Creative Writing in eTwinning - a hands on experience a story about a photo 15-22 December 2012
Regarding the photobook you sent me, I found very touching how a series of images run to different people releasing evocative and narrative possibilities. It is, if you want, a documentation of what is said about the content of a photograph: it belongs to the viewer regardless of the intent of the photographer and what he sees as the content of a photograph.
Stories written by:
Evi Kousidou Efi Fillipaki Grit Brungrӓber Angela Tsakiri Anghelina Ciotlos Unknown Lidia Monica Boje Carla Asquini Fernanda Cristina Gonçalves Dimitris Tzintzas Ingrid M. Gallardo Provvidenza Martorana Joanna Zalewska-Coldron Jose Luis García de Diego Niculina Chiper , Romania Karol Barriuso Maria da Luz Borges Paraskevi Leontopoulou Maríe Helene Fasquel Georgia Kosma Nena Mandelj Unknown! Olga Antonioli Reny Dara O’ Driscoll Anna Szczepaniak Maria Vassilopoulou Rosa Delia Tea Horvatic Teodora Cosma Lia Molini Silvana Turcinovich Petercol Hermina Popa Melania Filip Yıldız Kanlıöz Argyris Zimaras Athanasia Papachristou Pinelis Paraskevas
The beautiful soul http://www.flickr.com/photos/ermiskasapis/4255723429/
She used to be really beautiful in her youth. Wherever she entered, everybody used to look at her with admiration. Even her students. Now she feels old. Her happy eyes have wrinkles all around them, but they are laughter wrinkles. She had great laughs in her life. She still has. She enjoys life very much. Anybody can realize that by just looking at her. Big eyes, open to new experiences and ideas. A face always smiling and kind to people, mostly young people. Hands often crossed before her mouth, with long fingers. Beautiful hands, kind hands, giving hands. She had written hundreds and hundreds of pages, with these hands. She had correct thousands of students’ papers with these hands. She had caressed young heads with these hands. She had caressed equally beautiful young souls like hers’ with these hands. For almost 30 years in the classrooms, giving knowledge, inspiration, … love. And now, she gets retired. Not tired, retired. She could still teach for another 30 years, but her health doesn’t permit it. The colleagues brought some wine in her office. She brought some great finger food she cooked for the last day at school. A little present for colleagues, the life companions. A little celebration perhaps. The principal permitted it. Nobody could refuse Anna that favor. Besides, everybody loves her. Everybody will miss her. The school will never be the same without her. Students have already said goodbye. They gave her a ring for present. She immediately wore it. Now the giving hands with the long, kind fingers have the students’ ring as a souvenir of a giving and loving life at school. Her always laughing big and bright eyes are now wet. Their love was overwhelming. Their love will help her overpass that difficult obstacle. She is sure about that. And the big bright wet eyes will laugh again. After all she is not just another beautiful woman. After all she is most of all a beautiful soul. Evi Kousidou
Maria, a middle aged woman, is a teacher. She works in a primary education school. Her husband is a doctor and works in a general hospital. Today she has just finished her job. Before going home she would like to have a break in her daily life. She decided to stay in a small cafe and take a coffee with her best friend Irene. She would like to exchange some words, far from students and lessons, with someone who really loves her. She is so tired!! Waiting for her friend, Maria is thinking of her family. Her son lives in another city and is waiting his first baby. In a few months she will be grandmother. A new member in her family and in her life. Great happiness!! How quickly passed twenty eight years, from the time she got to her hug her own baby!! Twenty eight difficult but also exciting years!!!!!
