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Rests

In autumn afternoons whenever I have an appointment with my grandmother.

We sat on some old chairs my grandmother is from before the war. Chairs are low but very comfortable and like two giants sitting on them, some chairs I know by heart, which could recognize his eyes closed, I like to stroke the wood, and so worn and string, strong as the same time.

My grandmother weaving, making me a red jersey, said that red is my color. But I said even if it is a good color. My grandmother loves talking, but rather I would say he likes the silences, the areas where nothing is said and say everything.

My grandmother, who knows a lot about life because she has lived long, is the only person in the family that is able to comfort me. The only one this, when I speak or just when I am surrounded by silence me too soft as a breeze, this afternoon, floating in the garden of his house.

is a breeze and I believe that even blue. In the fall everything is gentle color. Chickens wander in front of us with quiet, aware that we are observing. A black cat sits next to my grandmother, looking down on the chickens.

autumn always liked me and calm. I tell my grandmother that has landed her look soft on me. Weaving endlessly asks me if something is troubling me.


- No ... but yes.

- And what does this mean, girl. Or is it no or yes. In life there can be doubt.


- It is very complicated.

- Even more to be said.


And for a long time we stayed in a quiet sleep. Do not know if it's the voice of my grandmother, or the sound made by the knitting needles, a barely perceptible sound, or the hens cacateo looking for worms on the ground.

My grandmother never told me that life was a journey of suffering. I never said that we should live in pain. My grandmother does not believe in God or marriage. Do not marry never but love is a phrase deeply that tells me every time I come to visit. Y: God? What God? God is here, pointing with his fingers thin and elegant the center of my body.

When my mother died, my grandmother was the only consolation. I stroked her forehead and cheeks with a cotton scented. I lie on the sofa in his tiny room. I prepared a chicken with wine. Then he gave me a book that was years in the old library, a heavy book and antique The Divine Comedy. It also made me a foot massage and heard me mourn my sins and my fears. Then, the next day, I took her to the cemetery. And we were cleaning the grave of one of his daughters, Aunt Anna, who I never got to know.

My grandmother is like a column, its strength is immense. But I never said. One day he gave me some letters from my father, sent from those years when he was in France in disgust went to live in a more breathable. And I would say, my grandmother, I have the impression that I am like my father, I have to go, I'm not okay, here or anywhere else. And this brings me fear and dread.

- This jersey, says suddenly my grandmother will give you energy.


- Do you think Need energy?

- Many Yes.

- Why?

- When you go, wherever it is, I want you to wear it and never forget that I love .


Then follows a long silence, like a soft autumn breeze, a silence that stuns and confuses me, I seizes the throat and I try not to mourn here, in front of my grandmother who continues to work as usual, and I look with gratitude the chickens that look at us askance. And the cat lifted a paw and it is time that my grandmother prepare a good coffee with the cake he has done for us.

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my grandmother's last moments of life is dead

Sarah wakes up a little startled. She does not know, but I left a few hours to live. Nobody knows these things. In any case, this morning as Sarah opens her eyes suddenly, as rising fiercely from a deep white for air, and for a few seconds feels a great emptiness, something tangible, like an old dead animal skin in his hands, a void filled with sadness and loneliness.

Sarah gradually adjusts to its environment, and allow the skin to abide by every day, I think Sarah can not be doubt. And I just had a nightmare, so I feel so, so strange. What I have dreamed? Turn your head sideways and looks at her husband who sleeps where a peaceful old cat. How can he sleep well, so calm, when I just arrived from a world so cold and white? Because Sarah is now agreeing to sleep where she is walking down a road and someone chases, yes, that someone behind her, all on a snowy road and suddenly a hole swallows and Sarah falls goes down ... And when he wakes with a start on this last day of his life, this last morning in this room as dear where ever she found some peace. Think Sarah.

in the kitchen.

