What Does Hid Ballast Do

Merry Christmas, Little Angel

The snow fell slowly, looking for a place to rest and break their whiteness in a beautiful coat that would eventually cover the street.
Christmas Lights toured the village and small twinkling stars, gold and silver, turquoise and scarlet, and in the midst of this orgy of color, where the night reached its zenith, was Chaim, wandering alone, while his thoughts were bent on tormenting his soul. Chaim
was sad, melancholic, desperate ... It was not easy to define your anguish, but he could be seen as his face betrayed uncertainty.
walking near the bridge, where the people divided into two main street and for a moment thought of how easy it would jump into the icy river waters to make it disappear, but he knew that he could not do that, since no way he could hide ...
When he started to cross the bridge, Chaim said a man who sat on a narrow bench, looking absently at the endless sky. However, do not worry about your presence, knowing that no one could see ...
But the eyes of the man, who entertained with a heavy coat gray, fell in Chaim through a fine spectacle to see.
- Hello ... - Health baffled Chaim - Who are you? Chaim
was surprised because it was very difficult for the average person might see an angel, but man, disheveled and selfish aura, he had detected no problem.
- look like an angel - the man continued - When I was little I saw one, but nobody believed me ... Have you come to help?
appeared to be drunk, so perhaps he had been seeing ... Sometimes the intoxication triggered some ways.
- Sorry - said Chaim - Only the great angels can help people.
The man sat awkwardly and came up to him.
- Why? What is the difference? - Asked visibly stunned.
Haim did not want to talk, and curse the bottle of whiskey he had made to see that poor man should not have.
- Great Angels Have Wings, the children do not have.
- But ... Do not have an angel to help someone to earn their wings?
- That's something you have invented.
He was thoughtful. Seemed to absorb what had just said Chaim.
- What is a little angel to do to be great? - Asked after a long silence. Chaim
sighed, lost in his own deep sadness and apathy.
- I do not know ... - answered, staring into nothingness.
Suddenly, the soft murmur of a carol sung by children's voices, was first heard in the distance, as an accompaniment to the deep concerns of the angel.
The man reached into an inside pocket of his coat and pulled out a small silver flask that smelled of whiskey.
- Oh! Please do not drink more - said Chaim - It will never stop me ...
Ignoring, raised the flask and dropped a splash of alcohol in your mouth.
Then wiped his sleeve.
- But ... You gotta help me - begged the man - is good night and I'm alone, I am a bastard.
- ... I can not - repeat Chaim with his eyes on the ground. And tired of that conversation, he turned to leave without giving further respite to the lonely drunk.
Then, the man's face became very serious, as if the effects of alcohol would have disappeared from their blood. His eyes, before tipsy, Chaim focused with great intensity.
- Maybe, to be a great angel, just believe what you ... - he said with a deep voice. - Maybe, just enough to want to help someone but to be a drunk like me. Chaim
was upset, not knowing what to say or think.
- If you think you can, buddy. That differentiates the great angels of children.
He flashed a broad smile, he gently grabbed her arm and said:
- Merry Christmas, little angel! -
and turning around, he went through to the other side of the bridge, leaving Chaim visibly moved, knowing that a great angel had just given him much-needed hope.

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I want to be caliph instead of the caliph! Yuck

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give! Victims and perpetrators


Read the newspaper we read, watch television and follow the news online, every day we breakfasted with political corruption. The PP accuses the PSOE and vice versa, dark guys are making famous overnight for appearing in bizarre patterns of embezzlement of public funds ... Judges, bankers, trade unionists, businessmen ... Nobody sulky fonatanero to work in politics. And we are all aware that cases coming to light are the tips of the iceberg, the fart that the system has to miss from time to time to lighten your stomach blunted by both transfer and ease of digestion that only fall a few heads Turkish in the time that the system considers it appropriate. We have the feeling of living in a splash cloaca, with the shit to the neck, which is impossible to escape. And that sense paralyzes us. We see the injustice of those who amassed huge fortunes at the expense of hunger, war and misery of millions of people, the audacity of those who consider themselves sole repository of the exercise of "legitimate violence" and used to massacre people and enrich themselves and increase their power, condemning those who oppose as "terrorist." Those who do not hesitate to massacre the people of Iraq or reirle thank the King of Morocco as wrecks and plunder the Saharawi paueblo ask that the leftwing nationalist prove "conclusively" the league of violence, those who steal from the people looking for baskets laws to punish without dessert (no food and were punished) the dishonest unemployed who take advantage of unemployment benefits and refuse to accept jobs miserable ... We know, we see, we live in day to day. And yet, here we go on, quietly, without rebelling, comforting us with the football, mini-vacations or vicariously enjoying the exciting and luxurious lives of celebrities. The feeling of helplessness paralyzes us. We see that this system covers everything from the IMF to the smallest municipality, to large multinationals States and the Church.

But the reality is that the powerful few. A few families that make up the "famiglia", the "Cosa Nostra" policy, the magic circle of "our sons of bitches."