http://www.flickr.com/photos/ermiskasapis/4758619970/in/gallery-assimina-72157632150369707/ This is the link to the photo the text is about
Some weeks ago I could not believe it: I have two weeks to myself. I - that is me, Ann. I am 44 years old, German, married and I have two wonderful children. I do love my family, otherwise I would not have a busy life, be a mother and work, often have full days and sometimes also sleepless nights because of problems that arise during the day or a certain period of time. I do love my life with all the good and bad sides – if there were not any bad, one would not long for the good, and the other way around. I have several hobbies, but still, I sometimes miss having time for myself. Not just an hour or two, like when I do sports or read a book. Now I have got two full, long weeks,that means fourteen days and nights, to be spend with enjoyable things, wow – what a feeling! I have just arrived. It is mid August and my first day here in Anatoliki, Attikki, Greece. Sitting on a bench, I have closed my eyes to feel the sun on my skin, get a feeling for the place I am at and let the last hour pass in review : Having thrown my luggage in the small hotel not far from the beach, I have been on a walk to explore my surrounding I have for the next two weeks. There is a small restaurant I have walked by, near the hotel I stay at. It is a clean, white buildung with green and lightblue shutters and a door that has the same colours. There are shining red geraniums at the entrance and flowerpots in all windows. A few people are sitting outside. The scent of feshly prepared fish and fried meat is still in my head. The sea is just behind the raod that is to be seen in the background. Seeing that shell sign behind me, I am glad I have not taken the car. It is good to get in touch with a place by soaking it in, trying all the typical things like going by public transport or staying at a calm, lonesome beach. The fields are all yellow – the wheat is almost ripe to be harvested. It is only a question of time when the big combine harvesters move slowly from the one to the other side of the field. Lorries will go next to them to be filled with cut full ears. Then, the end of summer is near – not a nice thought, as I love it too much. My feet hurt a little as I am not used to longer walks. But this one was worth it. How I love the sea! And it is not just one word – sea
means the typical fishy scent when one is at the beach, its colour that goes from almost purple if there is a storm to light blue and turquoise, cyan, bluish-green shades when it is mid-summer, the little colourful fisherboats when I take a swim in the morning, the loud gulls, tanned, sunbathing people, amongst them new tourists, the salty skin after I have taken a swim and my hot skin sense the effects of a sunburn at night. It is almost noon and I am thinking of what to do next. Should I go to the little restaurant or should I wait for the next bus to take me to the next small place to see more tavernas, hotels, little boutiques, souvenir shops and meet tourists? Thinking of some wine I would like to have with my lunch, I decide for the first. After lunch, I could walk to the right from my hotel. This will add to the almost perfect first day of my holidays. ... Grit BrungrÓ“ber
Her name is Vaggelitsa. She was born, raised and lived her whole life on a remote island of the Aegean. A life, a whole life of giving. But who can tell, one may wonder…To most people it may seem that in her whole life, she has done nothing extraordinary, gone nowhere special, met no one important, achieved nothing big. She is a plain woman, a housewife, a mother, a grandmother, a waitress in her husband’s coffee shop, a cook, a farmer, a member of the women’s association of the island, a member of the clergy, a singer in the local choir, a babysitter to her grandchildren, a helping and caring neighbor, a friend, and so many more that such a plain and common person may be. She has achieved such great things, such as raising a family, keeping a house, having a job, playing an active role in the community. Is her name going down in history? It is most likely that few people will remember her after she’s gone. Yet her contribution on this Earth is as remarkable as a writer’s story that will remain intact. She was as devoted and dedicated to her cause as a scientist. And she has succeeded in creating something though humble as it may seem. It is time for her to take a break now, sit back and enjoy life as she has created it….because it is the life of a great person. Angela Tsakiri
Are the last days of school ... are more satisfied with myself ... I finished another year of hard work, great dreams come true with colleagues and students. Community and she had beautiful days in which students were involved and were helped, planned and sustained shared themes with enthusiasm. more playful sunshine makes me happy. I think the holiday that comes at the way that I will make Lisbon. Sun bathe my cheek and playful threads in my hair that leaves breeze. I'm waiting, Lisbon! Anghelina Ciotlos
Life has just begun, again. To be honest, she was actually glad the car had run out of gas. And although the gas station was no more that a mile away she decided to take the opportunity to sit on the wooden bench overlooking the river. The weather was fairly mild and she turned her face happily to the warmth of the sun. She smirked at the thought of what he would say if he caught her sitting here. It had only been a day since she left him, but sitting here just off the E10 with a broken down car and a fairly worrysome cashflow she felt nothing but peace and tranquility. She had always known that there was something going on with him and his childhood friend Linda, more than he ever conceeded to anyway. But when Lindaâ€™s divorce was finalized there was no holding back, so when she caught them in the back of the yard during the barbecue she was hardly surprised and to her own amazement not even angry, she was simple relieved. Relieved that the thing she had been dreading for years had finally materialised. So she went to the house wrote him a short note, packed her bags, started the car and left. She felt like a bird freed from her cage. Life had only just begun.
