Agganis Arena Detailed Seating Chart

Orange chocolate chip cookies chocolate Teddy

A dear friend reminded me that I have this little corner of foodblogosfera .. and that these cookies posted today on feisbuc should be part of it! Graziella You're right, here I am :-)

I apologize in advance for the photo: my Canon is dying a slow death and hilarious (the picture is purple?!?) So I had to fall back on the phone:




find the recipe HERE

my only change was to replace the vanilla with the grated rind of an orange .. and I must say that there is right :-)

Pse Nova Compound Bow

Livingstone rooms in the attic

's a rainy day. Lily went up to the wires of the immense network, along with his boredom. Even ghosts get tired of the rain and Lily was looking for a story that would lead and snatched away from that annoying ticking sound that even under the sky of asphalt could spray the air of his world like a bathroom after a hot shower without the benefit of the heat. For this, Lily immediately began to read, because the stories, you know, more of a warm fireplace.

The stairs leading down from the attic so steep that it seems almost the jump of a waterfall Amazon, arrived on the top floor of the big house where he had lived, alone, Grandma Livingstone. Livingstone was a sickly child and very curious, had dark eyes and lively and always wore a pair of spectacles on his nose down, like the great when they stop to read, raising his head from the newspaper to face someone who has just entered the room. Livingstone loved to pay close attention to everything that's happening around him, even when what was happening out the window at school during school hours. Despite the frequent distractions in the classroom, Livingstone had excellent grades in all subjects, was very quick in doing their homework and always seemed to have something more important to do.
In fact, there was something that was almost Livingstone more than anything. More than a pistachio ice cream to eat with the tip of the nose. More than a rock that bounces well four times on the water at the pond in the park. Almost as much as playing ball with Patch, fat beagle grandmother. Precisely what the Father's kiss, when he returned from his business trips. There was a great dream that Livingstone was holding in his heart and he wanted to reach from large, to become an explorer and see the mummies in the face without fear, then that here was no longer a dream, but his whole life. For this, sooner or later, should at least find the courage to go up despite prohibitions in the attic of his grandmother. The grandmother told Livingstone that up there doveva salire perché non c’era niente, che la soffitta era una stanza vuota e che c’era solo un gran freddo in inverno e un gran caldo in estate. Livingstone, però, non ci credeva, perché non esiste posto al mondo dove non c’è davvero niente. Anche nei deserti ci sono sabbia, sassi e scorpioni, oppure tante crepe sulla terra dura, che sembrano le rughe di una faccia che ha visto passare il cielo sulla sua testa per millenni. Poi, una volta la nonna si era tradita, aveva alzato la voce impaurita dicendo che nessuno ci saliva da prima che lei nascesse e che se lassù c’era qualcosa era qualcosa di molto cattivo, forse una strega o un mago aveva fatto della soffitta il luogo dei suoi esperimenti magici e che se lui, Livingstone, there was increased and had opened the door would no longer fell on his legs, but perhaps on his hind legs, if the curse had not even locked in that room forever. Now, Livingstone, as a good explorer, he thought this thing very often. That the grandmother was not a good strategy, his words had opened a door to the curiosity of a child who can not wait. A cold winter afternoon when the sky was raining ice end, the grandmother, buried under the nose and mouth, hand knitted wool scarf that was blocking the position of the neck more than they did years on his bones, was due to go out for a commission , all wrapped in a heavy coat, as rigid container was in a package to be shipped away.
Livingstone came shortly after she departed the hall where the stairs to the attic. Made the first flight, the light began to dwindle, the small window that was left behind who climbed the stairs could not illuminate much. Suddenly, the gray plaster wall appeared to be the tail of a dragon, winding and greenish, with small and sparse darker spears that did not promise anything good. Livingstone saw it just in time, suddenly drew back and fell back, ending up sitting on the seat, with the moccasins that jumped away as if they were the only ones who still want to climb the stairs, it was fortunate Patch that was following, because he's a pillow for the head and Livingstone did not have to justify any purple bump when my grandmother came home. That evening the explorer felt defeated in the bud, perhaps, it was said Livingstone, his fate would be different and what was a dream that would remain for ever, with great loss of water would have just tried wearing a comfortable outfit hydraulic , or he hung his jacket to the chair every morning, before sitting down to stick stamps on envelopes and stamps to distribute millions of letters, until it became useless when the world, far and wide, it would be written only by mail mail. But a few months later, curiosity vinse sul timore dell’ignoto e l’esploratore ritrovò un po’ di coraggio; un giorno di primavera, non appena, dalla finestra che dava sulla strada, vide la nonna arrivare sul marciapiede opposto, con il passo un po’ affrettato dal vento che le spettinava i capelli fino a farli sembrare un fiocco di cotone, Livingstone uscì sul pianerottolo e si tolse i mocassini. Salì in silenzio le scale di legno, trattenendo anche il respiro e gonfiando le guance come fa un trombettista, perché il drago c’era sempre lì sul muro, ma al passaggio di Livingstone non si svegliò e mantenne la mostruosa coda immobile. Quando, però, Livingstone raggiunse l’ultimo scalino che portava alla porta della soffitta, appeared a black snake stretched across the wooden plank and legs explorer lost courage and bought an amazing speed to back, skipping the amount of fat Patch, who was waiting on the landing, like an obstacle on the track an athletics competition.
