Free Patterns Sewing - Sausage Dog Draft Excluder

seas and mountains, near Nordkapp

First in July 2010.
As I wake up, I feel the impending return. I imagine the warmth of the festive clamor of children, working with her bundle of satisfactions and thoughts, the Tuscan Sun and I cradle it stabs at the same time, some important decisions to be taken. All this in half-sleep, still overwhelmed by the quilt with the heating on while I look out the window a group of trees that greets me moving the branches. But I still have a day of bikes, and then return with three aircraft, which is also an emotion.
Released from the, I expected a drop of a few miles, I arrive at sea and diverted left along the west side of a long fjord that will take me up to Olderfjord, fifty miles from here, then take a bus to Alta.
The sky is pale, you feel the power of an extreme climate, that can change at any moment. The steep mountains spill into the sea, there is just room for the road and a strip of grass a few hundred meters. Brooks threw into the sea water to thaw, looking still see patches of snow. And yet - how the hell has happened to you do not know - there's also a group of pine trees, pines north of the world. Maybe that mitigates the sea and the mountains of color, stiffen the sea and the mountains of this fjord - you do not get the Gulf Stream - in the winter months, a dramatic and fascinating dialectic.
A beach a few steps from the street. I look forward, do not resist. I get off the bike, I took off her shoes and slip your feet into the sea. Ice, I think ice shrinks and muscles ache, but I try to walk a few meters to intrepid thinking that bathing in the seas and rivers of Russia on New Year's Day.
I resume the journey, taking a detour of an hour by bike to reach a cove with basalt formations on the seashore. The legend says that the Trolls, mischievous spirits came from the sea who wanted to destroy the fjords of these parts, but were restrained by the forces of light, the light of dawn.
Today the light is grim: there are persistent clouds, there's a cold wind that carries splash of sea, but the view is superb. Islands, inlets, bays, all seasoned with low tide. In the background, another fjord. Painted with flowers and lawns, even on the roof, the inevitable snowmobile in the garage. Here
- happy surprise - a sea eagle, the largest bird of prey in northern Europe, which hovers over my head. I stop and watch: ten minutes of squiggles in the sky, until it points straight up a cliff, reaches his home.
It 's time to go, he said.

Mechadollsupply Difficulties

reading group in Florence

been three and a half years, and this story begins to become serious.

O happy. A story
unpretentious, perhaps, like the tightrope walker who looks after only the support of the foot, and with a huge range of supports to build a path. The tightrope walker never looks at the end of the wire, and so do we. One small step at a time. We
known at the opening of a library in Florence, which was supposed to leave space to handle meetings of readers, opportunities for exchange of readings, even in the evening. So it was not, the promises were unfulfilled. But on that occasion to meet, we found ourselves in a library, in a house, a bar, and then meet again for a long time at the headquarters of the Jesuits in Florence. Of course, we would have preferred a library, natural place for such an encounter, but it should be acknowledged that the Jesuits have proved the only stable reference point and friendly, and without asking a €. Thank you very much.
We meet once a month, and over time you have selected a handful of loyal readers, and also friends, at this point.
Cristina. She has read virtually everything with a smile understood the origin of the song you're reading, and provides, with its impressions, a seal of competence in the book. He travels constantly cycling in the midst of the smoke of Florence. As it does, is a mystery.
Francesca. It ranges from the classics to new, it is a pleasure to listen to it. If you accidentally forgotten in a group dinner on a scarf in her house, she will do anything to not report it. But, you know, nobody is perfect.
Ilaria. Expert in Eastern literature, especially the Japanese. Japan knows the customs and traditions, manga, words, characters and music. I knew everything that the Japanese I learned from "Lost in Translation", and a cousin who married a Japanese woman. By Ilaria I learned more about it. He hates fried fishes. That have done wrong, then.
Grace. Usually prefers short stories, sometimes leads children's stories, sometimes poetry. Once you've forgotten his reading glasses and do not read anything. Has not accepted my loan, perhaps afraid of communicable diseases via the nose.
Marco. Lately there propina Scandinavian literature, including emancipated sexual habits of those cold places. The ideal for enlivening the evening. He loves fried small fish, and women in a bathrobe.
Stefano. Does the librarian, these sessions may seem to him the extraordinary work, but does so very happily. Although he travels by bicycle in the smog of Florence, and not wearing hats as Cristina ago, he lost all his hair. Mal wanted to ... I
. Coordinate the group, every time someone tries to knock you, but my lust for power is likely to repel all attacks skillfully. I send mail, sometimes 23 hours before the meeting, and people complain about the late announcement. I say: you have to stay awake, with copies in hand and with the ready excuse to say to the person like "back in the office / I have a job to be delivered and after I explain, well, stuff like that. The first reading, I say.
Among aficionados, I want to point out two major missing last year, however, have participated in the birth and growth of this group.
Valerio, whose work and family commitments made it difficult to come.
Teresa, my poet - living - preferred.

all. Ah, we have the modalities of participation that I have racked by reading groups of Bombacarta I attended years ago, we passed down from generation to generation, and - in my opinion - to the great work: bring a text (photocopied in ten copies) than - best-one, maximum two pages of fiction or poetry - nothing wise - without, possibly, the author's name appears, you read it, then give a brief justification of why you brought that text remains anchored to the text - No trespassing in the life and works of the author - and brief discussion.
And away we go, without defending to the bitter end that text, let it at the mercy of other players, you can not re-acting after explaining its reasons.
And on another.
Anyone wishing to participate in this adventure, is welcome. For information, leave the mail in the comments, I'll be in touch.
Meanwhile, a huge thanks to my wonderful companions reading

