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good trip

This photo was taken by Lisa in 2005. I just came in 9087, the train 352 which came from Buenos Aires, I came into the Pullman 672, seat 28.
This kid was walking taking pictures, we became friends, and I said "if I conseguis" and brought it to me, came with a group of friends.
Thus ended the year.
In February we will meet again, if we're still around here.

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The holidays Peter Knight

When we were kids, we gathered in Galván, my cousins \u200b\u200bcame, when we came to White celebrated here, in the house can were twenty or thirty. We went to midnight mass and then kept on eating all night. As the years passed in the house nuestrra, we got together with my brother, my sister, my nephew, here in the bay or in the working-class neighborhood.


Some years ago I had to work 24 or 31 and then there in the machine shed, we worked from 20 to 4 mañanana or 4 to 8 of us gathered, the staff of the mechanical section. Getting ready the first four locomotives that gave us, and then we ate in the dining room. getting ready the three machines that gave us (H enlistment, for leaving in the morning), a team preparing the dining room, and when conditions were ready, we went to eat together. there were not going to say no, had to go to trabaajr. I was playing, what's going to do ... we were able to 15 or 20. At twelve o'clock, the December 31 blew whistles and horns from locomotives ... we spent pleasant evenings, beer, a roast or chicken disc a lamb, a good time all night, like we were a family, we were a railroad family.


Among all of the section is buying lottery tickets, one was in charge of choosing the number, integer, and involved, each was given a receipt for their part, but we get nothing
never

Then ... and a few years ago I stopped going to these parties, I will not, not because it is angry, at one point that I saturated with so much food, for years I've been doing that, I prefer to eat light and listening to hold music. This last christmas spent in micasa, ate chicken, fruit, pineapple fizz, I talked with my neighbors, and the next day at noon I ate and went to Bahia.
I do that, I'm on a pedestrian, I always find some friends met and spent together, now I will first do the same.


is my way of celebrating the holidays, it makes me feel better .

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The portal of Eden, shepherds and sheep without, miraculously survived, with no hope that a god hiding inside a cardboard cup, where a wine infamous "bully" them revive their language and blames drugs every day.

Like soap bubbles, the bubbles of dreams and illusion grow and and Nsanchan infinitely until the pervasive and harsh reality makes "plop, ploff, plofff ..."








Christmas starts with the sound of hitting balls on the naive expectations of those who still believe that other happiness is possible ... It ends with the same score that gives them the "Child."
natural encounter is the same ball twice ... But every year?

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Notebooks

These are some of the books that Peter used in school 15, when he was in third and fourth degree, 1949 and 1950.
In the first, displayed the signatures of the third teacher, Elida Sette Orta and the director of the School, Vicenta Fury. Below, signs the mother of Peter, Mary Knight. Next, the book of aesthetics, which was where we copied the patriotic songs. And the notebooks, which gave the general direction of school books No 1 and No 2 y. When the teacher had to correct the 1, we used the number 2.

These notebooks the sixty years I kept boxed in wooden crates, along with school books.


drawing, drawing badly, peers I did the drawings. To me what I liked best was history and geography ...

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In the lounge bar is they made the holidays, from 22 to 3 am, with choice of queen included. Attending 500, 600. I first gave the propaganda of the anniversary celebration over the loudspeaker, he sold the cards in the secretariat, and later, on Saturday when the party was the last Arjeta collected at the door.

I worked, so the card does not pay.

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The "Papaija" and gone crazy. Stone by stone

"I was not born, but I have heard from others who lived then ... "So begins his story grandfather, who takes hold of his extensive archive rote again.
" What happened to Rosario the "Papaija" has no name. We should be ashamed of the people we allow this outrage ... You see .., ran the early years of last century ... "

