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Celo, celo, missing ...

Today died Franco Cosimo Panini, the father of the figurines, which were then to me especially baseball cards. The news brought me back to the years indientro 70, when I asked my mom to buy 4 pounds of the 100 bags of 25 pounds each. Incredible! I remember waiting for the release of the album, usually in February, and this cost 100 pounds. On second thought, how many things you could buy a time with 100 pounds. The figurines of the smelt, the smell of glue I loved it. I would spend hours leafing through the album, to see again and the faces of the players, but then never fail to complete even one, but that's another story.
At that time, football was the game on Sunday, the games that I did the oratory of the players and the figurative, the figurative yes, so we called. It was a kick bread and sausage, there was no Sky, there were no advances on Saturday, the postponement of Sunday, the Champions League, Controcampo, Process and various crap. We kids waited on Sunday to watch the matches on the radio and see the ninetieth minute, the rest of the week he spent to buy the stickers, stick them on the album and to exchange duplicates: celo, conceal, missing, conceal ..... and to think there were enough 100 pounds to be happy.

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Fex














After the daring expedition in Val di Roseg our intrepid heroes we have tried again and ventured in the Fex Valley. The photo shows the female component of the group involved in climbing.

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A new road

At this point I think that I should explain. Not that this blog has ever been visited by throngs of visitors, however, although some, from time to time, especially between close friends, a trip we did. It was a way to stay connected and to better endure the hardships of the week. It was a way, especially for me, to share my life with people walking to a step away from me, we two. Recently I wrote very little, in March, to this day, I published the misery of a post. Why? Some of you already know the reason, for others it will be a surprise, almost. I'm trying, rather we are trying (and I Deborah), to build a dream. Yes, I think that the word build is perfectly fitting because ultimately most of our free time and working part of what is systematically put into this. Yes, to build step by step.
To explain what I'm talking to those who are totally unaware of these thoughts I must make a leap back in time in sixteen years. It was, in fact, in June 1991 when Deborah and I talked for the first time the dream of opening a cafe-bookshop. Yes, in fact, one of those places where it's nice to sip coffee or tea and all around you are surrounded by books that reassure you, a place to escape the chaos and aggression of everyday life, a place where different humanity can meet and tell .
From that day on a summer of sixteen years ago, my life, and that of Deborah, has followed other paths, but the thought, that thought, there has never abandoned his closest friends know this very well because often have patiently listened to the description of our dream. Over the last year we pulled out of the dream from the drawer and tried to make it happen. With patience and tenacity we have tried to divert the path of our life towards a different path, perhaps more difficult, but certainly with a better view. All this to tell you that today, perhaps, this road is very near, a few more steps and we get there.
I will keep you updated.

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Table football

early February, has died in Spain, forgotten by everyone, Alejandro Finisterre (1909-2007). This name will not tell you much, I do not know the existence of the rest and I have become aware of its history using the Internet. He was an opponent of the Franco regime and, therefore, was forced to live away from his country wandering through the world and arranged in some way. The secret police in Guatemala identified and put on a plane with destinzione Madrid. But he, rot in a jail of Franco, did not want to just know. So he went in the toilet of the plane, he found a bar of soap, made a gun and forced the pilot to land in Panama.
Alejandro Finisterre was a poet, philosopher, carpenter, painter and tap dancer, but more importantly, and this is why I tell you his story, he was the inventor of the futbolin namely football. He built this game for the children who had lost the use of his legs during the English war. Yeah, playing foosball. Once I found them everywhere, in bars, in the speakers, the bathing establishments. Now, at least in large cities, have virtually disappeared, victims of the Playstation and other video games that lobotomized brain.
Thanks Alejandro, also from me that in football, have never been good.