Those who suffer their excesses, their thievery and injustice are many, many more. How come we do not jump, do not we rebel against the whole morass that drowns us?

have invented a simple way to keep us in the fist we "give away" a few crumbs of what we have previously won in exchange for our obedience. And those crumbs are called mortgages, unemployment benefits, scholarships, pensions ... To this we add the lottery, football and TV, and have a submissive people screaming in unison: "Blessed Virgin, that I stay as I am". Y so we, as a jerk, bloated and stupefied, unable to sink his teeth into the jugular. And what's worse, quarreling among ourselves for the lousy "privileges" they decide to go around.

But nevertheless, all generations have given birth to sons and daughters have fought tirelessly rebel against the tyrants and have shouted from the rooftops that the king is naked and also smells like shit. Normally we pay dearly, because they are few. Let us join them and, for once, it pays the System.

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Once upon a time ... a story

Vladimir Kush

many years ago, when Adele was only a girl, believed that life, his life, was a story whose leaves could write how I want and whenever you want.
used to imagine a book of old covers and edges lightly browned, and when it opened, a scent of fresh flowers brushed his small little nose.
The pen used to write, was the thin stem of a leaf, which used to change color depending on the mood of Adele, when I was happy the projected turquoise, when she was angry, red mahogany and when I wanted to mourn, wore navy blue.
As separator, liked to think of a fairy who slept among the leaves of the book, using that particular day as a welcoming home where shelter.
That was the world that the little Adele had invented to escape from a reality too sharp. He wrote a piece every day, thinking that those letters would build his life, just as she wished. No matter if events unfolded differently, because in the end, all carrying what she had written in his diary.
However, as happens to every human being when you leave the innocence of childhood, Adele discovered that life could not be a story, and obscured the reality that beautiful universe invented.
His mind became rational, skeptical, cold, and that made the security she felt in itself, is completely cracked. Adele
But, like all people struggling to survive in this world, managed to advance in life, completely forgetting the book I had started writing as a child.
However, we know that when we were young, our desires and our imagination are a special force, and that makes anything possible, although much time has passed ... When Adele turned sixty
and five years, blew out the candles without thinking of any special wishes, for he no longer believed in such things. Received the kisses of his two sons, the embrace of her husband and the gift of his granddaughter Alba.
When she opened the present that the girl had given him with great enthusiasm, his face could not hide a look of surprise.
I looked carefully, held it between their hands pulse
wild ... It was a book, or rather, of a newspaper. The covers were old and the edges were slightly browned, and the leaves, hinted at a fairy-shaped separator.
- You like? - Dawn asked with a huge smile on his lips. That's when Adele
discovered that magic exists, but stop believing in it.

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CHRISTMAS! Block the 2nd

DECEMBER AND IS ABOUT THINGS AND NO END TO MY HOUSE, I HOPE TO HAVE EVERYTHING YOU WANT BUT I SEE THAT AS OF PATCH not become A FINISH. Hope you like

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Sensations

Claude Monet

Imagine a train, old, of those at a loose speed as a showcase of green landscapes passes in the eyes of the passengers calm.
Imagine, then, an old train, not luxurious but warm and welcoming.
do not know what or where your destination is gone. This information has been blurred, perhaps, because some of the characters in this story want to keep the details secret, or simply irrelevant.
chose a car, for example, the number eight, and we thought it only because in reality we are not there, nobody can see us, we are ethereal.
We appear in a narrow hallway, dimly lit by a warm light pastel color, and we realize that we are next to a neatly dressed woman. We are looking but not seeing each other, because we are but an invisible barrier for her.
The woman, in her thirties, is quick to shelter in place, and we realize that any concerns we do not know, seems to own it.
decided to follow it, because we are intrigued by your attitude, and their steps lead to compartment 3 B, a small room tastefully decorated. In it we find a narrow bed, a wooden seat and entrance to a bathroom that can not see because the door is closed.
The woman sits up in bed with a frown. She bites her lip and sighs wearily.
We sat by his side. It seems so worried that we just can not comfort her, but we can not do nothing but watch, and we sigh with her and we remain attentive to their reactions.
Suddenly, she gets up and goes back to the compartment, closing the bolt on its way and hurried breathing.
We were a little quiet, not knowing what to do, but few minutes without anything happening, we decided to also get up to leave the compartment. However, something stops us ... something we had not seen before, makes us stay there, motionless.
We note that under the bed is a kind of black lump that protrudes slightly.
do not know why, it seems that this way we are hiding something important ...
Slowly, but without stopping, we approached the edge of the bed and put on his knees. We peered into the darkness and we see the black lump about the size and shape of a person ...
first thing we thought is that our imagination plays a trick on us, but ... what if not?
Then the woman goes back into the compartment, close the door behind him and rests in it, while an outbreak of tears begin to cover the eyes clear.
think if this delicate woman would be able to have a body hidden under the bed. We think if the black figure may actually be a person. Maybe only luggage ... and if so, why are you crying?
never know what happens in the 3 B compartment of the car number 8, for the character of this story, do not want to reveal his secret. We can only stay with a sense of unease that we will build our own end.
But the woman, who is the main character of this story has made a mistake. She does not want to know anything, however, has left a track without realizing ...
Beside the bed, on a bedside table, rest two chopped train tickets, which indicates that women do not travel alone ...

