Crochet Christening Gown Pattern

OF U2. TRAVEL AND DREAMERS

In recent times, the figure of the Irish band U2 has been very present in my life, although it is not my favorite bands. This is what has to spend a long time in Dublin, all-or almost all, "talks music, just being overwhelmed by the Irish group, and especially the figure of their leader, Bono. You can follow his life from the building where the group carried out the recording of their first albums, U2 TOWER to the future, along the banks of the River Liffey. You can also visit the village of Killiney, where Bono has his residence. A people fantastic views over the sea, but few on the house where you could barely see the top of the roof. You can visit your hotel and a pub in your property, and you can even fire the night at the Temple Bar Pub, located on the street of the same name, with a final song of the group.
What I did not expect, after my return to Spain, was coming across to get to Madrid and back to the group, while drinking a beer in a downtown area of \u200b\u200bMadrid. The street in question is relatively close to the Gran Via, is the wood, the same street during the years 1797 to 1805 he lived the Italian composer and cellist Luigi Boccherini, a street with two slopes, was originally a down, and made the middle of the street, another upward, and between, the Teatro Bishop.
The bar where I was, was not very large, but neither one of those bars that look like a hallway, you can be there quietly and enjoy the reeds. On the outside, caught my attention, the doors are those of the inns or taverns in the lifetime of those who already are barely visible, it dominated the black and red English, both doors and windows as in the sign where he announced the name of the site in question: Casa Julio. The house, founded in 1921, it retains all the charm of the era, it is difficult to imagine taxi drivers and shopkeepers there drinking coffee and cognac along with some churros, first thing in the morning, or rail or vermouth sharing siphon cane, while realized some fried birds at the bar.
Inside, as I said, cozy in size, is divided in two, left as you enter the bar is raised L-shaped, marble and wood. To the right are placed the tables, no more than five or six, marble rectangular plate, secured by iron turning. The chairs and high stools, are made of wood. On the right side, just above the table is a mirror long, rectangular, as you could see the old coffee gatherings, and even today you can find some where else.
The rest of the walls appear completely covered with pictures of all sizes, including slips from time to time a newspaper cutting, also framed. People consumed their drinks, and cakes, which are typical of the bar, six or seven classes, and of good size, "without attention to these images. At the back, near an old black telephone, old photos also appeared in black and white, interspersed with small and round and square form. In the longest wall, there are modern photos, in some you can see the owner, alone or together with friends in other owner is also accompanied by major and famous actors and comedians.
But what caught my attention was the central column, which separates the bar area tables, the aforementioned column, of course, is also covered with pictures. My view, perched on an image of the front of the bar, with its door open and a person brought before her, was none other that the writer and intellectual Luso José Saramago. But most still call my attention, the picture just below the author's Blindness. There were four individuals, spread across the interior of the bar, looking like rockers, I approached for a closer look, and I was quite surprised to see that it was U2, with Bono-leader with his glasses blue-glass, sitting in one of those wooden chairs with their backs against the wall.
Wow, I thought, I never imagined a group of Irish rock, of reeds in this area of \u200b\u200bMadrid, let alone enjoying a typical dish of Spain and the croquettes, but I was and continue to review the walls of the tasca, I saw a newspaper clipping where the local press picked up the check, you could read headlines like wine or Bono of U2 croquette. Without realizing it, I began to remember my Irish visits to places frequented by the group, suddenly my head was filled with memories, Celtic music, mussels with rye bread, of stout ... And as he left the bar, and walked toward the Calle del Pez, my subconscious made me start to whistle the melody of one of the songs of U2. Sunday Bloody sunday.

