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... Hope ... San Martino Buon

... just write a note to tell you that in this period

my head is elsewhere .... more precisely here ...
ON SITE ... ...
... we hope to get into our dream home
before Christmas .... but I do not know that we will succeed ....

.. is that checks if the husband did the walls straight ...
and think that I am the "detailing of the house":)
We hope to celebrate here on Dec. 25 ...
in our new living room with fireplace, access ... ...
crib ... .. tree lights ... .. packets
biscuits ... .. Panettone sofa cuddling ... ... .. and greetings hugs ...
hope ... hope ... hope ...
if I say it again then come true ???:)
(sore going to go knocking cognatini
next door ... they are moving house every other day ..!!)
see you soon!

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a schoolmate


My grandson into the house, came to me, embracing me, as is usually very small and offered me a daisy field, saying: I have from the garden for you grandma. To show how much I liked her gift, I put the skimpy daisy in a glass with water. Looking at it though, my thoughts went far back in time many years ago, it was the period of the College in Como, I had a companion school that was called just like Margaret P. I came away from Sicily, and said that with my cheerful, cheerful, reflecting the colors of my land, but she Lombard doc, he was introverted, malfidente few times in some ways even unpleasant, but by dint of telling stories and always turn the word, began to open, to have confidence and she wondered how I managed to melt the ugly character who finds herself, in truth, the life I always had this prerogative, I do not know what it is, or why, but usually people talk and tell me say that inspires confidence, I do not know if it is really so, however that is another story. By Margaret P.
We had become inseparable, she was in class in front of my desk and once in two hours of Italian, there was the usual course of the theme, was desperate, did not know what to write, I knew of his lack of imagination and that I'd rather do for sale, I offered to carry even his. So I took the (bad habit) every time there was the issue, I will compose two completely different with the same title and then she copied her. The two issues were from time to time so different from each other than ever, the teacher realized that they were written by the same hand that is mine. She hugged me and every now and then I said Assunta I love you, I would say ironically, who loved me for interest and she got angry, pretending to hit me. We had their diaries full of nonsense, which of course in those days of adolescence were important, and instead re-evaluates them now, they just smile tenerazza. After college, I've never see her again, I recall that he lived in Dongo, a mountain town near the Swiss border. I still have my journal well preserved to instill a drawer, I remember that I wrote a poem that I reread almost pathetic now, but then she had read with great pleasure. Here, the large externally
I know a nice girl, who bears the name of

Marguerite Daisy, here! Now you know how complicated
the theorem of Thales.
Very grumpy and very enigmatic
when the stops and smiles,
died a chicken.
Cha megagalattico nonsense, but at the time ................

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Lake Winter


The winter has its charm, but every so often, and often a sense of melancholy, an uncontrollable desire for relaxation, agree that the wood burns in the fireplace, roasting chestnuts, hot The warmth of a blanket that wraps its warmth, this certainly creates an atmosphere, tender and romantic, but turning the page, how sad! When it rains, I can not even go to my favorite destination.
Every time I get the chance, I used to relax on one of the many benches around the lake of Lecco. I sit there in silence and solitude, reflecting deep in my thoughts. I watch the water, with its sluggish winter color breaks its small waves on the edges of concrete corroded by time, sounds like little sounds and keeps me company. Everything seems sad, but it is not.
All around is quiet and relaxing, even the seagulls with their flights, damage to the landscape, halo full of charm and magic. Not the lake in winter or to bring the atmosphere that creates sadness, that when there is, comes from within, cel'hai soul and if you do not tear, no magic you can release it, and winter is so difficult, not helps even time.

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...

... Yesterday I had prepared the "biscotti di San Martino" ...
how he wants a traditional Venetian ...
and today we had to decorate them ... then when I said
"kids just look at this cartoon
!"... then turn off the TV, the atmosphere was a bit 'spoiled ...
as my grandmother would have said .. "came cloudy!"
mom jerks ..... .. our friends watch what they want ..
etc. .. etc. ... oh well come on ... "then make the cookies?
?"...." you like eh no we are not interested at all!" I said to myself .....
maintenance are the usual ruin everything you've always sclerosis (
..... but luckily my piaccola Cammi ...
"siiiiiiiii daiiii mom do it!
.... then prepare everything just for her ..... after 2 minutes of pouting
... Matthew: "Mom I want to do well and I ".....( two;)
.... after two minutes of super pout Michele ... "from him I do too! (three;)

... so after the first 5 minutes of silent work
.. everyone thought his without regard for anyone .. .
.. calm has returned!
ahhhh here is the Indian summer!