Sarah prepares breakfast, a coffee with milk for her and tea for Salva. Tiny suddenly remembered that her mother had a sad story that happened in a far and cold, ice a country where everything was glass, houses, roads, trees, plants, even the birds and was the story of a girl who disappeared under a blanket of white, untouched and remote. And deep. And no one else knew of it, that light soft girl with long golden hairs. Sarah looks with eyes wide open to his mother like a queen is telling this story in the North, says her mother far this animal look tired, Sarah now realizes it. But now, many years after the death of his mother to keep reading legends, it is too late to understand, to embrace.

Paseo.

Sarah loves to go for a walk after breakfast. It is not really a ride, or yes, depending where you look at the situations Sarah is going to feed her chickens in a pen that has, up in the village. The ride is smooth, like the weather. Today is already autumn, he thinks. Passes in front of Juanita's house.

- Daughter, your always active, Juanita says that she's sitting in the sun on a bench yolk color wood. Sarah thinks that Juanita is like an old lizard.

- Yes, Juanita, I'll feed the chickens.

- And the grandchildren? How are you?

- Thomas is a little cold, then I'll call Paqui.

It's fall and everything is always the same, is known as a continuum, known, appreciated. Juanita is like a friendly lizard, the sun shines like a huge diamond, trees are a green ocean.

James and Agnes.

Approaching the pen provided at home Sarah to James and Agnes and greets them and asks them as they are. Delicious is a custom, thinking. Santiago always makes her laugh with his bizarre stories about people that no longer exists, who are buried in the village cemetery long ago, they are now with sand and salt. Sarah says: If it were not for the moment, life would be.

These words are a little discouraged. Maybe I, intrinsic, in a depression that rises to the surface of this most inscrutable internal ocean. Neither Sarah knows nor understands Sarah. James laughs at this last day of his life, has this smile that amazed, 40 years ago to an elegant, dark Salva.

Tarde.

a short while that Sarah's life suddenly stop existing, so that your heart stops beating, that Sarah's humanity into something mysterious, empty and meaningless answer. Lack bit but Sarah does not know, nor Salva is talking with a neighbor on the wood that the city has in store for the neighborhood, or other people who follow their lives as if nothing were to happen.

And I did not know intimately Sarah I imagine her with the lightness of step gazelle walking towards her house, I have to call Paqui thinks Sarah. It's a beautiful fall day, watching the sky above reflects, light blue, a blue nail clear coat on the life of Sarah that he will never again behold.

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Sarah Sarah

by bringing some cupcakes and Ines Santiago I have announced the death of Sarah. Cried the two, known since many years.
And so that I accompanied him here, in the morgue in the neighboring town where most of Sarah's family has arrived from the north of the country.

visitors in a morgue are of different species, all very interesting. There are those who cry nonstop. Inconsolable crying, sad and helpless, maybe even cry for us, for all the dead and the living. And there are those who are very serious. These do not cry. Their faces are as rigid and impenetrable Mascaret. There are those who pass by, friends who have heard from other neighbors. These look like they are surprised and maybe even happy to be alive. Always end up talking about other things, the latest car or the last game.

I am a neighbor, Sarah did not know much, just seeing her from time to time when he came to bring food scraps to the chickens of Amparo. An elegant woman, very pleasant, always smiling. He died this afternoon of a heart attack. So, suddenly. No more. As if a thunderbolt had fallen on him.

The children have all come in the same car, pale, and half stunned. Upon entering the living room sobs were heard singing reminded me of the mysterious whale. Sobs and waves up and down, a clearer, deeper ones. You can not be anything in front of a whale sob, a sob of a being who does not understand what is happening, a wail that rises in the air as if asking for a response. Behind the glass lies the body of Sarah, in a dark wooden box. This, to me, is the answer.

Another neighbor was presented with a box full of cups and a thermos of coffee. His dark hands to work the land have toyed with the head of one of the daughters.

Mom! other daughter has screamed. The men, outside, have looked in silence close.

Nobody understands death, much as we know it is the only reason for living. By many religions and many improbable stories, no one understands, no one accepts it, nobody wants. Death comes, goes through life, broken lives, choking spaces ones apart.

In lapse of an hour has gone Sarah says the mayor, his brother.

