I want to know why every time I go to Italy for more than 5 days I spout the flu. Why ????? (Now you ask Google ...) In
below the mills and autumn: we speak of torrential rain, strong wind and 15 ° C at best.
Sgrunt.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
How Much Does It Cost To Ski.
closed for disinfection
I want to know why every time I go to Italy for more than 5 days I spout the flu. Why ????? (Now you ask Google ...) In
below the mills and autumn: we speak of torrential rain, strong wind and 15 ° C at best.
Sgrunt.
I want to know why every time I go to Italy for more than 5 days I spout the flu. Why ????? (Now you ask Google ...) In
below the mills and autumn: we speak of torrential rain, strong wind and 15 ° C at best.
Sgrunt.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Free Pokemon Emrold For Mobile Phones
The art of being happy
Reduce the usual holidays in Sardinia, I want to tell a story.
A true story, a story of happiness.
The protagonists are called Petrine and Wilma, is in his seventies and they are my neighbors in Sardinia.
He of Gallura Sardinia, her Dutch.
They met in the fifties and sixties: it nice and early twenties, her foreign nanny who did not speak a word of Italian, a language spoken today in its own way (with marcatissimo Dutch-German accent, mixed with Gallura). A
gestures began their love story: young married, in Sardinia in which the bride was still required a reasonable dowry, while the girl in question had only itself to offer.
Their marriage, which no one would have bet, lasts for fifty years, forty of which passed under the watchful eye of legendary his mother, Mrs. Magdalene, became famous for the age at which she died ( people swear that he had well over a hundred years). The lady lived in a house attached to them, and God only knows how they could be mothers-sardines than half a century ago, especially with foreign brides and viewed with suspicion.
anyone know them today would say that two people happy. Really happy.
Two old lovers with older children, grandchildren and countryside all around: a boar named Charlie in the yard, a dog, two cats, cows, goats, sheep, donkeys, dituttodipiù. And summer go together swimming in the most beautiful sea of \u200b\u200bSardinia and caring for their animals, living in contact with nature, eating roasted meat and laughing, and living wittily their love.
Perhaps this is happiness. 
Reduce the usual holidays in Sardinia, I want to tell a story.
A true story, a story of happiness.
The protagonists are called Petrine and Wilma, is in his seventies and they are my neighbors in Sardinia.
He of Gallura Sardinia, her Dutch.
They met in the fifties and sixties: it nice and early twenties, her foreign nanny who did not speak a word of Italian, a language spoken today in its own way (with marcatissimo Dutch-German accent, mixed with Gallura). A
gestures began their love story: young married, in Sardinia in which the bride was still required a reasonable dowry, while the girl in question had only itself to offer.
Their marriage, which no one would have bet, lasts for fifty years, forty of which passed under the watchful eye of legendary his mother, Mrs. Magdalene, became famous for the age at which she died ( people swear that he had well over a hundred years). The lady lived in a house attached to them, and God only knows how they could be mothers-sardines than half a century ago, especially with foreign brides and viewed with suspicion.
anyone know them today would say that two people happy. Really happy.
Two old lovers with older children, grandchildren and countryside all around: a boar named Charlie in the yard, a dog, two cats, cows, goats, sheep, donkeys, dituttodipiù. And summer go together swimming in the most beautiful sea of \u200b\u200bSardinia and caring for their animals, living in contact with nature, eating roasted meat and laughing, and living wittily their love.
Perhaps this is happiness.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Pet Rabbit And German Shepard
Google for dummies - revenge
When, despite the calendar peg away saying it's August, it is cold,
it rains heavily, the wind blows and you want to be buried under a blanket on the couch reading and drinking hot tea
, the only salvation is to roll up the morale with the search strings that make you get on this blog. No
the only one who finds them hilarious (he always told me, Google) as a blog in ten has a post like this.
When, despite the calendar peg away saying it's August, it is cold,
it rains heavily, the wind blows and you want to be buried under a blanket on the couch reading and drinking hot tea
, the only salvation is to roll up the morale with the search strings that make you get on this blog. No
the only one who finds them hilarious (he always told me, Google) as a blog in ten has a post like this.
category Misfortune: broken pipe water bill
category NOT EVEN FIND MY NAVEL WITH GOOGLE MAPS: how you look with 17 degrees?
category MILLESIMO THAT YOU ARE LOOKING FOR HERE COMES: labels beer gnome (Ed: the Chouffe. So do not ask for more. Maybe.)
category WANT SAPE 'WHAT YOU HAVE ANSWERED: mozzarella holland
category GREEN DAY I DO NOT THINK THAT I RIGHT? : Green Day Castrocucco
category ONLY IF IT IS 'BEAUTIFUL, Senna' DO NOT WANT: nice prs-600 (Ed: the PRS-600 is an ebook reader)
category Italian Genius: workshops in Brielle (This is mean, recapitalization here many times: If Brielle is in Holland is very, very, very hard to believe the answer is in Italian!)
depraved and illiterate category: vision gone under the
And with this I salute you. I like ducks also migrate south for about ten days. Time dry my bones.
Let the good .