Bad habits The story of Brigitte and her bad habits! She is a beautiful 9 years old girl with straight blond hair and blue eyes. She is at a football match with her parents. Her father is a big fan of football and so he bought 3 tickets for the Manchester United vs. New Castel United match, on Old Trafford stadium. She likes football, too, but she has a bad habit. She is sucking her finger every time she is stressed, bored or lonely. She knows that this is a bad habit and her mother always tells her to take her finger out because she’s not a baby anymore. But this is not her fault! This habit is a behavior that is continuously repeated without her being aware of doing it. Now, Brigitte is watching the match so attentive that she doesn’t even realize she’s sucking her finger again. Suddenly, her mother touches her back gently, turning her attention to what she’s doing. Oh, I have to stop doing this! she taught. Mummy told me that she’ll buy me a beautiful Barbie girl if I don’t do this anymore… Hmmm, I want that doll so much!!! Sorry Mum, from now on I promise to behave myself! Lidia Monica Boje
She is an art teacher but she doesn’t work any more at school, because she has retired. During her teacher-career she had the fortune to experiment many exciting eTwinning projects with partner from all over the world and she enjoyed them so much that she became eTwinning addict. From eTwinning she passed to Comenius and one time she visited the Italian partners in Venice. It was February and she could admired the traditional masks and costumes during the Carneval Celebrations. Now she spends her whole time in her cottege in the wood near Tessaloniki. Carla Asquini
There is a Gipsy girl who lives with her family in a city and she went school but she felts different because the other children talked to much about Christmas and she doesn’t have Christmas, she doesn’t know what the meaning of Christmas and one day one child brings her a cake and share her lunch with her. She felts very well because she was hungry, and the girl told her that is the real meaning of Christmas, share what we have. The gipsy girl didn’t understand because the others told every time about trees, about Santa Claus, but the girl said that is only decorations and if she wants she could go to the shopping see all the decorations but the real meaning are the simple gestures. The gipsy girl wins a friend for life and today they could share all the opportunities to be happy and felt in the real Christmas spirit. Fernanda Cristina Gonçalves
Marja Gustavsson (1958-) Born 54 years ago in Stockholm Sweden. Her life didn’t follow the usual direction. Marja started a family when she was 18 and she began to study economics in her late 20’s. She graduated from the University when she was 34 and followed Post Graduate studies in Business Administration. Her career seemed to take on when she occupied the head director position in a large Finnish company (Nokia). She continued her academic research in the university of Tampere and by the age of 40 the whole world was in her hands. She was proposed for the Nobel prize in Economics for her research on ensuring economic agents in 2009. She finally won the $1.2m annual prize awarded by the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences! However, 2 years ago, something changed her life. She got a divorce and her daughter left her to follow her father. She started drinking and resigned from her work. She decided to travel around the world. She visited Africa, Asia and South America. She met people, cultures and learned things that never imagined. She’s got back to her hometown last September. All her troubles seem to be left in the past now. She says her journeys were a very revival experience but they only lead to our real selves, our inner ‘ego’. The book describing her journey to meeting her real self is called “The real me” and it climbed in the No1 of the best seller books for the last 7 weeks. We had the opportunity to meet her and ask her a few questions. The photo above was taken in a small bistro in Norrköping, Bomulls Fabriken, when she came 4 days ago to participate in a charity gala for the Greek starving people. She says Greece is the only place in earth that every one of us should visit. Her life, after all has a lot in common with that small country of the south.
Emil Jakobsson Norrköpings Tidningar Dimitris Tzintzas
She couldn’t believe her fate. María did not know what to tell her daughter and her grandsons. She was the family holder and now was unemployed. Luck did not knock at her door today, quite the opposite she had woken up at 7:00 as usual and arrived at the office at 8:00. Her boss was waiting for her and she hadn’t even noticed his dark looking and his hand holding the typical dismissal letter. But now that everything has changed her life, she will not let anything wrong happen to her family. She is of the opinion that one draws one’s destiny. In other words we are the result of our choices so, she is determined not to flank and to wake up early in the morning, fill her bag with CVs and go to any place where a possible post could suit her expectations. That’s life, ups and downs and the most important thing is not to let anything get you down.
Ingrid M. Gallardo
Ismael, the gipsy boy. Ismael was a skinny boy whose eyes were wide as the vast desert he has left in his own country. He used to run, barefoot, all day long. He was never tired. It gave him freedom and happiness, even if his eyes never laugh. He seemed always sad, but he had lots of friends and he spent most of his time with them. In the morning they went to school. School!!! A barrack where two teachers, alternatively, came and worked with a group of thirty children, teaching them writing and counting. They also sang together, drew, made pastries and puppets. That day it was a strange day, it was hot, the air was humid and Ismael’s father came and call him… Ismael knew: it was time for him to leave the school and go to work. The time of light-heartedness and freedom has finished forever…
(The photographer captured beautifully the moment in which Ismael’s father called him and the sadness in his eyes is so impressive that it struck me)
Something about Rose Travell
She’s name Rose. Rose Travell. She have always known that her destiny is travelling. Not becouse of her family name. No, no. That was/is only a nice coincidence, that sounds very good. Long time ago she won a competiton and become an assistant of a famous traveler and explorer. She learnd and experienced a lot during the 10 years of journeys and trips. She speaks fluently four languages, she can survive in the jungles of South America, she can ride an elephant, she can find the water in the desert… She love challenges, danger and axplore a new areas. She also like green tee, red wine and blackberries. She can sit down in a café with cup of tea and wach people, situations. She is thinking how can she use in a practical way her great experience and knowledge. She’s got a lot ideas but she need more energy to make them true. Maybe a kind of cubes game?