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FORCE

Excalibur

If your eyes I'm small, the mine will be great.
If you do not think I'll get it, I get.
If you're afraid, I will be brave.
If you cry, laugh.


If you do not love, I will love you.
If you see me weak, then I will be strong.
If you do not walk, walk.


If you listen to your heart, I put on my ear.
If you do not believe in anything, I believe in everything.
If you hate me, I forgive you.


If I look like a crazy, I see different.
If you do not have hope, I will keep it for you.
If you hide the truth, pursue.


If you get lost, I will open my star map.
If you're alone, I am with you.
If you think you drown, flotaré.


If you push me, I will set it up.
If you choose to suffer, I decide to live.
If you try to destroy me, you lose time, it will beat you.

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The Court of Administrative Litigation Bilbao number three has ordered the city of Amorebieta to alter the name of the street-Otaegi Txiki dedicated to these two members of the terrorist group ETA who were sentenced to death by the Franco regime . The judge argues that the maintenance of street name that violates the "dignity and honor of victims of terrorism,

regard to their status as ETA, the judge is very clear, because although no judge declared them as belonging to ETA, listed as such in wikipedia.

Well I too I have a walk through wikipedia and google maps, and in less than five minutes I found more than fifty towns in Asturias, Cantabria, Avila, Leon, Guadalajara, Salamanca, Palencia, Soria, Segovia, Toledo, Zamora, Cáceres, Badajoz , Cuenca, Albacete, Ciudad Real, Jaén and Málaga with streets and squares with the names "Generalissimo Franco", "Primo de Rivera" and "General Mola." I have continued to seek the names of other military coup because with this show I think it is to shock anyone.

Apart from its criminal and genocidal actions, also I found on wikipedia (apparently the latest and as manuals for law) sentences of the above characters that clearly show the terrorist philosophy, for example, that of the next day Mola hoist the glorious " must sow terror ... is to stop removing the sense of mastery without scruples or hesitation at all that they think like us. "

appears that the victims of the slaughter continued for four years and the murderous suppression of another forty (among which are precisely and Txiki Otaegi), they can "violate the dignity and honor" every day without problems.

You'd think the judges will have work ahead of them, but not even occur to them to get into this mess. They give consideration to the case of his colleague Garzón.

Finally, what can you expect from a country where one of the highest representatives of the scheme is honorary president of the party that wants to put the nationalist left in "quarantine" and that there is a Duchess of Franco?

And there you hear them repeating that "we Democrats "...

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Calista Waiting

Charles Bridge, Prague

As the fog engulfed the artificial light of the streetlamps, Eliot hoped uneasy about the beautiful Charles Bridge, spanning elegant waters of the Vltava River.
The night began to bring the brightest stars in the firmament, and Eliot, amazed by the beauty that offered the city of Prague at that moment, could not but succumb carried away by a loud exclamation.
night was Queen seized the bridge, and the cold fog through the streets making all in fuzzy silhouettes.
That was a magical moment in the city, but Eliot did not know.
had been on the bridge, next to the statue of one of the saints, with a woman, whom he hardly knew, but he was in love. Calista called and were known by letter.
After a year in a paper reflecting their deepest feelings, decided to travel to Prague, where she lived to see the end Calista's face. And so in his last letter, quoted in the Charles Bridge at nine o'clock, where the wait with a white rose in his hand.
However, it was already quarter past nine, and Calista had not appeared yet ...
were not many pedestrians walking across the bridge, just an old violinist, waiting for a coin in his hat, a pair of lovers, who were slowly while laughing shyly and a mime, which jealously guarded its stillness in an elegant posture. And while Eliot, waiting impatiently grasping the white rose he carried in his right hand.
fifteen minutes passed, it was already half past nine, and Calista still not keep the appointment.
The loving couple had gone to the other end of the bridge and the violinist, tired of playing for anyone, began to pick up your instrument. Only the impassive mime, oblivious to everything around him, seemed unwilling to leave his position. Eliot
looked at his watch: quarter to ten ... I knew it would not come ... Calista
Dejected, I look at the white rose in his hands and placed it gently on the floor, as if to signal his presence on the bridge Charles.
wrapped neck, rubbed his hands and into the fog until it merged with it, disappearing completely, leaving only a trail of disappointment and sadness ...
Calista
rested from their perpetual immobility, and shook his body wake of a peaceful sleep for almost two hours.
He took off his big black hat that covered his head, to drop a golden hair brushed her shoulders gently.
Calista's pale eyes scrutinized the fog, which had half the bridge disappear, but no longer could see the silhouette of Eliot. He was gone.
The girl had been watching her unknown lover, but he could realize, for over an hour. He tried to leave his immobility to go to meet him, but could not, or rather, did not want. Thought that if she knew if the sides were facing each other, the magic of their friendship that was made would be lost forever, and keep that love Calista longed above all else.
With one hand on his breast, to soothe the pain I felt, went to the rose and took her gently, as if afraid of breaking it. He brushed his nose against their petals and smelled of friendship, love, life ...
With the flower in her hand, and a heart full of hopes for the future, left the Charles Bridge, where only an old violinist was a love witnessed camouflaged behind a white rose.

