Saturday, March 19, 2011

What Type Of Rabbit Eats Field Mice

The walk also end up

"I knew I had seen, I saw this girl who finally
my nights hold"

William Butler Yeats

I was young, I was stupid. No, I was just naive, I was deluded. And I sat alone at a table in the sandwich "taste right" to eat a horrible loaf stuffed with ham, herbs and cucumbers in Denmark. It did not fit well with either Coca-Cola. It would have been better if I had taken a beer. I watched the evening slide into the square, beyond the hedge of pittosporum miserable: a fountain pouring down under the lights that color the water yellow, scorched by the swimmers sun of the day strolling along the shops, crowded with tables of ice cream parlors, small families huddled before the game across the street.
I made an appointment with a girl I liked and she had not come. Instead of going the same way I sat, I was consulted on the paper and I chose that sandwich, "Tivoli" was called, probably due to an association with Denmark of gherkins. It tasted awful. It was a horrible night. And the youth I was in weight, was an inextinguishable fire that caused me a thirst inside, a sadness that perhaps it was only disappointed because she had not arrived. I left half the sandwich and went to chase fermenting the moon in the waves. I reached the wharf, where a salty wind pushed to the side and blew the curtains of the kiosk. Boys drinking their colorful cocktails at tables, some wandered aimlessly on the catwalk with a beer bottle in hand, others chatted at the bar with the barman.
The water was black, I could see myself mirrored, I read my blue and white striped shirt, my face cracked boy was left alone once again. The foam of the waves pounding on the pylons, saliva to lick the boards worn by millions of footsteps. Every drop was tinged silver moon. It hurt so much beauty, especially when compared with the desolation that I felt in the heart. The waves erased my reflection, then recreated the rhythm of the tide. I closed my eyes for a moment to savor the sound of the waves, the voice of the sea. When I opened them, I saw another figure next to my mirrored in the dark. I almost turned around to snap a girl I had seen some time for the city. "Serataccia?" he asked. It took me forever to answer - or at least I thought, surely it was only a matter of seconds. I had actually considered whether it was appropriate to say that I had been deceived, disappointed, cans, and I decided that was not the case look even more clumsy than it was. "Solitude" and I said I understood that he drew the wild card when she told me she was there with a group of friends but you were bored to death. This time I dared, I threw myself without thinking of the consequences: "Want to take a walk on the beach?" Probably not expecting much, indeed certainly was so because he had the bag with him. He smiled - a smile that I went in, I opened the windows of the soul, there is scattered with the force of a spring wind and perfumes all - then by air to the conspirators whispered "Yes, but let's not see: turn around kiosk and go down the other side. "
Alessandra - his name was the first thing I discovered during that long night of words and sand - was not surprised when I told her I liked the evening walk along the sea, which I did often and sometimes I was there even in winter: "The darkness, the silence broken only by the song of the waves, rarefied light, everything seems to be shrouded in a halo unreal" . We found that someone had lit a bonfire with some pieces of wood and sheets of paper. He was now off, I threw myself on top of other branches and riattizzai fire with a copy of the Gazzettino that someone had left on a deck chair. The sparks were flying in the sky, and she began singing with a voice that could only be described as angelic "Summertime and the livin 'is easy, fish are dumping' and the cotton is high ..."
seemed the Fifties, we had learned from the episodes of Happy Days , Alessandra could be one of those girls with flowing skirt that will go to drive-in. The sea continued to murmur, seemed to make the counterpoint. The wind continued to blow light, made more vivid lights of the coast. Alessandra's voice came into my warm heart, a balm that was cured scars, could have been years since I was sitting at the table of the "Taste right" and instead had not spent that two hours.
The fire was now off, muted over the last embers throwing handfuls of sand. Alex stood in tiptoe and kissed me gently, a quick friendly kiss. He had shoes in hand and grazed his back as I felt round his neck. She took my hand and we went so slowly eastward. We walked for a long time, we stopped at the swings and there swinging like children and then die laughing. We lay down to watch the stars. Then the beach was over. And she had come: he lived just across the bridge over the canal. He put her shoes and greeted me with another kiss. The drive over the bridge and then saw the light of a door swallowed.
I was young, I was stupid. Our love lasted only one night, the night I waited in vain for a girl at the "Taste right "and another had instead found myself on a pedestal. On that long walk we had concentrated all the happiness we could give.

Photo © Elinor Gaddy

Friday, March 18, 2011

Ap Biology Accessory To Lab 8 Answers

Women

More about Le donne
A shining example of how to read a novel trigger a desire to learn more, Conoco better. And in this particular case, for me, to discover the life and work of great charm and Frank Lloyd Wright. An undisputed genius, a man of talent and the revolutionary character of fireworks, self-centered dreamer, a narcissist.
Boyle narrates the life of the great architect tracing back his romantic relationships through the eyes of admiration and ironic that a young Japanese student arrives at Taliesin in 1932 to practice in the study of the great master and to share the dreams and projects . And this is the starting point. Then, page after page, are experienced of stories through their suffering, their joys, diffficoltà, obstacles and prejudices. Rural America in the background, bigoted, naive and a bit 'cruel.
It 's a book that I really liked, I enjoyed it, took me to search the faces of the characters and photographs of buildings designed by Lloyd Wright. And I did appreciate its modernity, his taste, his vision.
nice that there's the Web!

