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.
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 .
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?
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 ...
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 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.