Brazilsoccersweater.com

History, told a few years ago one of the best musicians in this country, and to be a follower of him or his music, sure that history is known or at less will sound, but do not worry, because today we make a small sketch of it. The musician, called the two main characters in this story Abelard and Heloise, in fact, do not know if those are their real names, or if the artist, I substitute actual names for these evocative medieval lovers, the case is that I will use other more in tune with the times, for example, say you were called Sara and Carlos.
The issue is that Sara and Charles, were young, with all that that implies, "inexperienced like a bird without wings. The two lived in a place far from the coast, a place on the plateau, a poor little town, like most of the plateau areas. Neither of them had never left their land, or even had moved to the extreme peninsular, in the vernacular, no one knows the sea. Of course, both had seen before in pictures, or movies in black and white past and again in theaters continuous session. They knew their texture, smell and appearance, so read books, and narrated by those who had been lucky enough to admire, and some had done abroad, which at that time and in a small town was almost a heroic.
Until the day comes, and one of the two plant-Carlos and Sara, "that does not matter, and tells his companion to accompany you. Where?, Said the other surprised and with a tear in the eye. The sea, let's go to the sea, fulfill our dream, was his reply. And on the morning when the streets were still empty, the two left their homes, just taking the money, what little they could get, and more than a friend could leave and were put in place. In search of the sea, but not from any sea, put it, let's go abroad thought and after weighing a while, thought that being on the plateau, the sea was the closest foreign Lisbon, where he went, leaving a napkin written for parents, which could be read "Relax, we'll see the sea again soon."
Falling into the great lie that fall most tourists, the lie that Lisbon is the only European capital that has Tues But this, they will not know until they got there and told them the capital had no sea or beach, but the river, a huge river and fantastic, but a simple river and the sea was closer to 27 miles in the town of Estoril. And there they had in the first train of the day, dying of cold and hunger clutched their stomachs, like a leech.
why every time I approach a ground Estoril remember and recreate the story of the boys, I'm on the seafront, and I see them there, nervous, moving along the edge of the station, eager and happy, smelling the salt the sea and listening to the background the Atlantic waves, thinking that there was little to fulfill their dreams. I imagine them together, sitting on large stones of the pier, watching the foam jumping and breaking waves, splashing them with fine droplets of moisture on their faces and happy youth.
Last time, I imagine them sitting there, smiling, happy, feeling free to the dream fulfilled, evaded the world, believing almost invisible. I saw as they entered the breakwater the two public safety officers Portuguese, approaching silently, hiding the sound of their footsteps with the beating of the waves, and after stand behind them, and hold onto the shoulder, I request that identified. Both knowing discovered, get up and go with them to the police station nearest where no longer hear the ocean, or smell the salty air, where you just sleep. There, in a rickety old table covered with papers, deposit what they carry in their pockets, their minimal possessions: their passports, some badges and a postcard from Estoril. Hoping that they returned home, with their frightened parents, the pair of moody by the adventure of their children, which had jeopardized the authorities of both countries and their mothers on the verge of collapse. But happy, fulfilled a dream, a dream of madmen, authentic freedom, even for a short time, freedom of truth, as they feel the insane, the only truly free.
The last day we relived this story in my imagination, I was struck that half-smile that accompanies me in a sustainable manner where I, as a silent stowaway, who takes over my face when I least expect it. After that, I closed my raincoat to protect me from the incipient rain, turn on my heels, and ran towards the close, which whistled in the near halt, announcing his immediate departure was real life.

How Much Does It Cost T

Lembranças

Someone once said "maybe it was I," that the memories (Lembranças) are always a beast ready to bite. There is no certainty more certain, despite the redundancy. But it also depends on both memories, as the various times that you remember.
The issue, is it up for a souvenir or Lembranças attack, that assault me \u200b\u200ba few days ago. The fault was the Galician writer Manuel Rivas and singer, also Galician, "Lucía Pérez. We were on the fourth floor of the Circulo de Bellas Artes de Madrid, the environment and helped to recall the nostalgia-referred to by the author on occasion.
The case is that just before the journalist, Marta Gonzalez Novo began with the presentation of the novel, the singer plays one of the themes, which take place during the presentation. The issue, I recognized quickly, it is one of my fado Favorites As chaves da minha life. Played masterfully by the Galician fado and its companion to the guitar, deep and powerful voice of the singer performing the fado, I'm transported to another place. A beloved and longed for an equal, I attended a week, without fail, every Friday night.
The site in question is one of the alleys of the old quarter of Alfama, of course, in Lisbon, on the street known as Costa do Castelo, a rather difficult to find among the various rúas in the area, but worth discovering. It is a house like so many of the area, a beautiful house full of stories, where even the walls speak different from the rest of the city, where every night of fado, it seems the last celebration of a bygone era, or the first of a future time. A big house converted into a cultural center where you can enjoy a classic work of theater after eating at the restaurant, while watching the night lit by the bridge Lisbon April 25, or see a circus performance while sharing with your friends green wine bottle. The site in question is called Chapitô, and is well known by people who have lived or spent a good season in the capital Lusa.
But today, if I may, I want to focus on a specific location of this place, the place where I carried with Lucía Pérez song, that site is a small place located on the bottom of Chapitô, a tiny bar in the lower center, a place where you have to get down a spiral staircase and has no windows, roof low and pleasing appearance. Filled with tables and chairs, all different, like glasses. One side of the bar, is adorned with some old barber chairs, where for lack of a place, many people sit to enjoy the music, and natural teas, served in large ceramic vessels, almost boiling, and accompanied by a ginger cookies. His name is Bart and there every Friday brings together professionals and amateurs of fado, from people and up are encouraged to sing by who asks the body to some of the best of times. I still remember my first visit to BART, where I was lucky to hear singing there Arnauth Mafalda, which many refer to as the true successor to Amalia Rodrigues.
The fantastic atmosphere, with candles Tilila around me, while tearing the strings of guitars and the depth of the voice of fado, with its sad lyrics and pithy, made me think that I was in another era, in earlier centuries , where the city was one which should remain, the city rich and great, which is now barely recognizable among existing hotels and shopping malls. The voice of the Galician I also brought to mind the dark robes of the individuals who performed his music to the pit where these were located. Of course, I could not help but remember the sweet taste of thick port wine, which marked its scarlet tears the edges of the glasses of fine crystal, while calming the cold interior, of which we drank to take away the moisture Lisbon adhered winter in our bones.
So I say, it is true that memories are always a beast ready to bite, but those memories, sometimes not only bite you, but also, in some cases, valsamo serve you and relaxes you, taking you for a moments away from the reality that maybe it was not that wish. And in moments like the above, I conveyed to a nice place to enjoy both in company and alone, as a good glass of wine and a night of fado can enjoy together, but it's okay to do it alone.