In the living room have infiltrated other neighbors, including two elderly women. I look askance. I do not know why, but the elders know how to behave with grace when death presents itself. It is a matter of experience, I say. My two neighbors are sitting and are present. Are. They are like two pillars still, strong, impressive. Just look at me with a strange calm and blissful. Sarah's husband, sitting in front of them, puzzled stare into her hands.

Later I return to town with Agnese and Santiago. Accompanied them to the door his house, very close to mine. We wish good night and God willing we will see tomorrow. Before going into my house a deep breath. And I'll stay a while looking at the stars above, very bright.

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The smile of my childhood

And if everything were a dream, this table surrounded by ghosts, a part of my life, I sat on my mother's lap, smiling, my father looking directly at the goal, my aunt's head side, my uncle with his mustache, my grandmother and my sister about it, all a dream, something that never existed, there must have existed since they do not feel nothing, I look with curiosity as if it were another family, but I'm there, smiling, this girl just laughs my father wrote his mother that has come as every Christmas, it seems so happy, it must be another girl, I do not I remember laughing, I just remember sadness, a sadness that I learned over the years and guessed that was not mine but my mother and my father perhaps, but if the river should always be to make them laugh, to make removing this Sad blanket over their lives, I guess it must be for something as deep as this, because I do not remember ever laughed, I can not remember my own laughter I just remember screaming, bad moods, fighting, is lovely my father writes his mother and some, a smile that I've always kept on me, I've always been shamelessly, everyone, strangers, lovers, friends, coworkers, my animals, sometimes at myself but very little, sometimes also in the mirror but not much, I've never looked very hard in the mirror, only from afar and I've always been afraid of me, to see my anger in his eyes, or simply sad, and yet However, this picture is all that has survived those difficult years for my parents, my grandmother came a few months to address two of us so my mother could come to rest in a clinic, rest of us said, has always said, as I get tired, that I'm tired, the day that you have children that I know from past unpleasant, and I smiled a lot, says my father, stones, cats abandoned my mother to disappear, stray dogs , my parents, this photo is all that remains, a family reunion on the night of a Christmas that I forgot.

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already said my aunt can not stand my celibacy. Or what she thinks my celibacy.

not understand how good that is in need of nothing, living in simplicity. He does not understand the joy of solitude, accompanied of books and animals. What she wants is me to a man, regardless. Not because, frankly. And, sometimes, I presented some the most serious and rather boring. The last I was talking for three hours of one Tesla ... and I do not understand or piu. In their afternoon tea my aunt has offered on a tray next to a cream cake. And I always, but what is always said, half and half. I'm pretty hard in this regard, I must say.

But my aunt is a persistent woman, with lots of character and not for nothing that my uncle, when I wanted to tease her calling her: the woman with donkey legs. And then I winked because every time my aunt was coming to my uncle with his purse real leather and he taught it: you're here because of this. So shut up or the donkey is long and you run out of dinner. And my uncle lowered his head, smiling.

My aunt know enough to know he wants me to marry one of his friends, or friend of a friend, but I good men or good men or bad men. To me that leave me alone, please. Always, but that in all ages, women without men they have been screwed. And very badly treated. In addition it is too late for this nonsense. How can we forget the old maids, those released at the time, the only pump could travel and pass them. But no, had to point a finger and to treat them as crazy, the insane, in hysterics. Were rather hysterical wives, forced to cook without respite for their dear spouses. ! Oh my god gift go.

was thanks to my aunt that one day I met Eduardo, my friend obsessed Illuminati and the reptilian theory. We all have our quirks, no doubt. But this, the absolute faith of believing that some guys sitting on top of a pyramid, (and also headed snake or lizard) are able to control the course of humanity seems to me most unlikely. I have told several times to Eduardo, I asked a friendly change of mania.

- Why do not you're interested in volcanoes? Say we need a new generation of scholars on this subject that seems very interesting and volcanoes are hot.

What about Eduardo answer? That the volcanoes were controlled by the Illuminati! I was stunned. So I was the blood from his face and had to take a sip of alcohol herbal one of my neighbors received from one of her cousins \u200b\u200bback in the North. That day I felt much anxiety for Eduardo, an anxiety that I lost, obviously, because we must accept friends as they are with their madness. He always reminds me that I'm obsessed with the blood that ran in the trenches. Then you better shut up.