Inn On the street, the woman lived with her second husband. Years before widowed, staying alone with two small children. In these circumstances, in those years, a husband was almost indispensable. She found him and remarried.
When he was born her third child, the couple lived with hardships, but fighting every day. At least his house belonged to them, because Rosario had inherited from their parents. Arrived
payments of contributions and taxes, which should take them, remained unpaid for two consecutive years. For this reason began a process of expropriation and went on sale the house, appearing on the tablet of the court.
Your own rose neighbor across the property by paying the stipulated fair price.
As they had nowhere to go, followed in his house but no longer theirs.
Very close to Christmas, in the depths of the nascent days winter, the Civil Guard was present in that house with an order of eviction. Rosario had left early to wash clothes and diapers to the laundry room of the Fountain of Albar, leaving children at home with the door locked, the largest not climb out of eight years and had only small months.
unmoved even the guards arranged to leave the house.
raining outside, with an insistence interminable and monotonous, but the guards did not seem reason to take into consideration. Furniture, clothes and other belongings were placed in the middle of the street. Up a batch of bread, which he kept in the cupboard, also took to the streets. Unfortunately, the home's sleeping boy was no exception. Wet the clothes soaked by rain and the humble wool mattress, no wonder the child cool.
When the mother returned, warned probably flew into a rage and went crazy for the people without finding relief. The child was taken by a neighbor, but he fell ill. And so it was
pneumonia was the smallest of the "Papaija." Of those events
recalls the visual image of those fluffy bread on the table placed in the street. However, the misfortune that resulted in the death of the son of the woman, easily forgot. For it seems a shame that more consideration was given not to jeopardize the prosecution or the coldness of the Civil Guards. Who would dare do it? Neither laws nor allow it shysters. That
Rosario lost his head and disappeared from view of neighbors and relatives, alerted everyone. Then reacted by starting your search. Gone are the days
yl to "Papaija" did not appear. The searched everywhere, but they gave her. It seems that the earth had swallowed.
"I told the q ue was found, a certain Frasquito Navarro, many years later." Under that carob
dragging ba their rough branches, curled up on the hollow trunk tree, lay dead mother who went mad after the wrongful death of her son.

Few recall and narrate these events. But the moon will always be ugly and shameful in the skin of a people. As I realized who keeps alive the memory, some authority came to say ... "That this never happens again" This seems to have been ... until now.

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Stone by stone,
man who knew them,
threw his mark.

Wind, sun, rain ..,
with constant force was checking
wrinkles
in the hard stone. It grew


the wet moss fall.
What
hardened winter and summer resected.


calloused hands of the maker of "heaps"
now lie still and idle dreaming
stones.


And want to know is its walls. He asks

interested if still standing.

I returned to the site every so often, a lot of old and gnarled olive trees, and I've always felt the energy concentrated in the mounds of stones.
still hear the echoes to the clatter of stones songs and spread through the limestone plateau, which rises with pattern of olive trees and the scent of aromatic plants.
the return from the day of collection of olives, after the usual greeting, the one who redid the mounds of stones immediately asks:


- What ihjo, how er Thurs day?
- was well, I am Jech Porvair.
- Yuvi to strip the Argun mahan?
- Nah, it loh puziste Plant.
- Puej, zabeh and not rejacerlos dehe of ca see that ahga Farta ...

The man who grew and recrecía the mounds as a wall and looks not with the eyes, just look at the memories. And clearly revives. He says that he forgets the colors, as if they were fading. However, the gray of the rocks or "colorao" land will not be forgotten.





stones are the thoughts that men dig. Left on the plateau of our lives can stand on one another and build a solid wall that apoyars e.
However, human wild thoughts leave without trying to be lost even build anything. So the life that belongs to us is left to form with thoughts of others, and prepared and ready to use. And drywall are people who can only provide just another brick in a dull world, to live is the least pathetic and miserable up.
Perhaps that is why we rejoice to both rows of rough stones simply put, they represent an unconventional human being ... like, for example, a farmer who devoted his life to clean the soil of stones that obstruct and detrimental to their life project: A few olive trees bear fruit year after year, bread dipping oil where he and his family.

Brick by brick, flamenco is an expression of art and wisdom culture and tradition. Let this be my tribute
.

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Row 35, please

Not only entries, also kept the boletitos Pedro indicating row and seat number.

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What does the private archives of Peter Knight ? Movie tickets

Several hundred movie tickets, between 1973 and 1994

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file at the museum

Today

Peter brought and left the museum archives and his private correspondence, cinema tickets, notes, bills of payment of the railroad, reported notes, the note of suspension of 67 years, notes a number, purchase tickets, birthday cards commercial port, electricity bills, receipts from raffles. For years

jealously nursed him at home, rated each item in a bag or different.

Now in your house, file papers, photos, brochures of their activities at the museum, memories and notes from people that are daily.