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WELCOME TO THE NORTH POLE


Girls around here enseñanadoles this new block, I have it for days but have not had time to publish, I hope you like and hopefully I could practice with the rest of the blocks.

a big kiss to all who visit me

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The House of Fear

Jacek Yerka

The darkness of the night went on like a hungry predator, looking for every glimmer of light that was to devour the last rays of sunlight.
The darkness made his way down the street from Red
Column ... I dreaded the night because the stars always accompanied my steps towards my home, and the moon lit up the sky with a silvery light. What made me feel uncomfortable, was passed by the old house that was hidden at the end of the street. A Victorian styled house is guarded behind a rusty gate.
had a sinister aspect, neglected and abandoned, however, the gloomy house seemed to be inhabited, as there was always light somewhere in windows.
That night, in the darkness began to be especially intense, I tried to leave behind the old building as fast as I could, but a strange vision stopped my rapid pace.
In the garden, next to an old stone fountain, two honey-colored cat eyes watching me like a dam. I got chills, because the cat's eyes seemed to grow ever larger. And then, just behind the Pussycat, I saw the silhouette of a man who was standing, his body tense but completely immobile. My heart sank when he suddenly started running towards me with open arms as if to hug ...
Maybe it was just a trick of my mind, a distorted by fear, but the fact is that since that night, I did not go near the mansion.
I changed the route, along the Red Clumn street, which made me lose more than fifteen minutes, but I fought the anxiety he felt was the Victorian house.
However, fate would soon after, I had no choice but to tread the same pavement on which settles the sinister abode.
was seven o'clock in the afternoon, and as usual in winter, night had fallen over the people.
Across the street, stumbled over a stone untimely made me fall flat on the ground. Fortunately, there was no one to rejoice in my stupidity, so spare me the embarrassment usual in these situations.
checked the ankle hurt too much, I had a sprain, and could hardly walk without feeling die trying.
events could not be worse: my mobile had run out of battery, which meant not being able to call someone to come looking for me, so I could only curse my luck and try to get home on my own .
Of course, I was not raised around the streets of Red Column, and much to my regret I went into their dark sidewalks while limping like a wounded dog.
The route of the street seemed to me endless, and the highest part of the Victorian house, which he could see from afar, seemed to expect down the road with a suggestive threat. Using
bite the bullet, go around the gate to the house of horrors trying not looking up from the ground, fearing to find a ghostly shadow in the garden.
But my ankle could no longer resist the torture he was undergoing, and give it up, I fell to the ground again, this time was less noisy.
I was sitting on the sidewalk next to the entrance of the Victorian home, unable to move the foot to escape from there ... My luck could not be worse ...
While thinking what to do, and to wait for someone to pass was not a good idea, a noise behind me made me hold your breath ...
It was a creaking old door opening ... A ...
With a heavy heart , I confronted my gaze to the house and saw the door slowly opened, letting out a glimmer of light from the interior of that house left.
could not control my breathing ...
Suddenly the door opened suddenly ended, and it came a young man, about his early thirties, wearing a black suit and pale as the moon.
- God holy! - Shouted at me on the floor - Are you okay? - And ran nimbly to the gate to open it, not without some difficulty because of oxidation.
- Me ... me ... I have damaged an ankle - still frightened whisper.
The man came to me and held out his hand with a look of concern on his face.
- Please enter the house. We serve a hot tea.
vision the other day made me panic and doubt the offer of the stranger, but the fact is he did not have much choice, and certainly could be called by telephone from his home.
- ... Do you live here? - I asked unable to hide what he was horrified.
- Of course. - He replied without elaborating.
Entering the garden, dried flowers and weeds threatening, I was too dark, as if a nightmare had come true, but the truth was that my options were no better than that.
For my money, the ghost of outstretched arms seemed to be there ...
The interior of the house was abandoned just as the garden: half broken chairs, lights flashing, damp smell ... It seemed impossible to imagine how anyone could live among those
ruin ... He behaved like a gentleman to the rescue of a damsel in distress. I prepared hot tea, I examined the injured ankle and even improvised a simple dressing, however, gave me a phone call, as I had thought ...
When I said I wanted to phone someone to come and get me, the man's brow brow and looked at me very seriously.
- Elena - whispered - You do not, you're at home.
latirme The heart was very strong. How did this stranger know my name? Why did he say that he was at home? I started to get scared.
The man took my hand very gently and looked at me with concern.
- Please, Elena, do not start this again time. Every night I wait in the garden to keep you go.
not understand anything, do not know what he was talking, but by saying that, I knew that he was the shadow of the open arms ... My body shook and tried to wriggle out of his warm hands.
had to get out of there, because this man was disturbed.
- This might not let you go - he said with determination - can spend anything if you keep walking around your own.
- Let me out, or call the police - while I threatened pulled the phone from my pocket.
- Come on, this phone is a toy, you know. Please let me help ...
Instinctively look at the mobile in my hand and an exclamation of surprise came from my lips when I saw that indeed it was holding a toy ... What was happening?
Stunned, I dropped the phone down and began to feel a terrible sickness.
- Elena, I'm James, I'm your husband and both live here. You have to remember ...
- What?! - I cried in terror - I do not live here! I live in ...
Suddenly, my mind went blank. Was unable to recall where he lived.
tried to mentally trace the path that made every day to get home, but I could not remember beyond the sidewalk of the Victorian home where I was ... Why? What I was doing this man?
- Lost memory in an accident, and since then every day you run away. You relapse, and completely forget everything. But do not worry, you'll recover soon. I take care of you ...
As ghostly shadow of the garden, James approached me with open arms and a dark smile on his face.
I felt that there was no escape and nausea over me completely.
I closed my eyes and pray to wake from that nightmare, but what if it was a dream? What if it was real? What if it was true that he had lost memory? ...