A Eduardo met him for an exhibition where my aunt sent me a message, a message made up of course. My aunt, my aunt, I had arranged a blind date with a certain Eduardo, part-time professor of mathematics at posh cousin Julian, the darling of my aunt. My cousin Julian, who has no hobby in particular and this makes it interesting is not a cousin but feel attracted to women with a lot of money. And I frankly do not find it interesting to study these women they look like wax candles that are thin and have a bird brain. I do not care about the wealthy to Marbella. Well, my cousin loves and adores the nonsense they say and how they dress. To watch a TV show about them! Very serious when I said one day that resembled, in my humble opinion, about class prostitutes (and I did not menial Non plunge this dagger further) my cousin stopped talking for several months. It seems that my aunt asked her to stop giving away cupcakes strawberry my dogs, who adore. Incredible but true. Eduardo

wine because my relief, that autumn afternoon, when I in the showroom. I was in my hands an envelope from my aunt for a certain ... Eduardo. Then I did visit the exhibition of a painter who was well known and admired and very modern, these bestial forcefully throwing the brush on the immaculate white cloth and left on it, scratches and nonsense, the experts call it Artwork . When he realized my yawning, after seeing a few of these damn Works, asked if he agreed to accompany him to dinner. So I said no. Did not accept to go to dinner with a man who admired artistic tears. It was when I said that what interested him were the underground work and mystery of the Illuminati. And he told me that my aunt had set up our meeting. But this I already had suspected earlier.

I accepted the dinner invitation, after all starting to get hungry. We went to a restaurant these you eat very little but you pay much, but hey, it was with money from my aunt. Was two tiny dishes that I realized how crazy it was Eduardo. He kept talking about sects, world order, control of the atmosphere with special machines, of eugenics ... I watched and studied as far to not go in their folly. His eyes shone much but you could tell that this made him suffer. Was very sensitive to pain mankind, he said. This humanity will soon disappear in a blink their eyes as most of the people he spent his life between work and the TV without seeing anything. And now out of work and only the TV. In this last was right, poor Eduardo. He was happy when I told him I had bought my television from a neighbor in exchange for a dozen eggs every 15 days.

After dinner, if you could call that dinner, we decided to go to the movies. Eduardo liked classical cinema, me too. They gave the film library of Chaplin, The Great Dictator . I asked if Chaplin had been a Illuminati. I said possibly but not sure. I called that night to tell me. And since then from time to time, as I said, Eduardo called me about three o'clock in the morning to notify me something, or that the Illuminati has just launched a new cabala, or a new plan, or that war is about to begin, and what do I know how many other things. It is quite heavy.

After that true work of art of Charlie Chaplin went to have coffee.

- Hey, what you say to your aunt? The poor will be very disappointed.
- My aunt is a bore. We can say that we do not like anything. I'm not to your liking because you like it gorditas. And I will tell you that men have to lose some kilos me fatal fall.

He thought, a little sad to have to lose a few pounds of fat. I did not say that I like chubby men more than presume to thinness. Lest that it should be ideas in the head. That same night, later, confirmed by telephone that Chaplin was not a disciple of the Illuminati. And I said that Monday would go in search of a gym. I said ok, ok. And I went, in peace and alone, Maurice Genevoix in Ceux 14, Verdun sous .

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There are moments in our lives that are literally forks and our future depends entirely on them, key points in our lives.

remember one of these moments. My friend Jean-Marc invited me dinner at a Japanese restaurant to celebrate my birthday that another year would inapercibido at home since I live with a man who forgets everything so is its inertia. Jean-Marc and I came together in a large bookstore in the capital and to leave the store I remember being asked what he preferred most in my life: if animals or books. And I could not answer because my life without all of them have no flavor whatsoever.

indecision was the first that day.

day was a very blue sky with puffy pearls, and thick clouds, one of your childhood skies, open and tender, and full of artistic leadership strange shapes that allow the imagination to work. My friend just give me a travel book, exactly. The Cruel Way , Ella M. Maillart. Walking along the Gran Via discussing how they would be more difficult to travel and that although the world had opened up more and more. Wars and revolutions were present more difficult to reach certain places as mysterious and as beautiful as Afghanistan, Turkey, Iran, Iraq ... Maybe we'd also become less brave, and our own conformism was the longest border and biggest barrier we had and that kept us from being free as were the passengers of the beginning of last century.