Friday, March 11, 2011

Kp Kicalculator For Pi Controller In Dvr

loves

;

There are hiking trails that you walk up through larch forests, listening to the water of a stream gurgling down my throat. Then the trees become more sparse, there are only rocks and stones, the road becomes more difficult, closer, and after a bend you are in front of the ravine or a cliff or, if you're luckier, a hill so steep you can not even imagine forwarders.

also end up so loves, sometimes leave there looking into space, to inquire into that you never thought to meet the curve after a debate or a betrayal. The less powerful, the most sensitive, let go, you are swallowed by the void. As the poet Milan Antonia Pozzi, torn by love for his Latin teacher in high school and greek classic Manzoni opposed by his father, disappointed by the same lover, is left to dig in the heart of the anxiety, while the pain is magnified and His fire burned the strings that the still life. Antonia Pozzi December 2, 1938 was twenty-six. He went to the Abbey of Clairvaux, near Milan, swallowed dozens of sleeping pills and lay down on the grass and dry cold front of the church, waiting for the abyss to swallow. The black hole just wrapped it the following evening, the hospital, where he was taken after a farmer found her asleep on the lawn.

love ends, it will crumble like a hilltop and valley landslide while the heart is swollen, pump emotions, bile salt, the liver absorbs toxins. The words are transformed into sharp spears, daggers that tear in the skin, stones that hurt, they become stuck thorns in the flesh of the other. Or just get silence, a thunderous and deafening silence, a void so huge next to nothing that you wonder if it is logical that do not exist so badly. Or becomes memory, the image of a blond and thin rising from the sofa, was a last gesture in the air, rattling bracelets and scented narcissi.

also loves come to naught, then, well liked and seems wasted, thrown away. Or still lingers like a ghost - and the spectrum is the memory, is the illusion fall off some day vanish as a last blaze flares up and sets fire to the West, we live the last glow of dusk as the night falls cold and dark. The only thing to do is turn our backs to the abyss and return to the path, turn up at a crossroads and go down another path.

Photo © Hans Peters

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Preparation H Swollen Toes

A Season: Winter scooter tire

Pomeriggio d'inverno by gabriela.riva
.
Even a walk in the woods and still naked branches to take shape against the sky. But just for now!

participates in this blog initiative of Kosenrufu mama "A Season: Winter"

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Heat Exchange Cylinder Head

Update # 7 work in progress

cross-stitch work progresses, but the update would be very differently if he had not taken the foolish embroidery fireflies for lanterns and had not wrong to interpret the legend of the color chart ... result?

Two nights of work , an evening of unwrapping, an evening of settling, a new beginning, a lot of lost time! An exercise in patience, are now well-tempered and I would say not only about the work of the needle, most of all was the life and its circumstances to teach, sometimes I feel like a zen monk and I have to congratulate myself!
And then the work, corrects me, the fun continues on other fronts, on that of 'Adrift , the Kal-March I are having a great time even though they are only the beginning. The funny thing, the more fun I would say, is work together with fellow KAL that offer support and enthusiasm, was also an opportunity to unravel my first skein of Malabrigo Lace did not know and that I immediately won for his incredible softness and for its great color, just vanished.
It 's a top-down, a challenge for me that I am used to working in a traditional way!

Sunday, March 6, 2011

Can I Get Shingles On My Elbow

Congolese

An ugly name I would say for the delicious cakes. It seems to me a name a bit 'back to colonialism, but so much so, their main ingredient, coconut, clearly evokes exotic images and sensations. This recipe is an excellent solution for advanced use of egg whites from some previous preparation, and then these are the ingredients: 4 egg whites


250 g brown sugar 300 g grated coconut

1 tablespoon apple sauce 1 teaspoon of vanilla extract


Put the egg whites and sugar in a saucepan and whisk vigorously in a water bath (and then in another pot) until the mixture is nice and bubbly hot.
Heat oven to 180 degrees.
Remove the pan from water bath and add the apple sauce (I just cooked a bit 'before a pippin, I used a spoon and me are the remaining jelly on the spot!), Vanilla and coconut and continue to beat for at least another 3 minutes so that everything is properly installed.
Using slightly damp hands make into balls the size of a walnut and shape and then putting them on the plate coated with baking paper.
Bake for twenty minutes until they are golden. At the end will be crispy outside and soft inside.
cooled you can store up to 10 days in a box sealed and stored in a cool, asiutto.
Bon appetit!

