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Santa

believe that Santa Claus there is great and want to make him believe in full force, staging pantomimes prodigious. It was one afternoon many years ago when someone began to break quest'incanto commitment. I was in the car with my father and two other children home from swimming lessons, when one of them, from a height of ten years, with feigned indifference blurted his great truth: Santa does not There are mom and dad. He said just like that, followed by my father there in front, one eye on the road and the other in the back seat for understanding the impact caused by the revelation, he hastened to explain that fact to the gifts of the older mom and dad because we thought the services of Santa Claus was exclusively reserved for children. He spoke in soothing tones as if he wanted to convince the little cause to pause the rationale for granting me and my other little buddy - why not? - Pure parent to him, one last Christmas magic. All
useless, because I now know. Years of investigation and (unnecessary) emplacements had made me aware of the ritual that takes place on Christmas Eve. No evidence, but evidence I had in quantities of those colorful packages who had gone to the closet of my mother's appearance, identity, under the tree. Or the handful of corn meal for the reindeer left in the saucer that I found the next day in the bin under the sink. And then, to be honest, if Santa Claus really existed would not have brought gifts to children rich and more expensive toys cheaper (or simple candy) to children of poor families as they were on time in little magical reality. Finally, because the world did not know at the time, living in a universe that stretched between our house and my grandparents, I had little grip on the question of how did the old man to deliver all the presents in one night, but we all agreed on one fact: Santa Claus was just mom and dad who are concerned about time to explore our desires, making us write the famous letter to be sent to the North Pole. But what was the need to shout from the rooftops as he did in the car that my friend sapputello? What was the need to be pulling out the big hard truth? Especially since - as I discovered by reading the newspapers of these parties - think Santa Claus is good for the imagination and even the greatest may find that those who truly believe in Santa Claus (Call it what you will) really exists.

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349,999 copies



I discover by reading this page who have sold 350 000 copies of the new novel by Niccolo Ammaniti, Let the party begin. They may not know that my card is over the bin to be recycled, so do 349,999, however, seem to me that a huge number for a novel base. So much has been terrible, this book, which for the first time I ran up Ibs.it, (because he still did not know anobii.com) to deposit my anger. It was November 5 last year and wrote this:

Paper
bed to bed in two days, while an influence ... I just laid on the table urgent and unusual and unexpected catches me: to choke it off. Never written a review on IBS, but this time I do it: bad. An attack on the credulity of the reader. After the best evidence of the past (I am not afraid, I'll get you away) an embarrassing pratfall and unbelievable that no one can, not the publisher, not editors, not even the long list of people mentioned in the acknowledgments, prevented Amman to publish this terrible? Weak writing, only this time there is no history to support the novel. And surprisingly, that adjective - "comedy" - which reads on the back cover, with the only vaguely ironic sentence of a novel that is not (not) laugh.

To make my
'm reading this that, to be frank, the book is one of my co-worker, even a friend of mine. If you like to travel, but do not have the time, energy, opportunity or simply lack the courage to make three weeks on the Trans-Siberian buy the book by Paul Cagnan ( photo), he'll lead you by the hand of Moscow from Novosibirsk and Beijing via Ulan Bator.

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An elderly person


I was there in preparation to write this article when I heard on television a series of street interviews aggression dedicated to Berlusconi: it was the lady who is indignant, the boy who claimed the his idol (Silvio), the student who said 'a bit when asked for it "and the man who insisted" this is not the way. " And then there was a young man with his candid statement has illuminated my room, finally telling the truth is plain for everyone and nobody sees it: "These things will not do - he said without malice - all the more that this is an older person. "
elderly person. I suspect that if Silvio Berlusconi came to know, from his heels, proud of his new hair and lifting her happy, hate the youth interviewed more than Massimo Tartaglia, that her attacker. And 'the proof (if needed) that the words (right) can do more harm than a souvenir of the Duomo in Milan when you pull him in the face with full force.