In the Japanese restaurant the first thing I asked my friend got a bottle of sake. We keep talking about books and travel. The parallels between reading and travel. Each book is an adventure that starts, a spiritual adventure, an adventure of knowledge and understanding. Our epic interior enriched by more and more readings. Also, a continuous meditation on life and about yourself. This was perhaps the goal of reading, to know thoroughly. In addition to cure many things, which is a way to love, to tame, to deepen and travel.

Sake had a bitter aftertaste that reminded me of stories of drinks and food, mouths, taste. Colette, for example. In his travels always reflected on the palate, an essential part of knowledge. Meanwhile Jean-Marc told me about his next trip in the Gobi Desert. And so suddenly, without more, I asked if I wanted to accompany him.

remember the bitter taste in my mouth sake became something so soft and so good that I started to laugh, but laughter that was like honey. My eyes were laughing too, something that had not happened very often lately. I thought that my friend handsome at that moment that I embraced with a force of great tenderness. Perhaps all this because behind my friend's eyes shone a unique affection, with much understanding, a kind of maternal wisdom, gentle, flexible, friendly. I was so comfortable, so simply at peace with myself, as he entered in the books of these great and brave travelers and that they crossed deserts and mountains and places great names such as Baluchistan, Persia , Isfahan , Elburz , Tashkent, Kyrgyzstan ... suddenly all seemed so accessible, to the other side of my hands, here so close, so possibly close.

- I can not, I am married to Paul.

- But you know he will not say anything, you always tell me that you can take what you want even with Paul in your life ...

And there was the second moment of indecision.

some time has passed since that day. Jean-Marc died, a couple of years, in a plane crash near Istanbul. I follow with my husband apathetic to all reality, locked in his world. At night, returning from the Japanese dinner for a long time I looked in the mirror. I saw a woman a little sad, but very close to myself. The next day the first thing I did was go to the hairdresser to cut my hair.

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Participation in "Blind date" - Chapter 84


address: Sebastian De Caro

indent: Malena Pichot

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The letters from the trenches

Something does not understand and will never understand and it is this desire that certain people have in not wanting to throw anything. I find it incredible. It is as if one were to save, infinitum, the first support. But why, mother of God? Why hang on the wall? "To remember that one was free, this thing so bad that captures your chest? But hey!

bras go, as is everything and there comes a time to sit there and start throwing things away. But seriously: not if ... not ... that alomejor ... Nothing. You sit next to one of these wastes as the one I bought in Portugal the other day, almost as tall as me. A beauty garbage. And for serving a waste? As for that shoot.

I have to admit that it can be a difficult experience, not so much to visit a psychologist, although there are people who would visit him at times like this. I have a friend, for example, that holds up the food bills of their canaries. He says that when they are out their love, only to see a bill will make food for them to revive their love and Kanister Petruska. I do not understand. For me it is a pleasure to shoot. I throw away my life and the proof is that I have hardly anything. But still remain some little things that I have to pay because it does not help save them. How are you my letters exs.

last Saturday so I decided to open this huge box full of letters. I sat accompanied by my dogs and cats in the small courtyard pleased that I have and was getting the cards one by one, read superficially and the trash. How can you save so much nonsense in a cardboard box?

My beloved friend, the desire to be back in your bed blue ... This written by a certain Alberto while he was enjoying a vacation in Cancun with another friend of hers. A waste.

I decided to leave because it is very hard to live two lives ... I had already forgotten about this story. In the trash, then.

'm drinking tea, thinking about your long legs. The scoundrel when he returned from Turkey Turkish forgot to bring me tea. What was his name? Ivan and I know he was a photographer, and very smart. But a wise man is useless if you forget to bring tea. So I left, not only for the tea, which is enough in my scale of values, but other things that I do not remember. But had to be fat. What happens is that all men are alike in the background. My mother was right.