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A story in "andalú." Looks

As often happens at times, a text, phrase or poem appears before your eyes and get surprised, it can even move you or simply do not indifferent.
This happened to me a story. What surprised me was that it was written in "andalú."
I showed him a companion who wanted to use in a school year on the figure of Blas Infante, Father of the Nation Andalusian poet, historian, musicologist and author, among others, the anthem before us represents the Andalusians.
As you can see, the text shows it is really spoken Castilian in Spain. It is a speech of ordinary people in a rural environment, as people keep talking about today. Considered
speech expression Andalusian dialect, that is, one step below the category of language, Blas Infante's claim, however, as an authentic language, but the historical, political and economic changes occurred in the first half of prevented the twentieth century and beyond. Then came
Andalusian nationalism which sought a federal reconstruction of Andalucia for the regeneration of Spain. Blas Infante undertook this enterprise, but did not find sufficient support.

For ease of reading the story, try to translate it with the freedom and right that gives me knowledge of my native speech and the regular use of English.

Without wishing to be pretentious, I think there are enough reasons to start thinking Andalusian language exists, provided it is standardized and finally determined.
If Andalusian political forces would forcefully, an Academy of Language would be possible. However, this may not be possible by the myriad of problems that converge. The variety of shades in a variety of speakers who live in this region or simply partisan rivalry, or localized, so present and evident, as vain as sterile.

Here, then, the above story ...

THE WOLF preferred

Animal Tales

... ... ... ..

-er Veráhté how suseío Thurs. Was preferable d'hte ...

was MiHT wolf and dog. His grandfather wolf Thurs. Ehte nursed with milk, dehde boy.

I preferred er would always win. Already poia andequisiera ohté acohtá or ise. Er im that kept ohté wins preferred. Paese que l'ohtoy watching! Ehtd tended to pray, to lanochesé, and the door Elante d'hta chosa. If your master wanted Check peas and bread, he ate, if not, happy ever after! "I preferred the boa!" Esy ehte when would-be pa gets slept AEntry that Palasio. And there was I preferred sailing der er dream wins. Come poiana and loboh loh! Er cones Anteh'e poetic and I preferred to be yegaban ehtd argunoh boa ... But ehpueh that Jisoo loh loh Corré muchah veseh with ehtrosaoh pehcuesoh no longer gorvieron Beyon Toca not a sheep and wool and Allah d'ehte ...

And the thing did not stop here. Veráhté. Loboh Loh, ehpantaoh and preferred, not come to ehtd majá mah ... but mine jueron and pahtoreh otroh lah ... But ah, my friend! Er was in quantitative dog (and was not national and felt!) That went loh loboh enreaoh with boa rd cuarquier wins, as he sure ehtaba bichoh aquelloh by mieo not going to come to his own way from there came to a toh defendernoh in buhca e loh loboh and loboh loh, as it were, to run s'a said!, and miuhté, toh er teníamoh and beware wins, and ezo between toh nozotroh puzimoh you preferred. .. Who would have thought that the overnight ...! What marditah mugereh zon lah!

veráhté -Poh ... Hase Coza and a preferred ezaparesió meh ... Toh loh moh pahtoreh that enteramoh and the perdisión d'er dog moh lah subíamoh in Loarte sirbábamoh peñah and preferred calling! HICP ... ... pch, preferred!. " Ka, preferring not aquifers! «L'Abram killed?" Said one. And what buhcamoh and buhcamoh ents, and ... na. Q'un Jahta day ...; improve: a dawn.

....

- But man, what has it loh Jasia loboh, anteh and know nothing! He exclaimed, raising his head, the master, hitherto silent, preferred.

-iah, eh green! "Said the narrator, and added: Thurs Poh what happened that could not handle loh Dioh loboh. Toítah Q'en lah nocheh came, and to me boa, and a pahtoreh otroh lah, AC jasiendo see a sanfransia ... Oh man, and rare thing! ... In the boa d'ehte not fall ever. Ents, that loh emáh biendo perroh ehtaban muertoh or acobardaoh, ihpusimoh that toah nocheh lah moh pa da queáramoh and sentinelah batíah to loboh loh. In quantitative sounded a shot at a boa, aquaculture and Liab flying to tiroh loh lah compañeroh otrah, and so moh puimoh Charge up lah toah Trehan loboh between nocheh.