She is a primary pupil with a lot of bored homework. She has finished the school and she was coming back home. The teacher has been talking about etwinning and Comenius project during the day and she is thinking of other pupils like her in other European countries. She is reticent about being involved in those projects but at the end she will win a lot a new friends all around Europe. She do not know it, but she will enjoy a lot with the new etwinning and Comenius projects. She has not enough money to travel, but with the project budget she will be allowed to travel and see her new friendships. Jose Luis GarcĂa de Diego
The christmas came and everybody was joyful and happy. The sky was silver and radiant. Snow was falling down and the whole town was covered in white. It was the Christmas Eve and the everybody was celebrating. A kid was watching outside the window with a gloomy, distant expression on his face, for he is an orphan from an orphanage, and he knew that, this Christmas, he is not going to share the joy with his family, for he has none. He, however, knew that one day, the time when he will be among loved ones will come, even though it did not come until today. The morning after Christmas Eve, he went to the christmas tree. There was nothing there for him. He wasn't surprised however, as this was always how it was, nothing has changed. Nonetheless, he could not help not showing a gloomy face due to the hardships he has to fight with. He had a faint hope that one day Santa Claus will come for him as well, even though, the fire that lit that hope seemed to have been lit off. As he was about to plunge back into his old, rough bed, he heard a voice calling for him. It was the orphanage staff's maid, calling him. He was being brought to the person leading the orphanage. Once he arrived there, he saw a composed man dressed into a black suit and a beautiful young lady in a white dress. He was quite absent-minded, and he was looking down at the ground. He was still thinking of how this Christmas, he had nothing to share joy about and nobody to share it with. The orphanage principal started talking to him, but he did not change his facial expression. Then, all of a sudden, he heard a word he thought he would never hear ever: â€œAdoptionâ€?. The two persons standing before him, the young man and woman, were intending to adopt him. He suddenly lift his head up and gave a smile which he did not show for a very, very long time. This was the best Christmas he ever had, because Santa Claus fulfilled his wish which he longed for so long. When this one boy grew up, he built his own orphanage to help those in need just like Santa Claus did to him. Niculina Chiper , Romania
For Ourania, the memories of what she endured in her life are almost too much to bear. She remembers being hooded, interrogated and tortured when she was just 17, unjustly imprisioned during the Greek Civil War, around 1947. She remembers the cruelty of war; Greeks killing Greeks. When she closes her eyes, all her feelings come in a torrent. She stills can smell the rottenness of decaying bodies all over the hills... Her blood brothers... She was never able to understand. Now, after so many years, her face reads like a road map of time, every wrinkle has a memory in it and her once raven black hair now faded to grey, remembers she how lucky she was to survive all these...
The Beauty of Women – X By Ermis Kasapis Dream ... I'm a dreamer ... The years go by, life rushes, and as time passes I'm changing, but one thing does not change ... I am a dreamer. I like to put the pink dream glasses on and let dream follow his way inside my mind. Why? Well, it is easy… and even if I know that sometimes life is hard even if you just have to look at my face, marked with the long lines of time, to realize that life wasn`t always been easy. But if we dream, if we are able to keep in us the ability of dreaming, we can always go further. My face may look tired, my skin can show the passage of time and the hardships of life, but my eyes are shining and reflect the joy that fills my soul, the joy of dreaming. Yes, I dream. I am a dreamer A dreamer… The dream… Dream!!! So, let´s dream!
Maria da Luz Borges
Maria Dolores Her name is Maria Dolores. She comes from a town near to Malaga in Spain. She was the wife of Antonio for 30 years. But one morning, she wake up and her husband was disappeared. She was looking for him for two years. Until she heard whispers that Antonio was living with another woman somewhere in Madrid. She went to Madrid to find him, to assure what she was heard. She found him, but she did not approach to him. She was watching him for a month. He was living his new life as there was never another before. Maria Dolores returned to Malaga. She kept inside her the life she had lived with Antonio. She never spoke about him again. But she did not allow herself to show any regression for what she had done with him. And she did not show any more pain for what she had felt. She was always the woman that could looked at the people straight in their eyes.
Elena I am glad to present Elena. Elena is an ever-thoughtful friend who enjoys reading, watching interesting movies, visiting places and writing. She is the mother of two girls, aged 20 and 18 who absolutely adore reading her short stories about life and the meaning of life. She keeps making friends all around the world thanks to her favourite online community, eTwinning and teaches Russian and ESL.
MarĂe Helene Fasquel
My beloved mother! Mercilessly ripen by life, never complained about anything, always with a warm smile on her face. Survived a war, survived the loss of her beloved brother. Worked as a teacher teaching classes of 107 pupils back in the '50s. Got married to and had two children with my recently deceased father and has simply withdrawn to herself for the past 15 months. We are all suffering his loss. Yet, she's never stopped brightening our dullest days with her warm words, wisdom and is still teaching us great lessons of life. Georgia Kosma
I sit and rest. As the sunflower I turn towards the sun. A gentle breath of air cools my heated head. I was tired, but now the sun slowly regain my strength. I need sunlight, I want warmth. It makes me feel good. School year is so long and so short at the same time. It`s so intense, it takes all my breath away, takes all my energy away. I love my job, it isn`t only work, is the way of life. Therefore I need moments to regenerate myself. I need moments, when there are only sun, air and me. Now I know, I can stored those feelings, that they will be available, when the winter comes and cold and short day. Because as I told before, I need sunshine and warmth.
