notice a diminishing desire to celebrate birthdays. The syndrome of white hair is taking shape more in-house over our heads and that I think is a symptom related to the rains of recent days. Here in the north the clouds pass usual, umbrellas open and get wet, you can see a few glimpses of sunshine from November to March. The air stinks, in these streets. The future smells of "Freedom for Italy" (this will arrive shortly) and that there had been so far, faces the same coin that debris after sowing realized that they no longer want to continue to divide the metal valuable to show on the podium. In my small way, I still want to my share of the podium, with people standing next to me, though when I pick up the phone (an archaic expression, in the era of cell phones) for the usual greetings, I realize that I should have less of them than they ever did interested parties to receive them. Not because I do not like to hear them, imagine their faces that giggle at the sound of the hundredth day, talk, but because we are so absorbed by the search for stability that we have to wait for a birthday deal. I had my way, dear friends passed the next year will be meeting in front of a table periodically to tell you that I want to continue to hope, in the enthusiasm to celebrate in front of the child as well as in cake little things I keep in my bag of irregular happiness. Why does nothing to regulate the youth in recent years, including a law that does not belong to those who legislate (never was quite and still less can it be now) and the belief that better to make the kingdom around us are the details of each day, a smile, a girl on the subway, a memory that comes at the right time. Whatever you like this, what little is left of your plunged into a laugh, is the grip to be happy when you feel the weight of a year that has passed. Cling to this, if you see the dark after turning off the candles. 
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