... Poh Sr., that the boa d'ehte without aquifer. And it acohtaba disiendo ehte "iToavía s'acuerdan my preferred FOBT fulanoh!".

INFANTE PÉREZ, BLAS. Sister Loves of wolf and dog treason "preferred " TALES OF ANIMALS. Fundación Blas Infante - Ediciones SM. 1984

You see as what happened.

was preferred it (referring to the one next to it) was mixed
(Cross) dog and wolf. His grandfather was a wolf.

This milk raised him since childhood. Was always preferred to livestock. And could you sleep or go wherever I wanted. Best that you kept livestock. It seems that I'm seeing! Tended to this time in the evening, before the door of the hut. If your master wanted to take a piece of bread, ate it, if not, happy ever after! "I preferred to pasture! Said it when he went to sleep within the palace. And there he was preferred to ensure the dream of cattle. You could come the wolves! Before I preferred to know the power of it came some this flock. But after that was run many times with broken necks, and did not return to touch a fleece of the sheep it.

And the thing did not stop here. You see. The wolves were terrified of preferred, they came no more to this flock ... but went to the mine and the other pastors. But alas, my friend! As was the dog (and it was nothing of felt!) That wolves walked entangled with cattle of any flock, as he was sure that those animals, fear, do not come to yours, there came to defend us all in search of wolves, and wolves, as it were, to run away!, and look, we were all well protected livestock, so between us we put preferred ... Who would have thought that the overnight ...! What are the damned females!

. "Well, see you .. will do a month disappeared shepherds preferred ... All we heard about the disappearance of the dog, we climbed the rocks and preferred calling silvábamos! pss .. psss ... I preferred!. That is, preferring not come! "Could he have killed?" Said one. And then I looked and looked, y. .. nothing. Until one day ...; better: at dawn.
...
- But man, has it that the wolves did, before knowing anything! She exclaimed, looking up the master, hitherto silent, preferred.

- Ah, indeed! "Said the narrator, and added:" Then what happened was that God could not with wolves. That every bit of the nochess came, and my flock, and to other pastors, becoming a drain ... Man, strange thing! ... The flock of it did not fall ever. Then, seeing the other dogs were killed or cowed, ruled that every night we stayed as sentinels to give beaten to the wolves. In quantitative sounded a shot at a flock, went flying and he rolled a shot the other fellow, and so we could load three wolves of all nights.

Well, sir, that the flock of it, did not attend. And he went to bed saying: "I still remember these folks of my preferred!."

As stated in the letter of that Andalusian anthem ... "Be free in Andalusia, Spain and Humanity."
And to round off an international version of it ... "Andalusian" to the rhythm of rock ...

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"The eyes that see , not are eyes because you see them, are eyes because you see ." Antonio Machado .

In a school visit to the Science Museum of Granada took this picture. Hundreds of eyes forming columns gave me what to think ... in so many looks as we settle in and we are not aware, and also those we place ourselves. Superficial looks do not change anything, as of sight.
But there are other views, somewhat different ... those who look at the inside. Have you ever looked like that?

My story today is that ... and more.

Just around the corner, like every morning, Elisa awaiting the arrival of a buyer. Elisa sells stamps, is blind, and with them make a living.
Some time ago I know my seller. And I call them, they will just buy it. I'm lucky to do it, but never went past few euros of profit. I must be somewhat superstitious, but if I meet him every morning, it seems that I face the day with enthusiasm.
It was a dreary October morning when I met her. I was about to take the bus to go to meet a job interview. While waiting, I heard the saleswoman say ... "change your luck ... today is your day." Without thinking I approached her and asked her to change my luck. She replied with a smile:
- I only wish you luck, change it up to you.
The next morning I again thank you I would have been lucky. I accepted the job and started just to work that day.
today -Can you give me luck too, "I said, approaching her.
"Sure, that's my intention. If you put forward, luck is on your side.
I showed him the previous day coupon for it finds. I knew it would not award, but Elisa confirmed it with a smile. I kept the number to keep it, would like a charm.
In the following days was, without missing one, corner luck and gave me to call it. Rather than seeking a lucky break, take a pinch to fill my pockets, I wanted to meet with Elisa. He was convinced of the positive influence over me.
Elisa is blind from ten years. A flu took hold of his body frail and sickly, and all was complicated to total blindness.

had rarely award the number he chose. Moreover, I had made up his mind that day I'd be better without me to get and return of the investment.