Nice moments in the Sun ….I love Sun and the subtle warmness of its beams… Now I can enjoy it with a piece of my heart. I don’t have all these chores of everyday life when your children need your attention 24 hours a day, I can devote to my job, to spread my wings and be satisfied with my work. During my worse days I had a life lesson: I learned to accept things I cannot change and change the ones I can and differentiate between them. Although the things could went better I am happy because there could be worse… I am healthy, I can work – I like my job – that’s the blessing, my son met a wise and good girl; I call her a witch as when she moved to our house some incredibly GOOD things happened to my son . I believe that this is the power of love – hopefully it won’t disappear with the flow of time. Just sometimes thinking about my daughter – I wish she would change the way of her life but that is the issue I cannot do anything about. Some say:” Leave it! You can’t influence her. If something is going to happen to change her life to better it will happen but without your pressure. All you can do is TO PRAY and NOT TO LOSE HOPE.”
â€Ś Manuela. Who is she? A sweet11-year-old girl who, last month, moved with her family from the country to a small town. It is summer. The small park opposite her new house is full of trees and flowers. What a nostalgia! She misses her old house and her friends a lot! She used to play with them, to run across the fields and to help her grandparents to feed the animals. One day she has a close encounter with three pigeons and from that moment on she meets them every day. Someone has taken a photo of her while she is talking with her new friends. A fourth pigeon is joining them: it is jealous not to be so much loved!
Kindness Look at her! Look at her! This beautiful girl! You can see her good face And her kind tasteâ€Ś I like her Because I find myself When I think about you, my dear friends! Reny
Based on the Lady in the Cafe Stolen moments. Lydia savours the sense of being invisible that only the city can provide. For all that she had achieved in life this was the world she had always dreamed of, the world where every day allowed her to foster a new fantasy and she felt she could be the character and not simply the storyteller. For today alone, she was the woman who sipped cafe noir in this quintessential Parisian bistro, who chose the cardigan solely for the texture of the cashmere not sparing a sideways glance for the price tag, who wandered casually from independent art gallery to quirky boutique. Her imaginings flew her through the shutters of an open-plan apartment in the bohemian quarter and the warming scent of Coq au Vin filled her nostrils as she casually sipped chilled champagne. She could sketch the vintage-inspired furnishings and hear the soft jazz floating delicately through open windows from the cobbled alleyways below. Alexander was there too, no fantasy allowed her to leave him behind, working on his latest book and teaching at the local university. The academic and the freelance journalist living their urban dream, inspired to be creative and independent by the ghosts of Hemmingway and Wilde who haunted the cafes and jazz clubs of literary Paris. She wondered absent-mindedly if curious passers-by glimpsed her as some version of her imagined self or if something in her demeanour betrayed the less glamorous reality. Not that the reality was filled with any catastrophe or tragedy. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Lydia had married her lifeâ€™s great love. Gradually, their careers had blossomed and they lived very comfortably in a close-knit community in rural Ireland where they knew everybody and of course all knew them. Life afforded them the opportunity to see their respective families often and fortune had generally smiled kindly on them. However, the ties that bound them to their home sometimes felt like binds that they couldnâ€™t break. The commitments of real life, the contracts of employment and long-term mortgage agreements sometimes made their daily life seem like a life sentence. The familiarity of family and friends on every corner could not but breed contempt when Lydia felt stifled by the security and the mediocrity.
She realised that she was so privileged and yet longed for a life less ordinary. She wished sometimes to simply sit alone in a bustling bistro and dream of other worlds but there were no bistros and in rural Ireland women simply did not sit alone in bars. For all she loved about her life, it lacked the variety and the vivacity she craved. To be bored with Paris, New York or London was, she agreed, to be bored with life but it was far easier to become bored with an isolated village on the west coast of Ireland. And so rather than allow their world to grow too narrow, because Lydia and Alexander feared that their minds may then be in danger of following suit, they forged an agreement. On four occasions every year, to coincide with the changing seasons, they would travel to the great cities of the world. They would spend their time, some together and some apart, soaking up the sights and sounds of the worldâ€™s greatest cities, writing or simply watching, speaking or merely listening but most importantly experiencing and enjoying. There they would live and breathe diversity and culture. They would be free to be whoever they wanted to be, if only for those brief stolen moments.