A trash away all these letters of love vague, abstract distant and arguably nonexistent. The years I do understand that what is best for a woman to live alone, without men. I do not really understand the women who can not live without being accompanied by the weaker sex . They say that life without men has no sense . They need to wake up next to a presence because otherwise feel like a vacuum. Obviously do not know how good it is to sleep alone on a good futon and well at ease, without legs or arms at the edge of your body to burden you for the rest of your life. When I wake up first thing you see are the whiskers of Pandora, my Persian cat, here, right under my eyes (dark circles Pandora loves to tickle silver whiskers). And if I go to see a straight face side of Pluto, the French bulldog is prettier than on this planet. Just look at me makes me want to laugh. Does this happen when you open your eyes and you see a man sleeping your side with your mouth open? Come on!

In the garbage, trash and garbage.

A part-time as I prepared a good tea Chinese who do not see my little closer patio: Paquita, the lame. So, here people have nicknames, is for well-defined and not confused with other Paquita. Well, what was: Paquita crept with a plate in his hands, a banana cake and cheese while looking offered me a place to sit . I brought a chair to put next to the trash Paquita looked at him curiously, since in Spain there is no waste of this kind. And then he reported what he was doing. I told him. He became very serious and said that by evil, love letters throw was an act of vandalism to a lonely old age. I would repent, he insisted:

- When you're my age and no one will see ... these letters will be a balm on the long, gray days that await you.

I said that anyway no one was watching me now because men look at girls age 17. He also had many books to read that I never get bored, it is impossible to get bored with reading so much about what happened in the years after that extraordinary war.

- But you continue with this obsession?

Paquita know my passion about the Great War, one day invited her to tea and told him so. He looked at me very kindly and I started talking about his mother, who lived in those terrible years. Since that day, after having listened for more than two hours behind a friendly and attentive silence, Paquita is my friend. It has some goats and occasionally gives me cheese, real cheese, not as those sold in cardboard Mercadona.

La Paquita drank Chinese tea slowly and watched me throw away letters, and not read them, I knew they were from another life, addressed to another woman who did not exist. I do not need cards to be strong, or live, or to find meaning in my life. Shooting is good, to bring order is good. Then what I did was this: I went to make tea, this time an area of \u200b\u200bIraq, and I started reading, surrounded by cats and dogs, What is: letters of fallen soldiers in the field of honor, 1914-1918 , Jacques Benoist-Méchin . A delight.

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Tea and conspiracies

My Aunt Angelina and I have something in common, and it is our passion for tea. Is a vice, a vice but enjoy little like a mortal sin.

Every time I visit my aunt, once a month and nothing else, gave him tea, a tea that she does not know, tea tasty and delicious come from Afghanistan or Iran or India. And my aunt who is very sinful, it gets all red. Not if you feel guilty or not, for my part I think everyone has to cope with their sins.

is because of this passion for tea that my aunt has "Saturday you 'once a month. I am invited and I will always reluctantly. I do not like the human body, I do not like being with people. I like the solitude, books and be with my favorite friends, my dogs and my cats. But my aunt go home because if my aunt did not go to a phone call and give me the can. When leaving the house always check if I carry my Rescue Remedy, by Dr. Bach. Just in case. I would not have a panic attack among their guests.

While your guests are always the same, or rather the same: Adelaide and Dolores. Both are very nice, but I do not like nice people. So it is in a bad mood I'm in front of them. And in a bad mood to hear them talk about their latest purchases, his latest binge and his later encounters with the group to which they are affiliated, a kind of Catholic sect and not very clear about its objectives: secret meetings where planning trips abroad to visit castles where the Templars lived, very elitist conferences on topics such as Rosicrucian or Catharism; films visions some royalty ... When I speak of this organization, called " The group of five " have to see how they shine their eyes and their voices take on a slow schedule and studied, very mysterious tone. But if you believe that envy is wrong. I envy such rubbish, frankly. Life is very simple when one lives with dogs and cats and in a village of 20 inhabitants. Is it so hard to understand this? And to complicate things with so much mystery?

authors also sometimes read a great blandness, as well known as the Dan Brown. In short, each with their madness. And let me, yes, at peace with mine.