So when the end came out winning the number he had with a few euros, I decided not to go to work that morning. At the same time, I was invited to Elisa for breakfast. Although reluctant to leave his post after insisting a lot, agreed.

Despite the brief daily encounters, a sincere friendship was becoming over time. She knew the right words to tell me every day. His eyes, through his dark glasses, it seems more accurate, deeper than any other in very minute that was.

was special on Sunday that we finally together. We walked along the beach, lunch at the kiosk of the port and asked me to take her to the movies. I was not surprised all his request, he was sure he did not need eyes to see. Once in the hall
sensations experienced unimaginable until then to me, to remain throughout the film taken of his hand as he described scenes and landscapes. Al complete the screening I saw that Elisa had perceived nuances that I could not see even remotely.

Despite our growing friendship , going out together on several occasions, had not yet formalized the relationship. The truth was that I did not ask her and she had remained quiet and reserved.

The crisis was the excuse they gave him throw before work. No lamented his fate, as they said ... "now my luck will change again." And, incredibly, it was another lucky to be graced with the biggest prize in the lottery.
When I appeared on the corner waiting patiently Elisa with lottery tickets, and I felt it. When holding hands and kissing, I knew immediately ...
- What do you changed the fate?
"Yes, you too, if you want.
wanted and I wanted ...
no longer returns daily to the corner. Psicología.Y currently studying, while I write ...

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Peter Ricci

October 9 when he presented the book of JC Ferrowhite Dinner, wine Rodolfo Ricci, a friend of Cena, ex Maldonado was in the railway and ended his career as head of Mechanics. With him came his grandson, Marcelo, a former railway and now he too Olimpo player and a person very dear to Peter.


But who are these Ricci, I asked him today, it sounds like you and me the names before. Edgardo
Ricci, Marcelo's father, he also my companion in Maldonado, was what helped me manage the DNI, in 2003: with it, and Fabian Inostroza I first went to Buenos Aires. I am deeply grateful.
After that, I went 26 times to Buenos Aires.

In red jacket, JC Supper jean jacket, Rodolfo Ricci, Peter Knight with its distinctive cap

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Moreno, Orzali, Mazzone and a Knight

Moreno, Orzali, Mazzone and a Knight

Photo: Rodolfo Diaz

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A flying feather ... Sol y Luna


"When there is nothing in here, when nothing can be counted, get carried away. ... "

Automatic writing is a double-edged sword. It serves to bring that inspiration arises spontaneously, but runs the risk of writing to write, and ultimately, to say nothing. Today there

general strike in the country. I thought it was a pantomime and I thought nothing. Maybe served relief and shame many others. What matters is what will happen tomorrow. Everything will more or less the same, where a few continue driving at will and will not allow to cede any post to get it to keep their "status privilegiatus."

could take refuge in my memory. Those of children every day I have more vividly. They say it is a symptom of declining staff, already going downhill towards the inevitable old age. Anyway, I still feel young, but when it really was not repaired in childhood adventures, indeed I felt as if there had been a boy ever.

Days pass like everyone else, with an inevitable rise and decline of the sun, a dark night of artificial lights and lost people wandering road to nowhere.
Meanwhile, one falls asleep and wakes up more than a few hours later. Go to a place where usually spend one third of the working day. If you are lucky enough to do it with pleasure, that desire, but if something like a punishment, get lost how long before there, because you end up in one way or another.

An activity that relaxes me is to pick olives. Pick them up the tree, of course, eating the dish , too.
The fingers move us closer than we can imagine to life. For this sensitivity we know what we do well and what harms us. These olives and apples, pulling a yellow green, smooth and soft to catch them and uproot the tree, his energy through me. Comes from the depths of the earth and is released by the living body of the plant.
The tree is not given easily. Treated with care and delicacy, is left to do, but before an attack, however small, will return the same answer.

always a song will haunt me when I write. Victor Manuel sang it at a time when democracy was not yet a reality in Spain. Regardless of political views, the peaceful ideals are indisputable.