Dara Oâ€™ Driscoll
Hi, I’m sitting here in the pub and waiting for my friend. He’s late again. Never mind, it often happens. She’s so busy, she’s got so many things to do, so many people to visit. I have time, nobody waits for me. I have bought something for her. Is she going to like it? I hope so. Last year I also was so busy, I had so many things to do, I had someone I wanted to do all these things for. Now when they all left the city, I feel so lonely, I wait for every call from them. They are so busy, they have no time to phone. I can wait… Last year I complained I had so much do to, so many places to go,… it was great!!! I felt they needed me, they wanted me to visit them… I hope to meet them very soon, I have to fly to them, very soon…
Helena , a special lady An amazing lady, a strong fighter in life, who has always broken through walls to achieve her personal and professional goals. Helena, was only eighteen when she passed in law school chasing her dream to become a successful lawyer. Endless sleepless nights on assignments, striving to meet deadlines , to fulfill the promise to herself that she will always find the way to proceed despite the obstacles that life sets to fighters. She was young enough when she realized that human limits exist to surpass them and borders to go beyond. That became her motto that she later taught her child, a girl she gave birth to when she was 28 years old. She felt blessed as life had smiled on her efforts and her positive nature which never let her stop dreaming , sipping each tiny drop of knowledge that she could come across. And now she is standing here with a proud glow of gratification in her glance, listening to her grown-up child reading an excerpt from her first novel dedicated to the â€œ The person I admire most, my mother â€? . . Maria Vassilopoulou
This is the story of an old tradition that started a long time ago. Once upon a time there was a lady who helped people to survive to a cruel war, very hard times like all the wars, and she didnâ€™t want to be recognized, therefore she used a different mask. She wanted everybody to realize that they could trust each other, it doesnâ€™t matter his/her face or appearance. When she passed away, people wanted to remember that date and they they started to celebrate a special Carnival using masks. Nowadays, they also try to maintain the spirit of solidarity.
He is a man who has seen everything. Some people would call him Mr Knows It All. But who am I to tell. He’s just someone’s grandpa looking for some cash to spend at the bar. He likes having a nice cold beer after a hard day of not doing anything. Because finally, he can. He deserved it. He gave his best years working for the big shots of business. Now he can simply relax and have everything his way. No more hard work at the office, no more peer pressure or stressful deadlines. He travelled the world only to find happiness within. Happiness was always there, right in front of his nose. His family and wife are his most precious accomplishments. He is celebrating his 75th anniversary now and that’s the happiest point in his life. That’s what he is laughing at! HA! I got them!
The Beauty of Women - X. Mrs.Xena Davidson, profesor doctor in the comparative literature, owing to its altruistic spirit, of the emotional balance, of her vast erudition and by her culture that always captures the listeners with her fascinating cultural - artistic talent, was called by colleagues and by his students - Lady X. Is surprised now, by the camera before the winter holidays, with one of its students, debugging her memories.
The big event in Pip’s life. In a rainy day Pip’s life changed. As usual he sat on the church steps near the big square where lots of people walked and ran every day. He was expert in cleaning shoes and boots. His dad was a shoemaker and when he was a child he loved to see him repairing shoes and then polishing them. When his dad died he was only 10 years old. His mum did not work and his 5 years-old sister was hungry. So, he left the school, he went into the streets and started to clean pedestrians’ shoes. Since then this has been his life. He has cleaned the rich people’s shoes and earned as much as to help his family. Until that rainy day. It was cold and damp; the steps were wet and Pip collected some magazines to sit on. It was 9 in the morning. People were running to their work. A refined man was walking slowly in the crowd. He gave a look at Pip. “Sad day today, isn’t it?” “It is. The sky is grey and everywhere is wet. The world is crying!” “What’s your name?” “My name’s Pip”. “How long are you going to stay in the street every day?” “It depends: sometimes I can resist until the sun goes away, sometimes I go home at 4. The more I stay the more I earn!”. “I can understand. Well, I am Mr Blackboots and I come from Italy. I have a bid shoe factory. My shoes are popular all over the world and I’m here to build a new factory. What about working with me and being the director of this new activity?” “This is a great thing! I cannot believe it! I will be really glad with working for and with you, sir!”. “Well, come with me and we’ll talk about the details of our collaboration!” Pip’s life was changing: he was already imaging his mum’s face at this piece of news. He stood up and followed Mr Blackboots. Lia Molini
The fourth- jealous- pigeon