When I opened my eyes again, I was in the street. It was getting dark and the stars began to peek shyly in the night sky. I felt cold on my skin and found it made me better.
I started to walk, was not sure where, but I stopped short when I discovered that, once again, I was across the street from Red Column, and later, as a living shadow that lurked in the darkness I was the old Victorian house ...

Bridge Camera Shutter Speed

My sisters


feminist groups and associations are protesting the disappearance of the Ministry of Equality and the words that the mayor of Valladolid has been devoted to the minister Pajin. With reason. However, I miss their voices of protest against this chilling story which appeared in the press recently, related to the arrest of several citizens Basques suspected militants Ekin:

Barrenetxea was stripped of her clothes in the same way to Madrid, having been moved naked from the waist up and with insults, beating and fondling her breasts. A policeman came to tear the pants while forced to opened his legs and kept another hit in the head. Bilbo's neighbor claims that she was forced to stay all interrogations in panties and threatened with rape by more than one occasion. In one of the interrogation indicates that "I sat at a table and forced me to support the upper body against the cabinet, as I wrapped the back with a rope and threw cold water on the crotch. In this position did not fail to threaten to rape. "

¿Por qué no se han oído las voces indignadas de estos colectivos? Es algo que, como feminista, me duele; y no paro de darle vueltas.

¿Será porque es vasca? No puedo creerlo, cuando en España se denuncia la lapidación de "adúlteras", la ablación del clítoris o el burka en estados islámicos.

¿El manual que sigue todo terrorista para denunciar torturas? También se dice a menudo que las mujeres que denuncian una violación la habían provocado; o que hay denuncias de malos tratos para alejar a los padres de their children and take out good money. Given these statements (sometimes by judges) we rebel feminists and denounced as a ploy to create a view in society that when a woman is attacked is that "something must be done" and impunity for perpetrators. Why in this case we must believe what they tell the police on duty without even asking for an investigation? "This woman has no credibility? Do the police themselves, since he has never been a case of having abused, beaten, raped or killed a woman?

Or perhaps the reason is that there is a taboo to the Basque issue, torture and everything that has to do with the Ministry of Interior. I hope that is not because they would probably denounce it could only suspect, marginalization and loss of subsidies.

Feminist women have given an example, throughout its history, courage, boldness, critical sense and dignity. I would like this move called reflection.

A hug.

Brownish Discharge And Smelly

feminist Spanish State was once a circus


Basques we have many faults, but I think we've always been a people who have managed to maintain their dignity. What is happening to us now to be governed by these three characters into the room, frustrated learners Richelieu and Machiavelli, clumsy and cunning?

The show they are giving about the approval of budgets in Madrid and is pending transfers, at least, embarrassing.

Zapatero (yes, he rules in this part of Euskal Herria, make no mistake) reluctantly complying with the law, after thirty years, changing transfers sticker votes as if the selection is involved. Everything to stay in power. Not hesitating to betray and leave the most terrible of ridiculous his faithful treacherous governor in the provinces that has served him well so far.

Francisco López swallowing their humiliation between trips, entering ETB by the back door and I imagine that with the i-pod always in the ear not hear the jokes of colleagues, incapable of anything consegur of his boss which is supposed to have direct line to prove that what he offered graciously gives them his political enemies.

And NIP notables such transfers to make buying gas light, and Patxi reoccupy Ajuria Enea, in a time when everyone who is considered pro-independence in this country is talking about self-determination and independence. Do we want to fool with a broken toy and bad when we have to hand the possibility of achieving independence for our people? And these are themselves "nationalists"? And how is that for thirty years in government have failed so far achieved in one month being in the opposition? Do we take for morons?

