Red Streak On Baby's Face, Causes

Tales From Tales From

As I like to tell me how

like to tell, tell me in, telling a walk, he says.
And I like how I like it, seeing things to tell, the ones that are first, right, right here, right now, because who knows in a minute if this light will be gone or will it still is this, if this We will walk again and again that person and that and that and the other in memory and, because who knows in a minute if the memory is still just that or it will be different, such as frozen inside the body, there are memories that can fade as the fabric of a dress held too, and if the sun fade, fade, fade, and yet, in the end are nothing, almost nothing, and then we must continually raccontarseli memories.
And as I like to tell the body that perfumes the body will tell me, so they evaporate less because the scents they leave and if not then tell them there are no more and you have to force them to tell you, for example, the scent that the folds of the elbows, the grooves, when you're young.
As I like to tell!
let me look at it all again just to tell it right, just, just, decent, because children and young people are too busy looking inward, growing, busy, busy in the growth, and adults in the fight to stay standing , dodging not know how many potholes, rusty nails, nettles and brambles, snakes hanging, snakes that bite, so only the old enjoy the show outside and they know to tell. I wonder if, later, comes the moment that does not lose more time to tell, just enough for him again, and again, and again, to see him.
However now I like it and tell you.
That is all a fairy tale, believe me, this light that shows up and then just turns and then hides in the evening takes a sudden and sometimes you even have their own laws and no thought of turning on the light and then sleep, which is pretty tired, whatever you did during the day, fatigue is justice and slides right into the pillow and the next day the light comes back and turns still in its different ways, depending on season, the months, from the place of the world where you are, but persists in some places, you know, after a few months. And incredibly
when you wake up, you find yourself breathing. You are
breath, even if they still do not know, because now you are all hungry, I do not know, do not you notice, you're breathing. Breath that takes you along the very long day and turns as the light.
But the morning always comes back. And I'll tell you!

Letter To Announce New Practice

2010 2010 2010

Wives

Once, a little 'time ago, not long ago but a little' time ago, the time it takes to make an old home, begin to grow old house, when the tubes begin to lose and the external plaster to crumble when the electrical system is no longer under the windows and do not close properly and the wood splinters taxes and spreads the floor, that the cracks between tile and a wider, and in another middle is a dark and does not go away as door handles are perhaps a bit 'rusty and the seat is fully depressed and loosen the sofa and the refrigerator changed three or four times in that house and have passed at least three families and children are now grandparents and other children may face tougher and longer and happier, everything on the formula will tell someone, in short, a time not very old but old enough to be write a fairy tale, once the carers were called wives.
wives paid attention to everything. First, sewed and ironed and polished shoes because if one left the house with his clothes wrinkled and without buttons or unstitched edges or pillowcase hanging in the house meant that there was no one who cared for nothing and then it was a house really poor, poor care, affection, wisdom and work, a home for homeless and unfortunate. A house without a wife.
and wives looked after the kitchen. But not processed, refined or exotic cuisine or diet or healthy. The wives looked after the kitchen to raise children, to heal the sick, to feed the elderly, those without teeth, without hearing, without having and had no appetite just like the old one when you do not put your dentures or hearing aids nor cataract surgeries and did not come out in a wheelchair and did not have the physical therapist or drip so it was a stunt to get them to eat , drink, have a bowel movement, piss and that was a work of carers who were called in those days, wives with their kitchen and were able to parry, to defer as much as possible the arrival of the doctor who arrived when most of the time killed. And the wives were aware of the Monacelle, the remedies of the Monacelli and they boiled some tea, one for pee, to go to a body, for joy, one for sleeping, one for the liver, for fever. And the carefully-hidden carers-called wives to the doctor that combined in the kitchen because the kitchen was stuff in there and they could enter only other wives or future wives or wives in retirement, no man could put his nose. E-
wives carers understood he had been conceived a son or a son about to be born and when he was dying an old man. There was no need of the doctor, from certain signs incomprehensible to most but not their wives carers understand life, its beginning, its end, its parentheses.
and wives did as an architect in the homes, landscaping, decorations, woven fabric, the maintenance, embroidery and knitting. In every house you could hear the sound of the pedal there was always a chair near a window, the light is right for embroidery.
wives - not when carers were paid, had no salary, nor the settlement, neither the board. From where the old had to get it alone, hoping that the younger wife-caregivers to care for them as they had treated the mother-in-law, his mother, the spinster aunt. And then hope not to live long, not too long, because old age is sad when you can no longer take care of someone.