Friday, March 4, 2011

Program Combination Master Lock

The road not taken

would be nice to go back in time, retracing their steps back and remove errors, mistakes chase with a huge rubber and delete stupidity. Who has not committed? Who has not made a fool? Who has not humiliated? The fact is that when we realize that we have made those mistakes now the time has passed and we took a path on which we can not go back - as in that famous poem by Robert Frost: "Two roads diverged in a wood / yellowed and sorry of them do not / Either as a single, long I stood / One of them until I could peering / Where among the bushes done. " Now we have the painful baggage of experience, an unnecessary burden on the one hand allows us to evaluate different choices now, but we can not change the past, we can only imagine what those roads not taken might have been as our lives might have changed if we had chosen differently at a crossroads.

And are those stupid mistakes that we commit to love is like falling in love we darkened the mental faculties, as if stravolgesse reason and left us in a condition of temporary madness, entrusting the government to the heart of our decisions in accordance with, the passion. Even the wisest, even the most conservative, they fall into the traps that tends Cupid, let themselves be duped by quell'amorino flying armed with arrows. One day of September in the 80s, for example, I committed a big mistake going to try what I believed at the time my girlfriend, or rather something more - remember: love alters the mental faculties, then maybe that girl 's I defined "reason of my life" or "the whole universe" or "the sun around which gravitate" and was not a girl, a sweet and beautiful girl, affectionate and sympathetic, but still a girl, whose love was not as intense as mine.

At that time she worked in the family business in Veneto, I studied in Milan, at the University. I took lodgings in a hotel of this provincial town, a town on the sea: the day she worked and I went to the beach - a mistake, I repeat: languished all day and my heart was languishing with me, a withered rose in the glass of Coca Cola in front of me at a table in a bar. I had a thirst that could not pay off: it was the thirst for her, un'arsura that I had tried so hard even when I was away and felt only by phone. More and more was at hand was impossible: there met only in the evening when we went to dinner in the evening and then we growing melancholy sad - have you ever tried to be at sea in September?

The cavernous wind blowing from the coast was seething in us, the darkness that fell away as ever before. We were already divided, although together while holding hands, hugging and even baciandoci. The words clashed with the crash, although trivial simple words fell to the ground as the pianos in the old comedies, come apart, they went to pieces. It was love that was broken, our love as fragile as crystal, we could see the remains sharp on the rocks below us. If the survivor had decided to charge the bottle to the sea his rescue had the wrong target and now his hopes were vain. So the story ended, he died in the wind that blew from the east and carrying the sand in the streets, which tore the branches of oleander and was swinging the curtains on the balcony.

Many times I wondered what would happen if that love in the week of September instead of going in his home town I stayed in Milan, going to movies with friends, walking along the quiet canals, just listening to the records released to Musical messengers, playing ball in the Parco Sempione. Many times I wondered what would happen if the front fork that I had not chosen the wrong path.

Edward Hopper, "Gas", 1940

Cube Feild For Iphone

PREMIUM BLOG Liebster

Heartfelt thanks to Dayana for honoring me with the award


visit your site many, there are lots of ideas wonderful to give vent to the desire for creativity vs!


WHAT 'THE PRIZE Liebster BLOG:
The prize' initiative designed to give a blog born just a chance 'x get to know more '.

rules to follow to receive the award are:
  1. - accept the award and write a post about
  2. - choose three to five bloggers that we like and tell them that they won
  3. - link to the blog of the person that I will left

sites that wish to award the prize Liebster Blog are:

Taina's blog "The hedgehog's den" http://web.me.com/tainadavide/Pikkusiilin_pesä/Home.html

Silvia's blog "The shop of wonders" http://thewonderemporium-mimmi.blogspot.com/

Ms Laowai's blog "My Soapmaking diary "http://mysoapmakingdiary.blogspot.com

good vision!

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Last Level On Cubefield Game

"There is silence there"

More about C'è silenzio lassù
One of the last reading of this period. A beautiful book, deep, minimal, sad, but with a happy ending.
The story of a man who has seen his life interrupted the night when her twin brother, died in a car accident. From that moment everything changed, university studies were interrupted and he has remained only life on the farm, under the orders of a father, petty and mean, sometimes very cruel. Life flows, the years go by over and over, crisatallizati in their repetitiveness.
And then one day, Helmer is the first choice of his life and decides to confine ilpadre in a room upstairs and renovate the house. And it is as if a spell had broken and thoughts and feelings to the surface to be revived and analyze. And then of course I'm not saying the rest.
I do say that this book, this story is extremely fascinating. The writing is beautiful, the descriptions of the natural environments are very engaging, and the author tells the story of a man also speaks of her double or better than his other hand, speaks of separation and absence, loneliness and a feeling of incompleteness that accompanies a life. And lets see, however, the possibility of redemption, of a rebirth.
Gerbrand Bakker - There is silence there - Hyperborea