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A matter of trust

There are actions that require trust. Rather than getting on a plane and fly over the ocean, rather than surrender to the bank savings of a lifetime, perhaps even more than get in the doctor and be examined. One of these actions is to entrust their children to kindergarten, especially the eldest, even when we do not know how these things work and we are oppressed by a sense of guilt for a separation that we feel premature. Who is the father or mother will understand on the fly, you must trust the other: it is.
When it is time we take a day off and go in two, mom and dad, making us courage, private day nursery in the suburbs, the one with the name and reassuring our small colored windows where it also would welcome right away. The door has a teacher smiling with a baby, but we are already there with anxious eyes to make sure everything is in order: no sharp edges, nothing dangerous toys, toxic paints and anything else we've read the manual of the perfect parent. Then ask where is the kitchen and show us a door down there, but do not make it to see reason, they say, health and hygiene. Finally we want to go out and look on the fly: not here, not even knowing why.
Public kindergarten, where they call us after three months, flying over the odor in the hallway because we feel - we console - it can happen in a place to change diapers two hundred a day. So we put our son in the arms of a stranger, so hoping that this kind woman does not become a harpy when we closed the door behind us not look back lest we succumb to the cries of the baby. We trust that when you blow your nose drips, which cleans the baby's bottom before it turns red, that the entries with patience and consoled him when he cries. Day by day we study it with suspicion, but loving him fast asleep, the morning kindergarten runs, on Sundays we sing his first song and we although we relax this bump on my forehead, how many stories, the children are all so innocent, unable to report the violence, who never would dare to mistreat them? Until one day the news of the 13:30 movie surprises us with a fork in the air: from Pistoia on television there is a hysterical woman who leads the face, and pulls the hair of a little girl that the parents believed in good hands. We would not watch and instead we're stuck there, if only to understand that this is a crazy and exhausted - after all - a bit 'insane consoles us because unlike the evil in this world is an exception. That
VIDEO already circulating on the Internet would be an attack on trust, a detonator anxiety for every parent who entrusts his son to the next if there were - thankfully - more stories to tell. Stories like that of a first son, always the same, now in kindergarten that meets one of his old master in the street. Not any one teacher, but the teacher, because even if the classroom is rotated in three or four (otherwise they too would become exhausted) there is only one of a teacher. He walks to the hand of her father and she is across the bridge over which the encounters along the sidewalk. Although ports thick glasses he sees from a distance and smiles. When the baby reaches the firing him up, hugs, kisses him and says: Hello Emily, how are you? But he is not responding, those sticks two fingers in his mouth and sucks like a desperate pull out without a word. Eventually we move towards the opposite ends of the bridge and I I investigate, but figures that make me do? Do not you remember more than the teacher Mariella? And he in a faint voice, said: "Papo, I hurt my neck," because I still do not know how to say the throat, one of the "rump" that will take a long time when you meet a person you you were very fond.

PS Thanks to all those who in these months of inactivity I have written or came here to see if there was fuoridalpalazzo some news ... this blog takes up the broadcasts!

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Ilona Mitrecey

LET U.S. BREATHE

If nature has so much trouble
Stay beautiful Do
are causing him no trouble
Let us on it.

We are soon going to be great
We are interested
In old trees and oceans
With tenderness.

Let us breathe
Yes let us grow
We are going to think
We'll find ideas. Save

together all the owls,
Eagles and pelicans,
Drills, kangaroos, dolphins and herring,
The Amazon, the Deep South and the glaciers of the north pole,
The giraffes, bees and dinosaurs.

Let us breathe
Let nousrespirer.

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Blue ribbon


At 17 and 20 is born with normal birth Attilio Selva's brother, Emilio, short hair, all things in the right place, Zodiac sign Gemini, the biggest of children come to light today at the Santa Chiara of Trento, with its 4 kilos and 190 grams, that is my son, our short! Hurrah!