Snake Bites Or Angel Bites

A STORY OF WAR AND HONOR. SPRING LOOSE

We are on 9 November 1808, at a particular location, right between populations and Villafria Gamonal in the province of Burgos, at that very moment, the French army, with its Emperor at the head, goes to make a conquest, the city of Burgos. Napoleon and his boys did Bureba move from the capital, to retake the square on 22 September had lost, by the fierceness of Burgos.
French, obviously was not alone, in addition to his hussars and overalls, accompanied him terrible dragons and Polish lancers, the corps, I, II, III, IV and VI, as well as Imperial Guard and reserve general division of Merle. A total of 20,040 men and 4000 cavalry and 62 artillery pieces.
On the other hand, the English, the men facing the petit bastard as he knew some in the time-was the First Division of the Army Corps of Extremadura, poorly led and poorly represented by Ramon Patino Conde of Belvedere, who happened to be a simple bodyguard to General. Reinforced by the School Battalion and the Provincial Benavente Tuy, along with a small group with 4 pieces of artillery of the Army of Galicia. Holding on and waiting for the appearance of the English army, which should reach the hands of General Blake.
Well, apart from chronological and chronograph data, data that always characterize any detailed description of a battle, however small or forgotten by history books and whatever. But what interests me about this story of war, not just the war itself, I'm interested in many other things that narrate a moment, the little details that make history has been made one way or another, and the bad decisions of bad controls, or the ability to make decisions and set properly attributes of other characters, and then told, is a clear case of what I want right say.
On November 9, 1808, the Count of Belvedere, was the clear order by the more general and veteran experts. That order stated, to defend the Plaza de Burgos conducting a peripheral defense of the city from the nearby hills, awaiting the arrival of the English, but the Count of Belvedere inept decided to do what you came to win and came out with his troops to open countryside, between the towns of Gamonal and Villafria, placing his art in Rubena, being exposed and sold. So when the 10th of November 1808, at the time when the two armies came together in the field of battle, which at an early stage was a clash of armies, became a massacre, a tragedy where the English were massacred in a few minutes, and a little after eleven o'clock, just a few up, fleeing from the streets of Gamonal or sought to flee through the bank of the river Arlanzón.
Imperial Progress was unstoppable at that time, much more knowing that the Count of Belvedere had left the defense of the city in the hands of a population impoverished armed and frightened, like a child abandoned and scared they were. But like all stories, as there is a clueless inept-ours-we have it, there's a hero, you have everything where it should have. This, was none other than Vicente Genaro de Quesada, who that day accidentally he was commander of the battalion which defended his few men in the city, at the entrance and cheering for blood and gold, of chivalry gabacha. He stood with his men, until wounded in his body, exhausted and with the thick sweet taste his own blood in his mouth, he defended his life and his 74 men to the ultimate consequences for his honor and for their eggs-a guy who was dressed by his feet. A guy that when he was completely lost, and with one foot in another neighborhood, I take strength and weakness when the general Bessiers ordered to surrender his sword, this control will ride. This guy knew what he was defending the honor and his wise and showed it to coast almost his life.
But in this story, another character who showed his honor and worth, and its respect to the brave, even our enemies. When a few days later, Napoleon made his entry into the city without triumphalism and sat at the Consulate of the Sea, an individual of his army, General Bessiers, went to the hospital of Blood, where Vicente Genaro de Quesada was torn between life and death, and to assert his honor as a soldier and as a person, it came to that which it had defended sabers against his men and his hat Imperial, handed over his sword, the same as the English military had days earlier refused to hand over the French army.
You see, despite being an open war, blood and machetes, a tough war and death, as are all after all, there are small details like these that show that despite being enemies, in spite of spending each other on the calendar without question. Despite all this, it can be shown that courts do not take away what people are brave and also a uniform and a charge is also honor and respect.