many times I fell: I seemed to see the crowd follow you. Seems you: face, hair, gait, your figure. Then I came close and it was not you I felt a mouth full of sand. "You have guessed my lump in my throat, you do close, I caress your neck like you did then. It's like a clarification: it is a gesture that is worth a thousand words. Continuously refreshed: "The forecast is not always prevention, there are many factors at play: a feeling, event, event, error. Okay, maybe I expect them a bit 'too much but you've never disappointed: the game we've been you too. "

Love comes from your eyes like a fluid that hypnotizes me, sudden and intense glow. City lights are lit at dusk. The Mirror Has your eyes, clean sea, that sea bathing in the lagoon where we ran free on the beach, where I discovered that love your eyes. Our faces are closer now, your invited to my lips and kiss you. A long kiss that closes a parenthesis open that day you became a dot on my way on. He came back to life love born in the corner of a bar, your love was your smile and the flight of a gull, the awareness that the time would have divided. He came back from old photographs that come out of a drawer.

And it's time to love, than you. The lights show the good times spent together. The narrow door of your heart has opened to me when you have wanted to see me and like a flood memories have broken the bank of our hearts. Laugh. And my great love becomes again now that my thoughts turn into actions and is no longer a dream touch the lips, watch your eyes, the dark pink that I love and that you dress of a smile.

It is already lighter in your eyes and wake up the dawn the city. Hug is a reality now that between us there is this new night of love between your sighs and my fears. The moon is the currency with which we paid for our mistakes. You are sitting on the bed with one leg bent so the foot is the twin knee with your hands support your beautiful face. I look at your eyes, look at your nakedness, I watch your elbows straight hiding her breasts in my view, I look at your hair mussed. You're my Eve of lost paradises. You turn around, smile, "We took the roses."

Edward Hopper, "New York Restaurant"

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Sherwin Williams Football Helmet Paint

PINCUSHION

of pincushion I made as Christmas gifts for two of my colleagues who are passionate about embroidery and sewing.


NEED:
  • jars homogenized
  • cloth
  • hot glue
  • needle and thread
  • batting
  • tape
PROCEEDINGS
I cut a circle of fabric about 12 cm, I passed the wire along the edges and then to create or pulled the pillow that I subsequently filled with wadding. I pasted the pillow with hot glue and I finished the edge with a tape peculiarities. In the jar you can put floss, buttons, etc.

In my case I have the pin cushion decorated with a ladybug and a pin that I personalized with beads and flowers.


you can find here more than 60 projects to make a pincushion .. good job!

How To Congradulate Someone Birthday

FOR CHRISTMAS FOR A WARM BLANKET AND ANDY

I made a warm blanket for the arrival of little Andrew, from a base of the pail, I used cutouts in pannolenci reindeer and snowflakes.


this is the end result ..


a detail of the reindeer and snowflake ...


and this is the edge of the deck (made with buttonhole stitch)

hope that Andrea and her mother enjoyed the pool! in the coming days I will publish the template of the reindeer and snowflake!

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Online Multiplication Chart 1-30

Dominika

said it seems a bit 'grim!
But in fact, here are two pictures of the jacket, two pieces only:














When I start working on jacquard I always wonder why do not I do more often, it's so much fun, the work moves quickly and gives great satisfaction.
The colors of the photos are a bit 'horrible, in fact they are much more fascinating, but I was able to photograph only with a light schifida and then ... this is the result! I am following the instructions in English and so far everything is going your way, and I did almost everything behind the right front, but now I face a piece of the pattern that I know a little 'dark, hopefully for good!
the next update, thanks to all for the visits and comments.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Men Mono Strap Backpack

Readings from holiday

More about Il libro dell'estate I spent a bit 'of days in the mountains and were filled and beautiful days, spent with friends and long cross-country skiing on the Cogne. Chatter, laughter, dinner, knitting intensive (soon I'll show you how Dominika went on!), But also a lot of time to read and then here's a few words on the first of the books read, "The Summer Book" by Tore Jansson. It 's beautiful, delicate and deep, focused on the relationship between a girl and her grandmother who spend their summers on an island in Finnish wild and lonely. The grandmother is wise, the curious little girl, but the relationship between them is equal and constructive. Time is running slow, small events follow each other closely related with the nature that surrounds the houses, boats and people. And ideas are simple and elementary to talk about important things, friendship, death, love.
I loved it, brought me back to childhood, to my long summer afternoons and suspended in a warm and timeless.

Sunday, January 2, 2011

What Causes Legs To Ache

TAG XMAS GIFT PACKS IN OWL

S yet late, the public some pictures of the tags I made for bundles of Christmas ..

roses were made with crepe paper, and tags are made of scraps of wrapping paper:)


instead of this tag was made with the felt and the Apply button before you paste the ginger man of the card ..



And what have you found under the tree!?!?

Whats The Song In Terkoizs Shock

pannolenci

Using the template Eli-AbcHobby I made this cute owl pannolenci .. try it you too!