Ten minutes later, Livingstone had worn his new moccasins and wept bitter tears imagining that since then have seen the face of the mummies only from behind a glass display case in the Egyptian Museum in Turin, or Cairo in the middle of a sgomitanti swarm of tourists. Skipped dinner that evening, his grandmother brought him a bit 'of milk and biscuits in his room, but Livingstone drank only milk, until the last drop. Even the biscuits was not even a crumb, but Patch was to swallow them all.
was the last day of school, there were only the case in the backpacks and the diary to record homework for the holidays. In the courtyard where he opened the large doors of classes, fellow chased Livingstone is hot and sweaty for most of the morning, while the small explorer was defeated with his head down, staring at her moccasins with glasses that protruded from the pocket of his blue apron, imagining himself in the role of caretaker due to him as the only alternative for the future, who knows if it would have been able to keep the glossy black and white tiles that painted like a checkerboard floor of the corridor, this is what Livingstone was wondering when he walked listlessly toward the door, the last to come out among the companions who had run as fast as if they had passed the wings on his feet. His moccasins seemed, however, trudge, as if the glue prevented him from advancing, without taking the steps above the ground, as did my grandmother when she was very tired. What would he do now with all that time he was suddenly released, it still asks Livingstone, without the courage even to get groped by the attic door, Patch also could not help him pass the long days of summer holidays, that beagle was too lazy to follow him with long walks.
But then one day, finished all the tasks, having already eaten a pistachio ice cream smearing the tip of the nose and he bounced four times a stone well in the pond water level in the park, even after having already played ball Patch, Livingstone began to rethink his dream because his father was still in business trip and his kisses were far as he was.
The grandmother had left in a cloud made of fragrant pastel-colored silk, to fill a few hours of summer light that intoxicated for several days, causing an unexpected gain new youth, was away from home for a long time, until there was only in heaven, without thinking, because he knew Livingstone that day would not be left alone too much and would start his surprise holiday.
Grandma was out recently, when the small explorer took off again moccasins, leaving them on the landing from which ran up the stairs to the attic, a good guard patch that did not make a step to follow him.
Livingstone had thought a lot about the dragon and the snake would have waited on the stairs, and it was said, to find the courage to face them, that would be enough to imagine that they were different from what they seemed. So, Livingstone began to climb, and arrived at the beginning of the second flight of stairs, he tried to convince himself that what he could see on the wall could not be really a dragon. Yes, maybe that was just a spot of green mold! And the mold, you know, it does not hurt anyone. Then, when he reached the last step, passed with a wider pitch black snake that now seemed so much an old crack in the wood blackened by dust and not even for a moment feared that this crack head get up to bite a heel, because the cracks, you know, do not bite anyone. Finally he reached the attic door and stopped only a moment, a little 'stunned by the emotion of the company, surprised by the song that seemed to feel and smell of roses that never would have thought to find there. We do not know if he won the curiosity of a child or the courage to un piccolo esploratore, ma Livingstone aprì la porta. Ecco, c'era una soffitta coperta di polvere fin dalle assi del pavimento. Se qualcuno ci fosse entrato, prima di lui, avrebbe lasciato altre orme oltre a quelle che lasciarono i suoi passi, ma poiché erano molti anni che nessuno ci entrava, quando la stanza si aprì agli occhi di Livingstone, sembrò che anche la polvere della soffitta lo stesse aspettando da secoli, come i tesori dei faraoni aspettano da millenni i loro esploratori. Là dentro niente cambiava da anni, se non la luce che entrava dalla piccola finestra posta sulla parete opposta alla porta. Di giorno, quando fuori c'era il sole, i raggi che entravano muovevano un piccolo cono costretto sopra il disegno di un tappeto. C’erano rosebuds waiting to bloom. Small birds plumage indigo expecting the heat to blend the wings and get rid of dust in a carousel of short flights. This was under the rays of the sun entered the window. This was the secret of the attic. And to this day the attic smelled of roses. And that is why the air seemed to echo the song of exotic birds. Probably why no one came in for years, because everything was locked in the attic was like a curse. But it was a miracle. And when the sun set and the window came in the moonlight, Livingstone could not know this yet, the buds are closed and small birds returning property, with his head under his wing. The indigo extinguished in the black of night. Roses took the color of dust. But peace remained in the air, the peace of a world rests. Livingstone passed between the flights of birds, taking care not to trample the roses and went to the window overlooking the city skyline. Maybe what he saw from the window, down below, it was a long black funnel, but his dad was stretched over the roofs of the city to greet him, waving a handkerchief that looked like a tail of smoke. And maybe we can say that a new miracle happened in the attic, when Livingstone Patch heard barking from the bottom of the stairs and a voice calling him that this was not the grandmother was a voice that came from by a dark beard, and two blue eyes shone like the sun strikes the sea. Livingstone was still in the heart of a great dream that was almost more than anything, but now he knew that it would reach an adult. A dream that it was precisely what the kiss of his father when he returned from his business trips. And to find the kiss, now only had to close the door to the attic and down the stairs.

