The hands-on with children was one of those days when you start to smell in the air that winter is slowly crumbling. It continued to rain non-stop but in my heart I believe that would be over, had to end. I thought in June, in our journey of women, and dreamed Finland: lakes and forests, forests and lakes,
The Year of the Hare, The Son of God
of Thunder (which laughter) and planned to continue the study of local literature and then turn on the country Santa Claus, when I bumped into an insurmountable obstacle: the enormous distances and transportation costs, as well as of the time, the preposterous brat. We diverted to
Lakota Saviore ,
Venice and San Benedetto
Oasis: "Yes, Cristina, we would, there was a little hole in our laboratory on the bread? With children? Come on, let's try."
Introducing myself quite excited at the sight of forty eager hands of various sizes. My two kid I say: the little girl feels the daughter of the great stars of the moment and integrates brilliantly with my ranting, the tiny little desire to get lost in a mountain of flour, 'nuff said!
formula tried and tested through years of workshops with the "big", slightly adapted also works with "small" roll the dough between your fingers, hands, arms, smiles, enthusiasm, commitment, concentration and seriousness that moves me.
point will return to the sound of the horn for any subsequent processing. Carefully and gently entrust their loaf to the oven heat. Hungry will eat the cake ready for snack time.
It remains in the heart of their awareness outline that this was a workshop for children but was not a game and we really believed until the end, perhaps more than me. The bread was grateful.
Now I'm here I think, again!, Like a hungry child, yet!
Find a wood stove, a little 'arms of willing and curious eyes and call me. My mother loves pasta astonished glances, knowing always embraces new.
we need is a roof, an oven, flour, and some nice table cloth. Call us, we're waiting.