And by the way, regardless of the sticker changed How good are their budgets? I fear that only for banking.

say that every people has the government it deserves. Maybe. In our defense we must remember that we have not chosen, there has been a massive rigging, which are divided between them the results rigged. But from now if we keep playing them at will with the rights of these people are going to be right.

Vital Signs Head Injuries

Red Column

The Scream, Munch

Fear is a human body's physical reaction to a dangerous situation ... So, why do we fear if it is safe?

Diana, sitting on a cold bench adorned a neglected park, wondering why she was afraid. It was not the first time that question you had in mind, it has spent years trying to figure out what the source of an absurd Panic not allowed to live at home.
In the park, enough clothes trees whose leaves traveled winding paths, Diana felt better, more secure. Perhaps because the solitude of that moment, he looked like a warm blanket to cling. Sumida
in the depths of his mind, he had not realized that a kind-looking old man sat beside her, to look to the horizon with eyes tired. And
spent nearly ten minutes, in which the silence was the only thing that prevailed in the cold metal bench.
- Looks like rain - were encouraged to tell the old man with a raspy voice.
Diana said nothing. Just looked at him and nodded slightly.
- When the weather changes often hurting his knee Do you know? And now it's killing me, so it must be about to drop a good shower -
The old man accompanied his words with a funny laugh, trying to gloss over his aching knee. Diana
drawing on his face a forced smile. Do not talk to anyone, because people also frightened her, but that gentleman was not to blame for the anguish of the young, and that did not seem rude.
It was another time in which the silence returned to seize the bank, but this time, Diana was raised with the intention of leaving.
- Wait. You dropped this! - He exclaimed when she was beginning to pull away.
Diana turned just in time to see how the man crouched awkwardly to pick up a crumpled paper from the floor.
- Thanks - replied as he walked back to retrieve the paper.
I knew what I had written, but still, it read:
What are you afraid?
Diana had written in the hope of giving a response to itself, and clear the source of their anxieties.
- What are you afraid? - Repeated the old man reading the paper over his shoulder.
Diana instinctively look at him and said,
- To life.
He was thoughtful, and that their response had taken shape in his mouth without even realizing it.
- Funny - whispered the old man - I fear death.
The girl, whom we know by Diana, but in reality, it could be any of us, was reflected in the weary eyes of the stranger, and realized that a gap of age and experience separated them.
- But I do not fear death to me, nor life you fear you. They continue their journey - the old man kept saying. - Life brings us many good things and bad ... not always so bad. Depends on how you want to see it. Do not be afraid, because the life you build it yourself ... And I, who fear death, I wonder Why fear something that does not exist? As the end of the day, while living, death shall not, and when I die, I will not be -
Grumbling to himself, the old man walked slowly, lost among the leafless winter trees. Meanwhile, Diana, stood still, with the piece of paper in his hand and with an eye on the elderly man, who was slowly disappearing, going into a distant horizon.

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Citizenship Education: Lessons from the October 12 open letter to Kirmen


The Minister of Education, Government Vascongado has attended the parade of the English armed forces on Columbus Day. Counselor, head of the education of our youth, says firmly committed to an education in values, education for peace, pluralism and inclusiveness.

That's why he attended a party celebrating the beginning of the dispossession and genocide of the American people. A party that is based on the exaltation of the army, weapons and violence against sovereign nations, including Afghanistan, or as a guarantor of the English unit sacrosanct even against the will of the subject peoples, such as Catalonia or Euskal Herria. A party headed by the heir to Franco military uniform as supreme chief of the Armed Forces. So our young people understand what is democracy, respect for people and peoples of the world, the value of words and the futility of violence to achieve political ends.

why it has come as a member of the Basque Government in which cheating is not represented the majority of the citizenry. So the youth will learn what is honesty and fair play.

has come to honor the victims of a war in which Spain is occupying force while the Government pursues the families of victims of Franco as Txiki, humiliated in their own cemetery. Young people to learn as soon as they are only victims worthy of the honor of the winning side.

mosques because they were paraded Venezuela.

Quizá la cabra aprendió la lección.