Free Saddle Rack Pattern

Mirta

hours at the request of the fairytale story Mirta (count, count, said the old woman, once those there, girls, big girls husband, wives, pregnant women, lactating women, the workers at home, the laundresses the scullery maids, count, count, sing sing, play sounds, they say today in the streets when there is the modern circus performer, the storyteller, that is type that is paid to parties to the Unit or town festivals or tourist board to sing and dance to the square, sing, sing) and then I sit down the pen, or rather the computer, and I'll tell you something, that Once we sat down the skirt, were preparing their hands or sat down the pen and ink and blotting paper and one unit to count.
Here we are already inside, I'm talking about Mirta. Why
Mirta knows twig green autumn but also with ink and pen and paper towels and kitchen and vegetable garden fireplaces and terracotta floors, the head scarves of airy windows that open onto gardens down olive trees without vines border low dark cellars paths dotted with terracotta walls marked by a few blows away, you know, even a scarecrow. There
air around. A lot of air. Open air, breathing the fires of canned August, Easter lambs, artichokes new, the boiling of jam. But it is also
Mirta Mirtella Mirtella and runs through the forests of the past, dig the holes of memory, survival, here is a crock, there a stone, lower a pedestal, dig in a straight line but sometimes speed is of the elegant things around because they do not forget that it is a nymph called Mirtella.
So the forest is a forest and calls her pregnant heat quiet and clean with straight trunks and roots that need to be careful, there helmets in the roots, and there is a hole in the forest of silence that gravity still like when flying seagull wings instead of real estate is the forest that is pregnant, the property is a sacred grove along Mirtella.
say it is a library?
that the forest are the pillars of wood where the properties are in good order books from the golden backs higher, higher, higher, history, philosophy, medicine, religion on, until the windows always closed down even further, in the warehouse with the railings, bolts everywhere, careful not to trip in the know.
But no, that does not stumble Mirty Mirty and also because she works hard around a book as a vegetable and around the monitor, the grower, because, you know, books are delicate, sensitive to light, delicate to eat .
Tried to open a book than the woods and get scared.
emotion, especially if you're thirteen, you will be pasted into the ink, in a place that some call the soul, but you find out later, while you move the wood, and even on your fingers, then the book is called manuscript, and a mushroom hidden.
One day I'll take you by the hand and I'll take you, yes you'll take in a library.
But you have to be silent, as in church, so you'll see the forest.
Mirtella Instead, I'll take you first.

Christmas Appertiser Plates

fairytale fairytale fairytale

Pot

Once there were pots. Pots so big that even you imagine how big that when they were found in a book of fairy tales do not like a fairy tale but a real pot at the table every day because the water was boiling in a pot and so passed a 'now that the first' boil the water looked more and more never boils inside the polished aluminum surface rippled just saying if the mother look at it never boils.
And in this pot is spaghetti tossed in some long and hard that you had cut in half you bought in some shops that kept them in some wooden drawers open and there was slanted in those stores smell of spaghetti citrate and drawers.
And after a while 'with the tip of a fork, pulled up a piece of spaghetti is long and shiny and it tasted but it was always tough and you had to wait so we tasted it again and again until you taste more and if you overcook the spaghetti for example we would start talking and joking and it takes two to raise the pot to drain the pasta in the colander to hold toss el'insalatiera was white with the huge heavy cloth around to bring it to the table.
But I do not remember, I forget the sauce. Why do most often was butter definitely some touches of butter yellow before they told us that he was no better and no butter on a butter grated cheese aged cheese and black pepper that was fun and not taken from the bottle as seen now in the ground in advertising some business faux antique.
Because once the mill was just for coffee and it took hours before grinding it with patience and looked closely at the mother who was calm and focused as he did as when stretched or when wrapped around the rolls or when he passed on the rice lentils tabletop.
And the mill? The mill is there, Above expected that you take it.

Alpinestar Leather Cleaner

2010 2010

Maria Concetta

My name does not bring anyone home because it's like a fable stale and nobody wants these tales because everyone wants to be born today and not yesterday or the day or the century and then this is a name that comes out two or three centuries ago.
And this name also knows that Maria Millenovecentocinquanta just put your all girls and Concetta came straight from a grandmother who had made impressive ten children and mostly cooked pasta and beans.
But this name that is straight from a fairy tale of a country with little water and large aluminum vats and vats of Sad Sack gray and black, this name comes from the pierced and palaces, the name can disguise themselves and I'll explain how. Meanwhile
may only concepts and this would tell a man you respect and love you so open to talking or concepts and you have the firmness of a statue in his voice, the safety of a Venus, but those who take the narrow hands of the world.

Then this could be reduced to Concettina and you can tell an old man who remembered its Concettina, those known when he was young and then Concettino there were many, many. Finally
could still squeeze in that Tina and I will tell her friends or colleagues in a hurry or those who mistakenly crossed in some way, useless in some way you can be blown by the wind because there are winds that push people in certain places and their names.

But if the mother is calling you with fancy Cetta Nordic Bologna dictated by his friend that then remains: two syllables, but with the tips at the end that is not taken down. No, not taken down.

And then turn it into some Cetty, they pretend not to understand, they want to win your old name, the poet we ride up and becomes Conception definitely married to Don Ramon.
What if he arrives in America you can borrow from the Godfather and Connie feel international. You would have to choose if
short in duemilaetrenta - duemilaquaranta you were born a child and name contemporary adventure had come back and actually was just a cool name was Concetta Maria-Concetta-Concettina-Tina - Cetta - Connie and Design and become a girl you were very, very fashionable.