Now Lily fell like a tear of joy and went back on his lawn. Boredom was not with her.

Recovery Weaning Puppies

One year

missing one day will be a year that beer and live with me:)

Rabbit Hutch Blue Print

Beer Moondawn

Lily And there appeared a story that ran around a braided thread that seemed a distant memory, like when you make the knots we tie a handkerchief or small piece of string to a finger, do not forget anything. Someone. And the story that broke up before the eyes of Lily told you so:

was the hour of dusk. Light and darkness met on a boundary line which gave the impression of being a larger territory, an intersection where the characteristics do not blend. As in the paintings of Caravaggio. There are creatures that live only at night and say they are nocturnal animals. Other living creatures, however, only during the day and sleep at night to retrieve vital energy, who with his head on the pillow, one with the head under the wing, whoever he can. Then there are strange creatures whose existence we realize only in the twilight, strange hybrid creatures day-night in which the features do not bind and remain for all to see, mainly, strange beings. She came out of the house when the garden began to be covered with a light powder that quickly transformed the flowers and things from the outline into something less defined, more three-dimensional shadows darker.
She was a silk cloth and yellow light that the sun consumes. She had a harmony within themselves that no one could hear, like a musical score without a key. She was a colorful painting in a dark room. She was wearing a name as the title of a story. His name Moondawn.
Moondawn was a girl with hair the color of dawn, the pale skin of the face was fine and clear, it was a doll of tissue paper, a fragile doll that does not play with anyone for fear that it can crumble at the first touch, turning in one thousand confetti that even a slight wind could carry away. The eyes were the color of a tear that reflects the sky and the slight squint was well hidden by thick white eyebrows. The room where
Moondawn spent most of the day had a window that was opened only when the child was elsewhere, the light source in his presence had only tenuous and artificial spread by the many lamps that her grandmother had started collecting since Moondawn was photophobic recognized. The grandmother had a sister Moondawn albino that when he went out to defend himself was to cover the sunlight with large dark glasses and the whole country, rather small in any direction you percorresse, had taken very soon to hold up like a phenomenon a circus. So Moondawn, which had been entrusted to her grandmother since birth for a long series of unfortunate events, was grown and kept within the walls of the house, in those rooms where the sun never came for years for more than half an hour a day and light was made only by the switches.
Moondawn received the only visit by a teacher who visited her in the afternoon to pursue his education and is easy to count, the teacher was the only person who knew Moondawn addition to some old grandmother and aunt. Moondawn had never seen children looking in the mirror and had made the strange idea that the human race changed color growing up, the children were small and unripe fruits, past the time needed to mature, she would have to be very long brown hair such as the teacher. No one had ever taken the task to remove this belief, even the teacher, no one had ever told the reality of the matter, saying that children do not mature and that the human species has a unique color. That children, men and women are equal only as children, men and women. That equality is measured by equality and respect for human rights and dignity and that the color is just one element that enriches the beauty of nature. That light, then, should not frighten anyone, because the light is beauty because it contains all the colors of the world. That the sunrise and the moon have a color and light and that she, too, Moondawn, had his and that for no reason at all should have hope to change it.
Then one day it happened that the arrival of the teacher, Moondawn saw something smaller that followed in the hallway while the woman went to meet the wishes of the grandmother, above the lights in the room where she was waiting for alabaster. Something smaller stopped on entry of Moondawn room and looked straight into my eyes and gaping mouth of a fish out of water spat out a low voice of fear that arose only on the last word: "Who are you, a ghost?". Moondawn him almost choir 'Who are you? ", Already responding to itself a thousand thoughts that maybe this was a very small adult or a child who had already changed color. Two fish had met out of the water, because water there in the room with the lights in alabaster, was not there. "My name is Bruno and I am a child," he said. "I am