Clare was a second grader. Her parents had just split up and she was going through a difficult period. Teachers at school were not showing her much empathy and her school mates avoided her because they considered her a bit odd. She was mature and sensitive and didn't like playing dolls any more. She preferred spending her time reading books or playing with Kiky, a little parrot who imitated Clare's voice in a funny way. He had learnt a short refrain from Clare's favourite song and repeated it all the time. Clare adored him and every day after school she would open Kiky's gate and let him fly around. Sometimes Kiky went near the mirror and talked for hours to his image reflected in it. ÂŤHe imagines there is another parrot in the mirrorÂť Clare thought. This amused Clare who would laugh with joy and forget about her worries. But one day when her mother forgot to close the window and Kiky flew out of the house. It was a terrible moment for Clare when,
coming from school, she discovered the empty gate and the open window. She ran down the stairs and started to search desperately in the park. But nothing. Kiky had gone. She thought her heart was going to break into pieces. Then, all of a sudden she noticed four grey and azure birds under the old chestnut tree. They were pigeons. One of them was lying on the grass with a tilted head: he was hurt. The poor creature was terribly afraid and was desperately trying to fly, but had a broken wing. When Clare came closer, the other three birds flew away frightened. Immediately, Clare took the poor pigeon to the veterinary surgeon who worked in the building opposite her school. He put some bandages around his wing and gave Clare some medicine. He also explained her how she had to treat him. She was worried and sad for the bird so she brought him home and put him in a box. Every day she fed him and talked to him with a loving and soft voice. Even if her heart was sad she tried her best to help the poor creature. After a few days the pigeon started to liven up. He seemed to be happy and to trust her. He was healed and ready to fly again. Clare understood that it was time to bring him back to the old chestnut tree and to let him go... She was sad. She would miss him so much... The following day after school, while she was crossing the square opposite her home she saw something she could have never imagined. The four pigeons were flying around her, stopping on her shoulder and moving gently down along her arms... It seemed they had recognised her and wanted to greet her. She was so happy and excited! But there was one who behaved in a strange way: was he a little bit jealous of sharing his beautiful friendship with his mates? Or was he trying to show her how good a flyer he had become? Anyway, Clare was amazed and laughing loud with joy! Since then, whenever she comes home, there are always four friends waiting for and greeting her... Clare and the pigeons are very fond of each other and they always have a lot of fun together. She doesn't feel lonely any more and all her outings are filled with joy... Although from time to time, Py can be naughty with his mates. Does he want to show her his great affection and excitement, to distinguish himself or simply be treated as her ÂŤspecialÂť one...?
Silvana Turcinovich Petercol
Click here for My chosen image The gratification of the live crowd It's raining. Lightning cuts through the dark sky. I need to run through the rain to clear my mind. I feel like I'm easier. I wish I could do a jump over next hour. With every minute that passes I feel as the sand that drains in hourglass into the same rhythm of my heart. I approach. Beyond the curtain I hear the bustle of the hall. I think they would devour me if I make a mistake. I know that once you walk onto the stage, you don't get a second chance to reappear. I close my eyes. In my mind, I see HER. I reconstruct my face, including facial expression, gestures. I transform myself. I turn around. I look in the mirror and I see HER. Now I wear a mask of words. In my mind and in my whispers, the words are blind.I walk onto the stage. I do not feel anything, but I know that I'm alive. Now there is nothing . I hear only grains of sand and their enthusiasm. Applause.... Ovations. ... My soul is silent, my eyes are burning, my heart dripping, my eyes flashed. The roar of the hall shred my illusions and carry them to other worlds. I remain only with tears. I feel that my soul is full of bruises. God, how much color you put in it! "You know what? I can't stand applause. But I crave the rain"
The Island of our youth The island had received her back again with love. The few houses on the shore, the lighthouse from the sea and the high coconut trees seemed to be there, from the beginning of the world. The same picture finds out Sarah 25 years ago, when she arrived there, in a summer vacation. For 18 years old young girl the island had seemed a dreamland. That summer stayed in her heart as an oasis of light and she was returning with the memory there whenever she was sad. That time had been the happiest of her life. The island was small and has few inhabitants. She liked to roam alone. Thus, she had found in a small Bay a beach with white sand, touched only by the fallen coconuts and seagulls resting their flight. Also there, on a rock out of the sea, stood a deserted lighthouse. She doesnâ€™t know why but she hasnâ€™t enough courage to walk over there. She sat on a wooden bench on the shore and watched it. Around him, the sea changes colors: green, turquoise, blue. The lighthouse, however, remained unchanged, a spotless white. Often she liked to come here and paint: the beach, the sea, the lighthouse and the sky always blue. Here the air was full of butterflies, small, blue or orange, or big, with velvety wings colored red with black. When she sat still in the afternoon sunlight, sometimes one sat on the shoulder, drawn to her dress with flowers. Back there, she strongly believed that she will become a famous painter. There, on the island, she felt that her dreams are so close that she can touch them with the hand. But she has mistaken. After leaving the island, her life took another twist: University of Economics, a job in a Bank, a failed marriage.