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La Mirada

Samuel Beckett

desolate look disjointed notes on a staff I have shaped absurd meaningless, unreadable ... Highlighted eager to be touched, eager to be represented in the deafening sound of my old grand piano that adorns so many years ago my living room, plus your melody and not enough to be heard anywhere. Just dust your surface strokes crude attempt to make it visible.
I am sitting in my longed sidewalk years ago has accompanied me on many tunes, so many creations ... Then I was inspired, full of ideas and feelings that raced through countless scores that sounded like sirens in my piano inseparable. However, now that time has passed, the muse of inspiration seems to have abandoned me no kind of resentment. I can not create anything that has a modicum of consistency, harmony, heart. I am only a mediocre, tired of being so, tired of notes and scores that do not fill an empty life around.
I get frustrated after two hours walking around with hollow eyes and inscrutable staves. I turn shot at the door of my house and open it to escape a world that is not mine, that has ceased to belong to a control escaping believed to possess.
I go out and inspire the aroma of noise every day decorating the big city where, not if, fortunately or unfortunately, I grew up.
I see a sea of \u200b\u200bhuman bodies that run from side to side looking for something that never meet. In search of a dream that does not want to dream ...
I go out and repair the first thing my eyes is a vagabond who clings desperately to a small plastic bowl inside which there is only a single penny. Rest sitting on the sidewalk with a frayed blanket as sole provider for protection from uncomfortable cold that hits the streets in winter.
I approached him and watch it. Their eyes look tired of living rise and land on mine. My heart skips a beat, my pulse speed up seeing for the first time in my life, a look like that. A penetrating look at which one can distinguish the abandonment of a life full of suffering and pain, disappointment and bitterness, and yet I'm surprised to discover in those eyes transparent sincerity, a glimmer of happiness, joy, hope.
I go further, perhaps with the intention of giving a coin, and shelter in a small cardboard hanging from his neck which can be read, not without some difficulty, the word grace. Currency deposits in the dirty plastic bowl, still captivated by that look that seems to have seen it all, unable to contain my curiosity absurd ask
- Excuse me ... Why has the sign around your neck? Would not it be more comfortable leaving it in the ground?
Man whose age is unexpected, I nailed his powerful eyes and answered in a voice as strong as safe:
- You see, sir. It's in my neck because every day I am grateful to be alive. I am grateful to see a sunset colored by the sun, and one night wrapped up in the most beautiful stars. If I leave it on the floor, no one will see how much I appreciate your stepping on a land that many can not.
back to my house look absolutely entranced by the wisest and most moving I have ever seen, I could never perceive.
I sit at my piano y. .. My God, the notes start to come alone, they begin to flow in an unstoppable cascade of inspiration. The melody is perfect, the chords are sublime, the work is my great work, my piano again have life, and sound travels every corner of my house.
The title of this splendid harmony for so many years had resisted, could not be another: THANK YOU.

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The Guardian Angel Who is Camil

Guardian angel, sweet company.
not forsake me night or day ...

Sitting at the foot of my bed, each night, my mother prayed with me to the Guardian Angel. I was six, and because of the innocence that characterizes this age, the idea of \u200b\u200ban Angel to ensure the welfare of each person, it seemed to me attractive, even though my rational mind, advised of an absurd fantasy, hidden behind a beautiful legend.
was at this time when I met Aymé, a boy of my age who went back to school after having lived in a city whose name was unpronounceable to my inexperienced lips.
was a happy child, her cheeks flushed and naughty side, but the sweetness of his gestures softened the look of mischievous boy.
We became friends from the first day and we were always together. We ran from one side to another, we played hide and seek, we imagined that we were brave warriors and we shared our lunch. Two brothers seemed inseparable.
remember a day when you fell down a steep ravine and I had a terrible ankle injury. I began to mourn inconsolably because it hurt a lot, and Ayme, who witnessed the accident, hugged me giving me a peck on the cheek. I thought then that the blow did not hurt as much.
So after four years, where I thought I had found the best friend of my life. However, a day when the rain fell relentlessly on the streets polluted, Aymé left the school. I only said that his family moved to another city.
For a while I was sad, melancholy, not wanting to play with other children, but the wound of loneliness to heal soon, and soon discovered that life went on, with other friends you know and other adventures to live.
Years passed, and started college. The atmosphere was great, and I can say it was a wonderful time. I do not miss anything, and even met Matt, my husband, I excelled in several courses. However, the happy and crazy time, not too hard.
One fateful phone call that I tore consideration, I announce that my father had died of a sudden and unexpected heart attack. That episode
darkened my life in an instant. I had never faced anything similar, and completely ignorant as to cope with losing a loved one.
The funeral was the worst day of my life, and neither company was able to appease Teo twinge of pain I went through the chest.
was then, between that crying permeating everything around me, when it appeared Aymé, pushing through people, like a ray of light passing through a tunnel of darkness. Despite the years that had passed, I could recognize right away.
- Aymé! - Exclaimed excitedly, and jumped into his arms as if they never left.
He told me that he had learned of the death of my father, and wanted to come to join me in those tough moments. Now living in the city again, as I was doing a course for your career booster. Aymé
was with me at all times. It helped me deal with the death of my father and make the pain became more mild. We walked together, we told our things, studying in the library ... and even got to have a good friendship with Matt, who at first was a little jealous, but I know enough to understand it was a good friend.
So a year passed, where I could get over the death of my father, and accept that life was in those things. In these three hundred sixty-five days, maybe one more, the wound of my heart stopped bleeding.
then left again Aymé. I left an emotional letter in the mailbox, explaining that a job in another city required his departure, but he was glad to have helped me tremendously to overcome those sad moments.
I came to feel that loneliness that swept over me as a child. But Matt's love and dedication to my studies, kept at bay any onset of nostalgia.
Fifteen years passed since that letter Aymé left us farewell.
In this stage of my life, I married Matt and I had a beautiful daughter to which I called Sofia.
was very happy and looked like a new beginning lay before me, inviting me to be discovered.
Sophia gave birth to a brand my existence. I found that everything he did was for her, and was thrilled with this new phase.
However, as in other chapters of my life, the calm was broken by the whim of fate.
met Mario, a friendly coworker, a little younger than I, which ended up falling in love. Of course, we were on the sly, full of doubt and uncertainty, filled with remorse and little honesty. But in the ocean of our hearts, we wanted to.
Because of my vagaries of love, let Matt and I go very bad times to Sofia, which was still a child to understand what was happening.
Over time, I came to feel so bad about myself, I fell into a dangerous spiral of depression, which led me to lose my job, neglecting my daughter and mourn without regard to any place where I could find. However, on a cold winter day, fate took me out to a cafe called "joy", and true to its name, that's what I felt to find Aymé, sitting on a small table while taking a coffee in a small white cup.
I was very happy to see him again. We spent the afternoon talking and honest telling me everything was happening to me.
As I watched and smiled sweetly as if nothing was too important, I thought that Aymé always appeared when things went wrong in my life. It was a nice coincidence ...
As he had done before, gave me good advice, helped me focus my life in Sofia, to apologize to Matt for the damage they had caused him and explain that he was in love with someone else. That made the emotional burden he felt, would fly to free my mind.
But this time the stay was shorter Aymé. Left without a lot of explaining just when my life began to bear good fruit.
Fortunately, the years that followed the last drive of my best, and sometimes enigmatic friend, were very sweet and calm. Fell in love again, my daughter married and had two children, and I became a grandmother who was beginning to enjoy the inevitable old age.
now live in a residence, surrounded by old people, like me, try to cope with the few years they have left. Some are bad, others are better, and I at least retain some clarity in neurons. So now I'm writing this story, because yesterday when I got to thinking about death that haunted me, arrived at the residence a new resident. He wore a funny cowboy hat and smiling sweetly at me. Aymé had become so old as me and as naughty as ever. He sat beside me, took my hand and said he had come to be with me, but this time, forever.
Sitting in bed, writing these words, I remember my mother praying to the guardian angel, and my discovery complicit smile, realizing that Aymé is my guardian angel.