Moondawn," she said a bit 'of time after. Just as long as a fish takes to learn to talk. Bruno went soon with the teacher that day nor did his lesson. The grandmother took them to the door and when he came into the room Moondawn thought it was off to a very cold, because her grandmother was shaking. The lesson of the teacher was not there, or maybe yes. Moondawn now knew that there were children of another color and it was nice to look in the eyes of children, because it seems to understand each other without saying anything. After that night, the teacher came back, but always alone. And since then Moondawn often thought to Bruno and spoke as if he had next to an invisible friend, but not imaginary. Bruno was there an invisible friend in the rooms of the great grandmother's house, but to make it visible, he thought one day Moondawn not then you had to go too far.
was therefore the time of dusk and Moondawn started down the dark corridor to the door that opened onto the garden. It was his grandmother to open the door. The shadows fell from the garden had just opened the window to her perfume, Moondawn greeted the roses that had crumpled the heat of the day and then came out of the gate, which itself had never crossed before.
"Come on, Bruno must not be too far from here," said Moondawn herself as an explorer who must find the courage to take the first step towards an unknown location where, however, is sure to find a great treasure. The road was straight to the country and skirted the woods, when he began to fall il buio Albaluna si accorse che il coraggio restava qualche passo indietro. La notte che ormai riempiva tutto quello che le stava intorno, poiché intorno tutto era nero e irriconoscibile nell'assenza di luce, la faceva procedere con cautela. E la faceva pensare. Era una notte senza luna e le stelle erano troppo lontane per illuminarle ogni mondo, esterno o interiore che fosse. Eppure, se qualcuno avesse potuto essere lì per vederla, si sarebbe accorto che Albaluna aveva una luce propria, era un'ombra più chiara sul bordo dell'asfalto e gli occhi le brillavano come se due stelle da lassù le fossero scese sul viso, tra la fronte e le guance, ai lati del naso. Da qualche parte doveva esserci la strada che percorrono le macchine, dove di notte si snodano and tie long streamers of fog blown by speed. The road, where there were colored lights of the shop signs that call you to eat ice cream, to buy shoes and new clothes, to go to the cinemas and to find the noise of cups and glasses in the bar. The house of Bruno had to have a light that would call her to enter. A light to peek through the window, the light of a family that consumes around a dinner table in a corner while shining a TV on. The light of a teacher reading a book in his slippers and Bruno, who plays on the couch. A light that goes off just before bedtime. Instead, Moondawn now felt the light of a little more heart pounding, a weak light, almost as distant stars. She ran inside, rather than the blood and fear.
The malaise that darkness gave her physical pain was different from that provided her with the dazzling light of day. It was the discomfort of the unknown. The light gives visibility. Light is knowledge. If there was also only the moonlight to illuminate his path, Moondawn would not have lost the determination that she felt when she left. Now, however, wondered "Where am I," "How far is it from here Bruno ',' How long will I walk again 'and, finally," Why did not I was in my garden? "And" Why am I not enough to be alone with the roses? ".
Suddenly, as if by magic, it seemed that a star falls from the sky to get in front of the nose Moondawn. But it was not a star. It was a firefly, which Moondawn began to follow almost running, then running and laughing with his heart stopped beating for fear. And the firefly was his guide, first toward the road where they were running the lights and signs final color at night, which was no longer dark, then to a house that had illuminated the entrance and a light to peek through the window, the light of a family that consumes around a dinner table in a corner while shining a TV on. The light of a teacher reading a book in his slippers and Bruno, who plays on the couch.
There was also the name of the teacher in the white light of the bell che Albaluna arrivò a suonare mettendosi in punta di piedi. Quando la porta si aprì, l’accolsero stupore e abbracci. E quando la luce si spense, nella camera di Bruno, si accese un soffitto di stelle fosforescenti molto più vicine di quelle che stavano fuori nel cielo. Era arrivata l’ora di dormire e di accendere la luce bellissima dei sogni di due bambini che non avrebbero smesso di giocare insieme mai più, lì sotto le stelle fosforescenti o nella stanza delle luci d’alabastro a casa di Albaluna. Non avrebbero smesso di giocare neppure ad occhi chiusi nel buio della notte.


