Where To Buy Chopsticks

We are immersed in a period that lasts a long time and we venture to define neo-mannerism. Saturated with knowledge, styles and languages. Accustomed to transgressions, reconnaissance and manipulation, we immerse ourselves in fashion, design and architecture of breaking and mixing, assembling all the memory that we drag with us.
If these times of crisis have suffered and exhibited a sense, as it was for the postwar years, we may again begin to relax the mind and eyes and found refuge in a reassuring classicism, soft and serene such as jackets Cary Grant .
So everything that comes from the past will not emerge from our creativity with aggressive arrogance, but will be composed with restraint wise and reassuring. The house
Monika Unger, Polish architect, founder of design firm Creative Communications, designed by Luca Papiani, follow this guideline and is made with taste peaceful and secure.
space is to open a space open on three sides to the Navigli area of \u200b\u200bMilan . Clean lines and simple, a staircase leads upstairs architectural effect. The furniture almost entirely from among the vintage footage of the fifties and sixties.
A home to rest and regenerate, never to be shown, perhaps to share. Not surprised or attendiamoci breathtaking effects, but a quiet adaptation to appreciate things with a calm that we are not used. The white, the colors never screamed and then light, so light, it seems that perpetuates and balanced.

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Finally, after 27 ½ years of life, I'm reading (and finishing) a happy book. Someone very important a few months ago I said that we are trying to books, not us to search for books, and every book that we are about to read came to us because we are ready to face it. "The song of manère" was given to me by Dad at Christmas, 400 pages I thought I could hardly finish. But no. I'm running out and I can not wait to lie down at night and throw myself in the middle of the story. Stories of woodsmen, the Valcellina of emigration. Of years of hunger, wood stoves, of Mount Toc, woods. Stories of roots and melancholy, to escape from their life and attempt to rebuild a new over there, nell'Esempòn (as it was called the Friulian emigrants from Austria to start 900). Stories of true feelings and unfiltered, direct and harsh words, which change color with the seasons, accompanied by songs and soothing sounds of different animals.
Maybe we like a book when we identify ourselves really. And for me and the Holy Valcellina are past and present. Holy hour (in the book) is in Austria and is learning to speak German. He works as a lumberjack and would like to bring up a team of lumberjacks across her back home as soon as possible, is the Valcellina Perchel his house where he left it all.
Valcellina is for me the most beautiful bike ride. I did with all the most important person in my life on a bike. The first time with Mark, even when I watched my fellow amateurs out of the UFO which I had to look for strength. Then with Christ, past the outward and return journeys for Cansiglio for Piancavallo, before the most beautiful Campagnolo to result, in 2006. Then
with Ivan in 2007, to prepare Chesini that it was still called Chesini and Avesani. Ivan with each pedal stroke is in the heart with him because I have never coached, I've always done cycling, which is really very different. The fountains, stream, lake Braies .. now I seem to pass him on the side. And up until Piancavallo, pause croissants and a crisis of terrible hunger Steven with the strawberry grape vineyard to save the life (and your blood sugar!).
remember Valcellina with the same melancholy that recalls the Holy dall'Esempòn.
Valcellina is a valley silent, solemn, immutable. Cold in winter and cool in summer. The last round of
Valcellina I did last February 14. We went on that there were Fadalto -4 degrees and the cold seemed unbeatable. Today I live at -20 and it seems normal. The man is an animal that fits all, it also says Santo. 'S why I like the book, because I look like us, and holy.
Testoni and far from home.

Hair Ribbon With Volleyball

course has nothing to with Estonia, loneliness is a universal question. Today I am went to see a movie and I left a little different or at least aware of something important. London River (London Jogi "for my fans estofili ..) is a film that took in Berlin and the Silver Bear award for best actor. I expected a pattern of racial hatred that leads to the understanding and friendship when two people from different cultures are aware of being in the same tragic situation. But in the eyes of the protagonists we see how the lonely, the real excavation faces. It 's the story of an English mother and a father of French ancestry who had lost their children in the bus bombing incidents in London in 2005 and who know just when they decide to go to London to seek their children who for some days do not give news of himself. And once you discover that their children were on one of those buses plunge into solitude.
It was not just around when we do not know anybody, being alone means you have lost a loved one. His company, his voice, his love will not come back to sweeten the day. This day of January
goes all silent in memory of my teacher who was waiting at the door after my visit to the cycling path I had heard that roads. Hello grandfather Gino.

"you know that's not the end of May and that is
brine melts the winter remains
lost in the wind

noo I'm not tired and I come to look for in a Amaranth dream ..
this heart scattered around the world goes
this delicate and desperate heart ..
so I miss universe

and out of the world so you try and

loud cry from one to the world only I can find

just me and only me kneel
my sun to rise I feel?
I am a shadow and you are the sun

and cry I miss you so strong in the midst of the world
only answer "

Its Facials Compilation

Last month

Looking back last month and see the road I have traveled. As we walked over to me seemed to be suspended in a comfortable familiar environment, without affection, safety, people irreplaceable memories. But the pleasure to walk on their land has ancestral roots. I want to retrace the last month to fully understand where they are now. The first thoughts go to my best friend Fabrizio. The last pearl of my adventure ciclocurioso got. I remember the 18 minutes of San Lorenzo at his side Wednesday, December 16. All shades of green and marrore were present, with hints of yellow and orange. Then jump in the silent white with Andrew and Chris Paul, and the peace of the refuge Averau. The sound of the snowshoes in the snow, the fear of the yoke, the hot tea to infinity, the stub that warms your back, the dishes and the friendliness of Sandrone, I doubt the long, frozen diesel fuel and the inauguration of the white bar. But on the whole infinite Nuvolau refuge. And
find Ivan usual intersection of St. James as if nothing had happened after Aug. 22, with the same if not increased desire to be seen speaking to ride together. Fabrice F. and Louis G. I have always been close.
And then it was always faster than a treadmill Gift Cards panettone between familiar faces and hugs with loved ones. A door with a draft open, closed by the winter wind.
The soccer matches, Andrea and Robert Alexander. Lunch of the hare, the spaghetti with ossada o'clock on the night of panevin. Some
line fever and ran home to mom Solidea always special for a barbecue in front of the fireplace with Paul, Paul Welcome and our captain. The
greeting by Fabrizio intersection Resera-Arfanta.
And the greeting in the morning of 9 Fabrizio with the car in no parking (but he can).
Here I am, five days later, many new data in mind and already many relational feedback on the battlefield. Next month will accrue to the decision and the junction is approached.