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Pokemon Mac Rom Heart Gold
9. Pieces of history in the child.
"Fragments of infinitesimal dust in the den of my mind living light edge: what is the origin little care."
A. Martucci, "brains and materials in color," Corbaccio
"Fragments of infinitesimal dust in the den of my mind living light edge: what is the origin little care."
A. Martucci, "brains and materials in color," Corbaccio
beatomè yearned to thinking about the lucky reader who, by opening a random page of my literary debut (when this was going to press), it would be unbeaten in My lyrics by poet underground Capitoline, courted her, and these were the exact words that were buzzing in the orchard of my erratic thoughts, it is these and not others, and finally concluded it was not necessarily found in the poetry my first publishing success. Maybe the diary of a deep research on the human character, fictionalized version of real experience conducted by the author: I.
But while the story of Ernesto Maria Pasquali suggested many different destinations, still did not provide any indication on how to reach them. But the call to the cemetery gave me a chance, take it and you had contact in some way move to the Milan branch of the family.
consulted the telephone directory with rudeness to Philip Marlowe, dialed the number to do with Sam Spade, but I knew barely pierce the water like a shabby Jeffrey Lebowski, grappling with a series of bad trips. In fact, the Easter which I started on the trail was not available in any way. No one who answered the phone, nobody went to check the mailbox, and would add no mailbox, as my presentation he soon returned to me for "sending non-existent or unavailable." It was like peering into an instant home of the pioneer, before the window is slammed shut by the wind.
crunching discomfort with resignation, I thought well of dark and try not to think better.
Research canonical master data had not yet been exhausted, and some sources suggested that Pasquali, orphaned in 1919, moved with his mother in Milan in the early twenties.
solicit responses dall'anagrafe Milan, dissatisfaction with ostentatious leafed through the folder containing the material collected so far on my character. A few pages photocopied from books and clippings of the era. Not even enough for a detailed biography, but ... To look good, were growing. It gave me a warm, optimistic vision that the folder would soon make way for something special, something that had remained hidden for almost ninety years by lights and shadows of the twentieth century, from the curious looks and changes of ownership. of unpublished .
If the road does not lead to anything just because it was I was in the midst of being selective: they closed the wrong lane and stay in the game than those in which he hid the right one. What should have answered my questions: who was really Ernesto Maria Pasquali? What were his dreams come true and which ones? What happened in his last months of life?
(continued)
But while the story of Ernesto Maria Pasquali suggested many different destinations, still did not provide any indication on how to reach them. But the call to the cemetery gave me a chance, take it and you had contact in some way move to the Milan branch of the family.
consulted the telephone directory with rudeness to Philip Marlowe, dialed the number to do with Sam Spade, but I knew barely pierce the water like a shabby Jeffrey Lebowski, grappling with a series of bad trips. In fact, the Easter which I started on the trail was not available in any way. No one who answered the phone, nobody went to check the mailbox, and would add no mailbox, as my presentation he soon returned to me for "sending non-existent or unavailable." It was like peering into an instant home of the pioneer, before the window is slammed shut by the wind.
crunching discomfort with resignation, I thought well of dark and try not to think better.
Research canonical master data had not yet been exhausted, and some sources suggested that Pasquali, orphaned in 1919, moved with his mother in Milan in the early twenties.
solicit responses dall'anagrafe Milan, dissatisfaction with ostentatious leafed through the folder containing the material collected so far on my character. A few pages photocopied from books and clippings of the era. Not even enough for a detailed biography, but ... To look good, were growing. It gave me a warm, optimistic vision that the folder would soon make way for something special, something that had remained hidden for almost ninety years by lights and shadows of the twentieth century, from the curious looks and changes of ownership. of unpublished .
If the road does not lead to anything just because it was I was in the midst of being selective: they closed the wrong lane and stay in the game than those in which he hid the right one. What should have answered my questions: who was really Ernesto Maria Pasquali? What were his dreams come true and which ones? What happened in his last months of life?
(continued)
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Nadine Jansen Free Blog
Vitamin D
A week in Sardinia with plenty of sunshine and a cool breeze, despite the dire forecast on the day of departure, did miracles. So I do not regret not having put on a good pound of flesh with many pasta dishes with freshly caught octopus cakes and caramelized almonds. Cracks glycemic avarice!
It may be that some gram has the burnt yesterday deforesting the garden in front of the house that seemed to be the latest creation of the landscaper Addam's family.
The OT of the day is the theft of the bicycle. It's been four and a half years since that morning, from the twenty minutes I spent staring at a bare pole, hoping that my bike could kidnapped tenderly wrapped around a lamppost different pasting the robbed mo 'handbill. With hindsight I realize that I should write a leaflet similar to those . A therapeutic purposes. 
It may be that some gram has the burnt yesterday deforesting the garden in front of the house that seemed to be the latest creation of the landscaper Addam's family.
The OT of the day is the theft of the bicycle. It's been four and a half years since that morning, from the twenty minutes I spent staring at a bare pole, hoping that my bike could kidnapped tenderly wrapped around a lamppost different pasting the robbed mo 'handbill. With hindsight I realize that I should write a leaflet similar to those . A therapeutic purposes.
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