In times of chaos like this, among a thousand requests, annoying customers and petulant, and zero desire to do only the good sense to stop me blow it, I like to imagine myself in a huge art studio full of paints and brushes, canvases and other soiled white. Dream tables full of clay to be molded, precious stones and colored glass to be set to forge. Not having any of this the only action I can do and that comes close to what I like to do is cook a dessert.
Nothing is more delicious that the smell of cakes for the home. Cinnamon, vanilla, cocoa ... apples. And it's just nice to share with those you love what you cooked. The slice of cake on the saucer of china, forks, good service and an aromatic tea after meal. I know, I would have tea, in Italian, but I prefer to use the English term,
And all this must be tasted before the sun obliges you to stay away from home before spring arrives to disrupt the small daily habits. Should be made to enjoy the warmth of home, the flames of fire, rain, and why not, the windows steamed up.
Nothing reconciled me with the world to leave the office, wearing scarf and hat and feel the biting cold, see the clouds of smoke that form when you speak or breathe and walk slowly to the car imagining that this is not the way road that goes from office to car, but one of those paths of the English countryside, bordered by beautiful houses with slate roofs and gardens. And from my beloved bay windows can be glimpsed the hosts who drink brandy before the fireplace and talked among themselves of the new events in the county.
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