Poi Lily calò come la luna in un pozzo e tornò invisibile. Non si sa per quanto.

How Bad Is It Living On Campus

Toh .. a recipe! Did not expect eh:-D

This bear has been the sweet lightning for dinner on Saturday, sifting through countless magazines I found my cake supercioccolatosa simple and lightning-fast, and since I had little time ... The mold for the bear I chose it because I had never ever used and I could not resist ;-)
Next time I'll make cupcakes portion, I think it's the perfect fit .. to eat at least 3 of course:-D

is a sweet rich and creamy, with a caramelized crust on the outside and a tender heart and creamy ... try it, it's worth it!





Ingredients:

200 g of butter
200 g dark chocolate 200 g sugar


3 eggs 1 tablespoon flour

Preparation:

Melt butter in microwave or water bath with chocolate, mix well, then add sugar. let cool, then add, incorporating them one at a time, the three eggs, then sift in a tablespoon of flour mixture. Mix well and pour the mixture into the mold like (buttered if it is not silicone) and bake at 180 degrees for 20 minutes. Turn out and cool. Enjoy ;-)

How To Make Raspberry Honey Mustard

primaveraaaaaa

.. is short, from the time you would not think ... but the days are getting longer, returns the DST (YUPPIEEE) and the garden is full of flowers
^ __ ^ I do not write for almost three months .. not that I came back wanting more, but who knows, maybe the spring I shake off the laziness
blog ;-) Meanwhile, I return the dress, then we'll see!

Yakima Mighty Mounts 2008 Pilot

The epiphany is, every party takes away

Here we go again. Resulting from the end of Epiphany and Magone holidays. They are no longer exactly a doll, but not much has changed: the idea that at midnight tonight suddenly all the Christmas atmosphere will vanish as if someone unplug the switch (Christmas ON / OFF!), Makes me sad. I have no intention to store the tree, then! I think I'll keep it up to the birthday is in 10 days, I can afford it ^ __ ^ And to say that this year the Christmas spirit just touched seemed to me ... but back to work tomorrow is a bit 'like going to school, and who has never been happy to go back to school? :-P In all this, it's been a month since my last post and this month I cooked a lot, ate even more and I was really good. But the desire of foodblog me is a bit 'past. I cook, experiment, bake, decorate .. but I do not want to photograph, document, tell. I am amazed enough eyes of diners, the enthusiastic comments, compliments of my exaggerated "Amorucciooo. For now, that's fine, meanwhile I wish you a happy new year: that 2009 can help you realize your dreams, big o piccini che siano. AUGURI :-)