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A photo, Ms. Roig and date of founding of White

This photo is the bachelor party Orlando Conte and Anna Mazzella who married at the home of a schoolteacher, Teresa Mazzone, with the group Alumni Center School 15. On the left is
Roich Ana, who was the director of the school, died last year at age 98 in Buenos Aires. This lady was the one who initiated efforts to engineer White has its foundation date. In 63 this lady and White building society made efforts in the direction of provincial culture, and so the provincial government decided to set the date of 26 September 1885, when it opened Dock Sud Rail Iron On September 26, 1963 was celebrated the first anniversary with a monolith and a plaque that read: "homage to the first settlers and fudndores eng. White, 26/09/1963 "


But then, this date ... if one starts to spin finer, but is older than White Bahia Blanca. If not, where do I get the schooner Louisa, when they brought the materials to make the fortress? What about when the railroad brought the materials? Means that already had spring, and had people, people living, fishermen, the same locomotive shed and the workshop was inaugurated in 1885, so all these people and lived in White long before ...

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summer.

agosteña afternoon has left the streets deserted. Sun is merciless, completely seizing it. People avoid going out and takes shelter in the artificial fresh from their homes.
With the demise of King Street awake, revive again. Slowly stretches the body, stretch your legs and open the doors.
In town, there seems to be children. The street does not jump for joy, laughter and games. Most households seem canned fancy pockets .., drivers who play alone, screens that show the world with a mouse, stupid boxes that do not get tired of being all day on.

Children who were in those summers that were not afraid of the sun and heat of the pavement. Go to the source water was supposed to a refreshing exercise. Also, when you press the "stalled" because there are fewer people in the late afternoon.

The boy climbed up the street with a water pitcher knew he could not go and play until they bring at least three of those vessels.

The source is a cacophony of laughter, as Antonia, the most vain of the neighbors, had sprawled to the source. The urchins always spilled some water on the floor and in the stones of the street, it was easy to slip. Because they all said Antonia did not rise from the ground. A giggling prevented him back together. Her dress skirts above the waist and legs looked plump hams which hung out to dry. Children do not kept their eyes on this woman, as it showed up pudenda thigh.
his turn came, filled her jar, covered it carefully and threw it over his shoulder. After crossing the square, cast down the street. Now the damn stoned you played a trick on him, as he stepped wrong. Failed to maintain the balance of the pot, breaking it to pieces. With the handle in his hand he complained bitterly, but not enough to mourn, just a few pots made between sobs, while the spilled water was lost between the stones of the street.

"Mom, is the pitcher Quebrao m'a - Managed to articulate between sobs.
- What t'as Jech, my son?
-Na, Mom, but we have no pot to the grandfather.

"It does not matter, and buy another, trying to comfort him well, but his face could not hide his little conviction.

Shortly after returning to mount the street, but now almost dragging buckets of zinc in each hand. Now do not break, but get wet feet with the vagaries of the water.

As a soundtrack perennial discs dedicated radio program, sounded every evening in the white street facades. This song never failed ... "To the prettiest girl in his tita that both want"

still very hot in August people. A few young men are dragging their feet on rubber sandals. Go to the swimming pool and carry on their bare backs towels, also trailing almost to the ground. Another afternoon with the dumbest little friends will drink his cola and chewed nth the same flavor of gum.
speak little words and chewing gum, and complain of having parents as boring as they are, they are not able to release your attachment to the TV or the internet and bring them into concert megachulo, a hundred miles away, gives the group Music will now cool.

The sun came up the front facade. In the kitchen stands a ar oma to freshly brewed coffee. The pastor and his son, acting as a shepherd boy who learns, prepare the bag: A large bread, cheese, a quince pudding and meat wrapped in brown paper. Do not put any fruit, for in the field will find its natural figs pantry. From shoulders also hang their canteens, sling bag and secure it to the knotty stick acebuche they will support and defense in the dark and diffuse long night.
When down the street, the pastor and his son, talk with neighbors and they say goodbye until the next morning. The night with its moon for them, and the sheep in the flock to graze await. Hauled all day under the shade of a small tree, is paralyzed, close together, giving comfort and encouragement to support animal life as such.
When the pastor gives long, the sheep see heaven opened, running in a pack after the "little bird" to his coveted grass.
The lad holding up herding to sticking a bite, his father dis f route to seeing. He is proud that his son inherited his passion livestock, but so is of another son who stayed home tutoring other students. That, perhaps one day be a teacher.
Night falls in the pasture and livestock will not stop giving snacks straight ... the past pray monitor it closely, while a plump moon looks like cheese by between cerros.Se silenced the cowbells and the shepherd boy snuggles with "chapon" father. It has stayed in the shelter of the olive tree that dominates the stubble alone

al. The pastor left a canteen next to the body of the child and goes in pursuit of the herd that has risen again.
A tin rattle over the stones and soil warns that the child has awakened and, following the sound of the bells, taken back in with his father.