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dolls
Dragonflies and dragonflies, I look so beautiful the place for a gift that my son had to take to preschool as a gift of love and friendship, in truth they are a very nice detail for any occasion. PATCHWORK


These beautiful butterflies are potholders are a patchwork design pottery, definitely declare myself a fan of patchwork designs pottery, I love them all, and as I get my sister to change is like my mother and asked me the gifts and as I say no

CROCHET


This beret was commissioned by the check in crochet, I was a bit of fighting itself because it did not know how to make patterns, but the important thing is that I am very happy owner.


Well here are some pictures of the dolls we have in the workshop to teach.



A kiss

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Bertet? Awakening

The Rokeby Venus by Velazquez

The mirror back her image, not without a sneer.
- Who are you? - Asked his reflection, but as expected, there was no response. Camil
had at least ten minutes contemplating himself. Moved from side to side, arms up, bent over, held his breath ... However, the mirror locked up a twin still, petrified, with a slight sarcastic smile as the only sign of life. Camil
approached the mirror and grabbed it with both hands. His image did not respond, just gave him a dark look.
- Who are you? - He whispered it did not recognize that reproduction of his body that was in him a feeling of uncertainty.
mirror found two days ago, pulled into a container, but carefully wrapped in a sheet. It was so beautiful and seemed to be so old that Camil thought it was a mistake to try to get rid of excessive so exquisite relic.
Thus ended the mirror at home, and so his image began to disregard its own essence, bypassing the rational limits.
But Camil not give up. Wanted to know who was on the other side of the mirror, who made fun of him ...
However, a few days later, when Camil tried again face each other himself, he found his image, not reflected, it was as if it were a vampire or some other sinister creature. It felt really shocked.
looked in the mirror without image, while an absurd idea began to explore his head.
- Camil? - Whispered, calling himself - Camil Bertet?
- me - was heard to respond. However, soon realized that the voice had come from his own throat. Laughed at the comedy he was playing.
was aware then that his image had been lost, but ... what was lost only in that mirror?
Full of concern, ran to look at his face in the small mirror bath. He stood in front, with tense muscles, and seconds later was able to relax when he saw reflected his tanned features. Breathe easy, because his image was not lost. Mirror was happy that I found. Determined
, Camil took the relic newly acquired and prepared to leave it where it had rescued, in the dustbin. However, our friend Camil know something that could be important for him
has not been asked who is actually Bertet Camil ... has not stopped to think whether what is missing is his image or is it ...
Perhaps the mirror's reflection is the true Camil ...

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We are happy yet with many ups and downs so far because our classes are taught from our house, as locals we watch, none will accommodate our needs, rather jijiji our demands, but never mind we still have the whole mood and joy.