I love my kitchen, in fact, a glimpse of one such periodicals interior. The floor is wood and furniture, and even this narrow shelf that fits over the final stretch of marble. I remember how small I could not get her to give my mother the glass jars. They are the size of the pot of jam, but I've always seen them to keep was all kinds of spices. My mother, when cooking, is removed from the marble steps, looks up and runs with his eyes each and every one of the labels that identify the interior of the twelve containers. It is the only way to not take thyme in what purports to be a dessert.
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oregano
We do not have at home. Yesterday afternoon, my mind distracted made that boat slip from my hands. Fell within the limits of marble, like a seesaw that clips onto the waist. Only in this case did not hold on. Hit the rim and exploded into a thousand knives of glass, much of which quickly overcame the distance to the ground. One was stuck in my foot. It was excruciating pain, and after the ER visit, a night of nightmares. Today no trace of oregano or glass. But with my strokes label indicates the name of what has been lost is still there, intact.
(AM)
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