My aunt has a very conventional tea, good saves for her, it takes forever alone with her three cats, Nemesis, Pandora and Frankenstein. But with his tea cakes always first quality. I love them, but not just me. Adelaide and Dolores look like two snakes eating the cakes, so I have to make do for at least eat one or two. The rest I've seen here and here and not there.

The Dolores is very strange lately. Have a look so lost and is due, according to Adelaide, a discovery that has made about earthquakes. He says these are caused by the human hand with sophisticated machines that can change the time and everything. I can not believe I so desire absurd incongruities. And I always like to disturb the Dolores is a small defect which gives me much pleasure.

- And it is not possible, Dolores, These earthquakes are caused by the hand of a woman?

Dolores looks at me with disgust while zampa a cake in a quarter of a second. Just the one I had in view. The damned.

This reminds me a reproachful look that is sometimes Eduardo, one of my best friends, since I have few friends but that if it is large. Eduardo is among those who are involved in this conspiracy of . Another absurdity large as the pyramid of Khufu because of my conspiracy theory that makes sense only on this earth is life itself. Somebody played a bad joke installed on this planet. Expected to take and you'll see.

I said, that the conspiracy has me sick . Those who are involved in this kind of intellectualism not stop. That if this or that, if this attack and the other that if the New World Order, that if the Bilderberg , that if men ... Harta reptiles is not the right word, rather disgusted. As complicated like life. With how happy one can be alone with a good book dealing with the First World War and a good tazoncito area. With that I forget even my own existence. Eduardo dares to call me at 3 am, dares to catch me in battle of Verdun, dares to say that President Bush is an Anunnaki and that Obama probably is but that is not very well sure, it lacks evidence.

- And this terrible determination, Eduardo dear friend, I guess it keeps you awake at night is not it?

- Exactly. Luckily there are good friends who understand everything.

- Eduardo, I've caught in the middle of deadly carnage of Verdun, between February 21 and 19 December 1916 just when Philippe Pétain is scratching his chin wondering if it's worth much dead for just a bit, say bit, ground ... but not if you know this battle has killed 250 000 people do you know?

- As I will not know if I've said more than 500 times.

- That's it.

- But you do not realize that the Anunnaki want our extermination?

- Edward, dear friend brave man who dares interrupt me at three in the morning ... let me tell you and we are all dead. Kaputt. Finito. We have all lost at Verdun a rainy morning. And enough of such nonsense.

I think this morning I hung up I'm not sure. Although this does not prevent Eduardo to call when you want to. Again and again, no matter the day or month. is an ingrate. Such are the conspiracy, a species that is taking place but by force of punches and a lot of chutzpah. So where will we get, God only knows.

The closing and opening time eye and is not a single cupcake on a plate that my aunt left us on the oak table. Surrounding this table one day we remember Ouija. But that's another story.

When it's time to go and it is night. My aunt wants me to stay, if I have to insist that my dogs and my cats do not give me any permission to stay overnight away from home because I have very controlled. Before leaving my aunt forced me to go and say hello to Nemesis, Pandora and Frankenstein that during the meeting area have been locked in another room because Adelaide is allergic cats, as bad witch to be. My you always gives me a bag with a roll in a tea that will surely be great, more than it has given us this afternoon. I'm always very happy because I know that at night I can make a good tea, tasty and delicious, surrounded by my dogs and cats and with a good book for company. To ask for more from life!

Cad Drawing For Beer Keg

That is my family heavy

A heavier things in life there is one family. This what I have proven over and over again and there is nothing to do. It would be so great without it, in my case of my aunt, a cousin a uncle. But the family is as inevitable, or we assume and we are well breaded.

My Aunt Angelina is not that bad, quite the contrary. It has a good heart, so they say. But it is heavy. And it is heavy because it does not understand that I am happy without being married or having children. That she not only understands but does not feel like you do not understand. Then it is always the same, provided that calls me say the same words, repeated a text that could almost know by heart. It's a can but it is.

