Linda's Fudge Cake Recipe

the cunning of an aspiring chicken

When I was little, the chickens were part of the family and had an important social role which was to exchange ... eggs, chickens, but also exchanged with other food and non solo.Erano beautiful chickens, were not in series as now are daughters of the incubator, then there was the mother hen with her warmth was hatched eggs and it was great to see those colored soft swab their way to exit, daprima with her head to look around and then curious as the shell gave way to more and more shots of the little beak and there they decided to come out ready to explore the mondo.Io gave them a name and grew as I tried to figure out who would become a chicken and a chicken and who was hoping that my favorites were all females because it would not be finished in the pan. The color of the chickens ranged from red to gray variegated (Trinity), the white was very rare, in fact, who claimed the privilege was answered with a saying: "ite de sa sese fizu Pudda white?" The chickens lived in
free sas carreras that when they began to lay eggs needed to observe them, why did the nest in the most impensati.Bisognava know many small signals from which it was clear that it was the moment one of the signals was prolonged CoCoCo muted. I remember in particular a chicken "sa Pudda lace" was an incredible smarts do not know how the heck did, but as I were careful not to discover me, she sniffed the air, was
long laps, most of the time could detecting, entered into a spot of mastic and its CoCoCo I was convinced that he would have made her nest ... but check back after a while there was no sign of neither she nor the egg ....
When he could not find the nest, I always leave an egg "on Nidal, otherwise change seats

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Fratricide

story taken from the group" When I was small "( http://www.facebook.com/group . php? gid = 85561899252 & ref = ts .......Questo è uno dei tanti racconti che troverete nel Gruppo :"Quando io ero piccolo"è stato pubblicato da me ma lo ha scritto il mio amico blogger Luigi che non è su fb. Nel gruppo troverete tante storie di persone comuni che ricordano la loro... infanzia,sono storie che ricordano usi e costumi del passato quando a scrivere sono persone come me di una certa età....altre invece parlano di un passato più recente.Vi consiglio di andare a curiosare.....non ve ne pentirete. Inoltre, il gruppo ha un obbiettivo ambizioso che è quello di realizzare un libro il cui ricavato andrà alla Onlus "annulliamo le distanze" che si ocupp di bambini in Eritrea.Scrivete e fate scrivere...non costa nulla ed è divertente e anche terapeutico(come Augusto says) ---------------------------------------

an aspiring Fratricide (a small GREAT MAN)

..... The stork brought me, just after the Second War, middle-class family in a way that could put the front door the first of four blue ribbons in the second tape after totale.Il 14 months and now I tried to remain an only child. It was taken from the stock with a wood fireplace that I went to my mother who was in bed with the new arrival at his side. No Lello, eu, eu! I screamed and just the act of self-defense of the mother saved both target depriving the fate of Caino.Mi went and took a liking to the new birth, even, cradled in her bed prejudice sitting on the ground to sleep. My brother Pasquale still has the nickname "Lello" Besides the great house was me and serves as vigorously dedicated to small chores that my mother entrusted me to take responsibility, clean the floors, dust the furniture, dishes, etc. , all tasks that made me feel useful. Small and conscientious already so I guadagnai gallons for small purchases in the shops of the country, while the market will provide the best of my arrogance, not respecting the row, with sympathetic but determined to do, dribbled. Beware of money, and remains, I opened the horizon the way of reasoning. Ready for first grade class, with the auction waiting for me on banchi di scuola, ci fu la terza bussata della cicogna a casa nostra e le cose si complicarono; aumentarono le incombenze e cerano anche i compitini ai quali dovevo dedicate tempo ed attenzione. Non mi scoraggiai e, oramai preparato, fui sempre più lometto di casa con mamma che attendeva anche allincarico di professoressa di lettere e papà occupato con la campagna, lallevamento dei cani, lattività di giudice cinofilo e scrittore/pubblicista, a tempo perso e per il suo diletto di tecnico della caccia. Feci appena in tempo a riscuotere il Premio Studio e Bontà, in quinta elementare, che ci fu lultimo toc toc della cicogna la quale, preso gusto, ci consegnò il piccolo di casa; quarto dei fratelli ed il più coccolato. Mio padre, anche cacciatore, mostrò al volatile dispettoso il suo fucile ed esso comprese che era il caso di dimenticare la strada della nostra casa.I quattro moschettieri erano pronti, di lì a poco, per scorrazzare per la campagna durante lestate, facendo disperare la mamma che li rincorreva - inutilmente - con il cucchiaione di legno. Quasi selvaggi che cercavano il contatto con la Natura rientrando in casa con le tasche piene di ogni animaletto ritrovato in giro.