lo.so. .. .. ... I know a little time 'to' I want to mill ...
" concedetemelo but at least every now and then:)
... They have come pretty eh ... ready to show to popes when he returns tonight ... San Martino Buon
then!
ps the cam and then "mess" he told us
the story of Saint Francis and the wolf ... hihihi
patience eh !!... have done this at school today;)

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Bread Party

... Because ... " I cook cook "
... might as well put it on the blog ...:)

So busy day today as ever. More ... ..
course of knitting ... then .. in a nutshell ... I had already planned
or that I would not have wanted to put me in the kitchen ...
... so after lunch I prepared this to goodness ....
for dinner tonight and I had only acc AKING the oven:)
this is a very old recipe from the mill white ...
taken by one of those books that give the collection points
n he 80 years:)

... Take on normal slices of toast
cut edges and set aside ...

.. slices soaked in milk,

gently squeeze between your hands and place in a baking dish ...
(if you have a team .. best .. not like me that I only
round and I have to "play" with the joints:)

add ham and mozzarella ... ...
the first layer, then cover with more slices ...

add new ham and mozzarella ...
then cover the top layer with the edges of the slices
chopped
and always soaked in milk ...

... Beat two eggs in a cup.
. Half a glass of milk
half glass of cream (optional) ..
a pinch of salt ... nutmeg
spoon the mixture and bake the cake ...
at 200 ° for about 20-25 minutes

... when it will be nice colored and swollen ..
remove from oven let it cool .. ..
satisfaction and pronounced these words:
is ready cenaaaa !!!:)

This recipe I make for twenty years now ...
and has always come very well ..
I tried to put the smoked ham and other cured meats and cheeses .. ...
but the kids prefer it done so far! ..

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... Words that paint ...

... I discovered this poet many years ago watching a movie ...
(this says a lot about my culture poetry:) ...!!!
and the day after I bought the collection of his poems ...
Although unable to understand them all ...
I remain enchanted .... .... .... is like looking at the pictures ...
... I do not read his poetry ... I see ...

... A drop fell on the apple

another roof

half a dozen kissed the eaves and gables laugh feceero
some came out to help the brook that went to
help the sea
I figured if they were pearls necklaces
that you could do ....
... a poem Emily Dickinson ...

ah ... as you can see that incocludente these days ....
I have so many things on my mind ... ... uff uff ...

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infinite pain.


The weather does not help to raise the morale, the water tumbling down from the sky like a river of tears, makes it even more this month of November, terribly sad. What can raise morale, anything! And
'said the month of the dead, as well as those who are no longer remember, it's like a return to love, with all the memories and love that those who left us he gave us, good or bad it was . How we suffer when somebody dies very dear to our hearts!
Their disappearance is always a dull ache, it hurts and takes your breath away. Come to mind the small gestures, words, small discussions, customs, so that when a loved one dies, it is never-ending anguish.
The premature loss of my sister Maria Vittoria, has left a deep wound in my heart, insane, over time it comes back to life every day, but with the knowledge that nothing will ever be.
after the death of my father, I was stunned, this was never and has never been part of my world, but his death has saddened me because I was always the private hope that maybe one day I would have enjoyed the His presence in my life, and instead will no longer be so.
In these moments I realize that the only thing that matters in life is the love that you can give to others, be they relatives or friends and should always be kind and patient, because then when you are no longer, it is always too late.

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Insecurity



I asked myself a thousand times what is this malaise that comes over me suddenly, I seem to have divided the land and I am on wrong way.
Sometimes a sense of loneliness comes over me in, physically available, are present, but my thoughts, surf somewhere I would fly, but then back in my solitude. My brain
is like a swirl of leaves that turn around, raised by the wind, but why are they so? Because it allows the melancholy ruin life with thoughts that are not intelligent, when in fact I have always declared that! My insecurities suddenly jump out and always going to frustrate all my efforts, someone to look serene and happy in some ways also.
We will always try to plan for the future, as if life were eternal and it is said that those who think about the future, he can not live the present, I do not see why they are worse than the present nor the future, but the dream always my past, not the quality of life I led, in some ways that was normal, but my youth, which has disappeared in the folds of a time that will never return. Experience usually means learning to throw with courage and be able to face the inevitable time that passes, I now had to overcome this stage and have gained some confidence, but I still can not digest, which is a life, live it the best and enjoy it to infuse. This theory is easy to say, but how to do it? I have the feeling that I miss something and my biological age, wife is ill with the brain that goes somewhere else. Perhaps because I am a dreamer and I still can not hardened refuge in my dreams, even with open eyes, in the hope that sometimes I wake up blow, falling heavily in reality, in real life, life that matters, the only one that I decide to go along