When my aunt called Angelina always ask if I have a boyfriend. I answered that my age and the couple are married and not aunt, who I have boyfriend. She then said that I would have loved to marry me. When he says this stupidity I raise my eyes to the ceiling and I bite my lips. My aunt then pronounce the words, always the same:

- You know they pay you if you marry the honeymoon trip

.

And I always answer:

- Auntie, how are you going to do this if I have boyfriend.

- A two-week trip to Cancun.

- I would have preferred to Tehran.

- Tehran!

- The most dangerous country on earth is Mexico, aunt. As of the drug.

Then my aunt at this moment doubt. Do not know whether to continue and stop this conversation that we both know is not going to lead anywhere.

As I tell my aunt that I am happy with my cats and my dogs, my books, with the simple life I've chosen to live consciously and good heart in a village of 20 inhabitants. Do not need anything else, especially not need a man in my life. Not that the men, these beings as strange, drop me wrong, is not it. I simply say that men are just as heavy as the family. And men I ever met, and the list is relatively long, all without exception but I found very boring, or were fans of football, or were extremely religious and conservative or just had some empty minds, such as zombies, oblivious to everything. And course, no one was interested in the First World War. And that if I can not stand it.

My aunt is not the only heavy in my family. I have a cousin who is the summit of gravity, poor man. From time to time decide to come to me when passing through here (mobile phone seller) and stay the night in my house. His name is John, is high blonde but is a staunch fan of supersonic aircraft and ... aliens. I now suggest to my dogs and my cats to be patient with him and not to misbehave with her incredible portfolio, plenty of pictures of these damn declassified U.S. military aircraft, UFO and strange characters that my cousin has been accumulating throughout his life. After dinner we always do the same thing: we sat in the living room, my cousin out the portfolio of his luggage, dogs and cats sit and watch right next to it and start the roll, and come passing planes, planes supersonic aircraft odd shapes, planes cost millions of dollars but have only been maneuvered once, planes that have the power to go unnoticed, others who are capable of being invisible. I hear and my role is to look interested but basically what I'd do is open one of my books (the last time my cousin came was just reading Berlin Diary by William L. Shirer ) stretch on the sofa surrounded by my dogs and cats with a good cup of Indian tea, and I'm also a fan of teas strange and good for the palate. But no, it can be. When we reached the section of the aliens always ask the same question:

- And how many types or classes of aliens come regularly on the earth?

- visit You mean, why not stay here, this is hot.

- Okay, go.

- Well ... I'd say about 5.

- 5 that.

- Five types of aliens.

Then I do the person concerned. It is simply out of compassion.

- Five!

- Exactly.

- is incredible.

- A type of aliens posing as humans.

- not tell me.

- could be your neighbor or ...

- ... President Obama?

- could.

- I convinced that Obama is an alien.

And so, until the dogs and cats get tired of listening to us and ask us to open the door to go to relieve themselves. They know that when I frantically scrub the ears is the time to ask. My cousin John was not aware of anything, poor.

the thing does not end there. The weight also causes familial Eulesiano my uncle, a fan of Pancho Villa. Thus, there is nothing to do, is, as I said, inevitable. I see my uncle Eulesiano occasionally makes me sad because he is a widower and no one supports this history of Pancho Villa. So when I decide Irlo to see (I'm almost a month Metallic and I have to do a lot of thought before that I will not take a hysterical) my guy gets very happy. All his walls are decorated with pictures of this strange and revolutionary character that Barbara W. Tuchman bandit is drunk and mary smoker in his book so well known on the First World War, The Telegra Zimmermann. My uncle loves and is so heavy Pancho telling me about his life I know by heart, since he was born on July 5, 1878 until his assassination in an ambush on July 20, 1923. Commander, governor, leader, Sancho as hero, villain, and just. The 75 wives, their struggles against the dictatorship of Porfirio Diaz ... His whiskers, their hats, their horses, their farms, their struggles and fights, all in my uncle Pancho Eulesiano great admirer of a revolutionary energy. But my uncle is a heavy, no doubt.

Irremediable family, small yes, but so present in my life. I love her, yes, my way, and she wants her way. But heavy it is!