The sun rises and shepherds his company back into the fold. Sheep met their fill, chew the food safe from the others.

up the street, in the first houses, may be heard this song ... The black curly girl who sweeps the street, absorbed in her letter, give a start to notice being surprised by the shepherds.

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"We should never make excuses and say that our enemies from participating in the calm, and that this is the cause of our irritation. If we are patient, we are not practicing with sincerity. We can not say that the beggar is an obstacle to generosity, and that is precisely its raison d'etre. On the other hand, people who irritate us and test our patience are relatively few. And we need people who offend us to exercise patience. Finding a real enemy is so rare we should rejoice to see and appreciate the benefits it gives. Deserves to be the first person offer the merits that he will allow us to acquire, and is worthy of respect simply because allowing us to practice patience. " (Dalai Lama)

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The secret of storytelling. Witches

By Gustavo Martín Garzo. (El País, December 24, 2007)

Shakespeare said love is too young to be aware , and so the language should be taken from the dreams, too young to know what he says. All stories are about love, it's charm, attention, vigilance ... And above all, joy. Make possible what seems not, reset the realm of possibility, that's what I mean by joy. And that joy is in all great stories, and therefore logical that we want children to read. And the best thing to do is lead by example. That is, make reading and books to become as natural and enjoyable for them and see his mother making a cake.
The ultimate reason why we tell a child a story is looking for happiness . I do not think there is a reason to tell it more weight. There are others: to teach them to be generous, to love nature and animals, to trust those who want, to not be afraid. But the essential thing is that makes them happy to hear it. If not, what are the tell? It's like cooking some dishes for them. We do it because they need food, but the world cakes, chocolate cakes, fried milk custard and belongs to what used to be called the world of soul. And the soul is the least predictable doctrinal and man, he loves to live without whys. Borges said that writing for children can be contaminated with childishness, and it is true. But the fact remains that the problem is not with the risks involved but on how they manage to save . Also, what is being childish? We puerile when we play with a toddler or when we walk with a dog. We puerile when we love someone, when we managed to go to a party or dance, and we definitely when we get older. I would even say that Reading is a childish act, and that puts us in the world of unreality. In that case, why would be bad? The childishness is not confused with the childishness. We have real lives, but we fell in love with unreal lives.
In a way the desire for beauty is also childish. Not enough, for example, that the books' worth, we also like to be beautiful, to brighten our lives. And know this book publishers. It is important that children see what they are, works like a wonderful chest, a lamp that hides a genius or a flying carpet ... All these objects, as happens to the books, have a dual nature. Are both common objects that are part of our daily life, a lamp, a rug, a trunk, but at the same time, are doors, places of transit. In a way, all the great books have something sacred. And that character is precisely its power to link worlds were separate: the world of the living and the dead, the adults and children, of men and animals ... And is the soul, our soul, who made those trips. We could say that true stories are the ones who hold the memories of those adventures of the soul. The Emperor Hadrian was a guest let capricious. We tell stories for that "sweet little soul wandering" continue with us in the world. Or rather, the stories are proof of that is here with us. When the world ceases to tell us things is because our guest is gone ...

Do I Have To Let My Eyebrows Grow Before Waxing

Pedro (Fontana Reyes) in the butt

After many hours of transmission by speaker of the Italian Society in White and the Commercial Club, super after fonoplatea in which she wore Ferrowhite in and 2008 2009 , Pedro came to the radio!!

Peter was invited by the program "Urban Game," which is broadcast on FM Palihue, 9 am to 13 pm to discuss his experience as a rail, his opinion on the railways present and other of his life.

Pictured with Ludmila Brzozowski Pedro, Pablo Romero, Cristian and Marcelo Lema Panero

Fontana
Pedro Reyes also gave great pleasure to leave (for real this time!) into the air: "We finished the drive with the cordial and friendly voice of Peter Fontana Reyes. Have you a very good afternoon."