Toni

Irritation From Brazilian Wax

Life is so different from mine near Nordkapp

Today is June 29, 2010, is seven kilometers from Karasjok.
I stayed at the home of a type. The type, operator of the "Engholm Husky lodge," we wanted to repay a kindness with me and offered to stay at home due to a lack of reservation. During the night I woke up and I watched from a window to the bathroom in a cold stream in the night, with the sun, his entire family and then I saw a huge vat where they are immersed in hot water. They are so different from me. I was tired, but I was rested, I do not think I would have plunged into a stream of water from melting snow of the surrounding mountains. I'm watching them with a tip envy. I sleep.
I wake up at 7, and I welcome the smiling host, who tells me something about him. The whole house was entirely built by him, almost entirely of wood. Outside has a husky dog \u200b\u200bfarm that uses six to seven months of snow trips a week with groups of eight people to watch the woods, hunting deer, and admire the aurora borealis. Six to seven months he brings people around Finnmark, and he gets alone, for the remaining runs the lodge and train dogs. I do not think that puts me to hunt deer (although there are a number reassuring about 200,000 units), but still intrigues me and I caught his lifestyle. Last night I was about to enter his house, he asked me with the decision to take off my shoes. It 'friendly and helpful, but at the same time has its fixed points. Even people carry around for six months with temperatures of minus twenty and have no dead or frozen to death in his resume makes me think that it has the nerve and that reads the invisible paths and snow in this region, does not use GPS and no snowmobiles. In short, his life is incredibly different from mine.
I greet him, and I leave for Karasjok, I reach it after half an hour. It 's the capital of the Sami people, I see from time to time people dressed in blue and red, a typical costume of the Lapps of these parts. Here are the parliament, which has a substantial decision-making power, and live in peace with the Norwegians. I visited the parliament, I had a guide who was waiting just for me, warned by telephone from the center of tourism. At the end of this structure around a futuristic design and articulated in its intended use (chamber of parliament, library, meeting rooms, administrative offices) refuses to tip the guide, is his work, he explains, has already paid . Then I stop at the museum Sami, I see their houses, I read of the use, listen to traditional songs, I will reflect on their tools and their jewels. After fifteen minutes I prepares a media room with projection of their history in Italian, just for me. In short, they have a kindness and a disposition to smile like no other. Continuation
, abandonment the town and waiting for me in solitary hours of cycling, from time to time a car passes, drizzling. On my left, on the horizon, a mountain of snow with vertical stripes that cross it entirely. These mountains, gradually closer, will accompany me throughout the day. Around me, mosses, lichens and small trees. Mosquitoes, by the thousands. Fortunately, they hate the movement of the bike, assail me when I stop to eat and take pictures. The course of the road is undulating and difficult: I'm walking in the hills close to a myriad of lakes. It stops raining, I see the sea in the distance. Even a little 'sun, now. A headlong down the side of a river outlet of a lake, and reach Lakselv, four houses equipped with four Coop (I swear that you call it that) and above all a comfortable hotel full of ladies and gentlemen who can not wait for the next day to reach Nordkapp fitted adventurous double-decker bus. I take a shower and I sling to eat. The buffet menu is ideal after eighty-five km bike. Camera facing north, the clouds are sparse, I can see the midnight sun. A
tomorrow

Recharge With Hdfc Debit Card

IN SEARCH OF WINTER

the "disease"
I think it's a disease ... the desire to climb.

Climb, climb, climb, as if you will.

A real love relationship with the rock, where the senses perceive the secrets of the earth, where the hard stone welcomes you and allows you to "create."
S i, because a road on the rock is a "creature" is like painting a picture, how to draw a dress. All you have inside is released, it is expressed, transmitted on the rock. The result is art, a line ... a line that includes emotions, fears, moments, moments when we feel in control of the world and times when you feel small and overwhelmed by the grandeur of nature.
A ver afraid to face a difficult passage is part of the game, this is perhaps the best feeling, the fact to get a discussion of risk.

The risk of falling, flying. Perhaps the ultimate protection is down, a few feet below, but that's where is the best out of you, you know you gotta go, is like entering a tunnel and comes out when you feel you are grown up, once said of Essert . It 's a wonderful feeling ...

And go ahead, higher still, listening to music and smelling the smells of football ... notes perfect shots of the hammer on a nail well put, the music that comes out when the hand search of the multitude of "tools of the trade" the nut of the correct size you need for that slot ...
. .. also "all spring," "Put in the Game", "Give me a rope", they become music. Communications with traveling companions, with whom, in addition to climbing a rope, another rope was tied by invisible, which is that of a deep friendship that only the mountains and sometimes extreme conditions it imposes may create.

S ono grateful to the rocks. I take all of this ...

Difference Pms And Pregnant Breasts

blood of dogs. Veronica Tomassini

In "Reading Workshop" I quote an article on book "Blood of a Dog" Veronica Tomassini.
Behold, I tell you.
Toni La Malfa