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my father

Mio padre ,nato nel 1906 ,il prossimo 18 aprile (se c'è ancora) compirà 104 anni.
Anche lui, come me è nato a Concas (fraz. di Torpè)Fà parte della terza generazione dei "pionieri" che fondarono questa piccola frazione ,infatti fu suo nonno paterno insieme ad altri due fratelli ad insediarsi nell'altopiano di Oretola,che fu anche il primitivo nome della frazione.Provenivano da Buddusò ,all'inizio vi restavano soltanto durante l'inverno e abitavano nelle tradizionali pinnetas.Poi qualcuno costruì la prima casa di pietre e fango e diventarono stanziali.Su riu mannu",durante la stagione delle piogge,isolava Concas da Torpè,che dista 14 chilometri,non c'erano strade nè ponti,per cui si sfidava la corrente del fiume solo in caso di estrema urgenza.Come ben potete immagginare,ai tempi di mio padre ,la scuola non esisteva e dunque lui ha imparato a leggere e scrivere da un pastore di fuori che possedeva un raro e prezioso libro.Molto curioso e ,sicuramente dotato di una discreta intelligenza ,aiutato much by her mother, grandmother Perfect, read everything he could get that much in the village but also in adjacent areas was considered "educated person" and was often asked his opinion or his consiglio.Alle first elections after the war was nominated as REPRESENTATIVES of the Concas amministrative.In occasion there was a tussle with my grandmother, who immediately joined the new party (do not know if his name was already Christian Democrats) and my father, who remained faithful to his great friend "Pera Ruju" doctor, who played the MSI, the nomination marked a very serious rift in the family, in fact, neither renounced his position, my father ran the MSI, my grandmother may have voted, my father was offended a lot .. and for a while looked at cagnesco.Comunque that time my father was elected but his party went to the opposition. I would like to clarify for the avoidance of doubt, that in spite of my father, to estimate and respect for his friend to have fought in MS, no one could be farther from the negative idea that he rightly raises the word "fascist." Concas A, of what was happening in the rest of Italy and even less in the rest of the world , no one knew.
Incidentally, my father always told that his friend Pera (Piero)'s always said, "never to vote Christian Democrat, in preference to vote .. comunista.E remembered my father's many stories but one in particular once the accompanied, must a visit to my sister's godmother, said a figure that seemed exaggerated to my father, came out when she went to see but he smiled and answered, "You know how I can treat the poor with this money? The woman in question was wealthy, avaricious and without children. It was he who taught my father to take the sting, in fact I always say that could recognize all the people of Concas .... from sitting.
Although late in life, my father also managed to take the license, bought a six hundred of the second or third hand and certainly has never been spared from making available to anyone who had need. I remember that, in hospital, not just able to get out of bed was lavish in ways tuti to help those who were worse. And yet I remember when, after the weekly visit of a physician, collected all the recipes, put on his old bike to go to Torpoint to take the medicines for all (14 kilometers) I remember when started at dawn with his old bike go to work in the countryside of Gallura nell'antimalaria (ERLAS) and then when he came back was the work of the countryside, often in the moonlight of which he knew all the movements. And it is because he was extraordinary in the ordinary that thinking of him I am reminded of the verse of a poem by Camillo Sbarbaro: "Father, if you were not my father, also would love you for yourself.