She abandoned painting and her dreams are falling apart. Left alone after divorcing, she finds that her life was wasted. A phone call from a friend announced that he settled on the island and call her to visit. She received the invitation with fear. She had not the courage to go back there, on that land of dreams. She had been afraid to hope. The island had received her back with love. Here she is now Sarah sitting on the old wooden bench, watching with different eyes the white sand beach, the foamy sea, the lighthouse and the sky, cloudy at sunset. The storm had passed. She looks confident. In front of her, bathed in the sunlight, the old Lighthouse stood as a White Knight. And then she realized that she had to start all over again to accomplish her dreams. And, even if she doesn't become a famous painter, she will paint and that was the most important thing. She felt there's still time for that, still can hope, just be confident. Island gave her courage. Yes, she will start very next day doing something she had not done before. Friendly the lighthouse looked straight at her. Smiling, she makes up her mind and said aloud to give meaning to the words: â€žDefinitely, tomorrow I will go to the lighthouse!â€?
Every day Mary sits in the garden. The birds love Mary. She likes the birds. She can speak with the birds. The birds tell a story to her and she write it in her notebook. After that the birds also draw a picture for the story and Mary done her homework with the birds. So she has a lot of time to play with the birds. The birds flies around her. Mary is very happy to understand the birds. She learn so much from them about story telling.
Y覺ld覺z Kanl覺繹z http://storybird.com/books/my-first-story-47/?token=a2p2n6tgej
I am a marble maiden from Greece, a Caryatid. I was born and raised with my sisters in ancient Athens, experienced its unparalleled glory, witnessed the myth of the golden 5th cent. BC materialize, survived Persian and other conquerors. Then, separation came. Dragged away from home, away from my sisters, away from the sacred rock of the Acropolis into a cold country, with a strange language, imprisoned, a hostage…..I want to go home, return where I belong….I may be old but I am immortal and want to reunite with my kin. Tell the world….spread my sorrowful news and help me travel back to my sisters in our new safe home, the New Museum of the Acropolis. I plead to all of you….sign up to http://www.bringthemback.org
II Story: An unusual friendship
Nancy was born in Ireland, the emerald isle. She was so happy to have been born in such a gorgeous place. There were beautiful green meadows all around where she often went grazing, full of colourful flowers and hills covered with the heather that smelled so nice, and there were little brooks with fresh and clean water where she quenched her thirst. Nancy was very curious and had an adventurous spirit. She often asked herself what might be beyond the fence and why the master was so strict and never let her wander in the valley below. She was very friendly and quiet but maybe too docile because Ricky, the master's guard dog had it in for her. Whenever she was late or slow, he would go mad and bark wildly at her. Once he even bit her fiercely. She felt a terrible pain in the ankle and a rivulet of blood came out it. Life on the farm wasn't always easy. Nancy was a motherless little calf and often felt very lonely. Then one day the postman didn't lock the gate properly. In a split second Nancy ran down the slope of the hill, chasing the butterflies and enjoying her freedom. She was so happy and thrilled.
The feeling of the new freedom excited her. Free! Finally she was free to wander and explore the world on her own! It was a wonderful sunny day. She enjoyed basking in the sun, chasing the grey hare, but then she saw something she had never seen before: the ocean. Being thirsty she tried to drink some water but the taste was disgusting and she spit it out. All of a sudden, she saw a strange creature in the distance. Nancy went closer because she wanted to make friends but to her great surprise the strange blue being didn't have any legs nor tails. And it didn't walk like all farm animals, it floated among the foamy waves. After a couple of minutes spent in an embarassing silence staring at each other they burst out laughing. They looked so funny to each other that they laughed their heads off and then ... they relaxed and became friends. Since that day every morning Nancy and Dody (who was a young dolphin) would meet on the shore and have a good time together playing and joking around. They chased each other, jumped, dived and swam together all the day. Oh, they were so happy to have each other! And every evening, Dody would disappear in the dark blue sea and in the morning he would come to her again. And then, one morning... an old drunkard who had been lifting his elbow in the local tavern all night arrived at the beach. He wanted to sober up away from his nagging wife's sight. He sat on a rock and turned towards the ocean. All of a sudden he went pale and started trembling. He couldn't believe his eyes! What he saw was like science fiction: a dolphin and a cow were jumping together in the ocean! The poor old man started to shake as if he had seen two ghosts! He ran as fast as he could back home. He didn't tell anyone what he had seen. He was afraid nobody would believe him and didn't want to end up in an asylum! And since then he has never drunk a drop of alcohol again! Silvana Turcinovich Petercol
Dooriya means ocean…
(The foto belongs to my personal album. It was taken on August 2011 in Genève) Her name is Dooriya. Her grandmother used to say: “this is a special name for a special little lady… ”. She lives alone after the death of her mother with her little brothers and sisters in a small deserted house outside the city. She has never seen her father, but her grandmother said to her that he was a captain and he would come someday to take her with him. “He has chosen this name for you my little lady… Dooriya means ocean. You are your father’s beloved daughter”. She learned to love the ocean even though she never saw the sea… When she was a little girl she was waiting everyday her father’s return. But he has never appeared. And day after day Dooriya stoped waiting him. “Sure, I am not his beloved, gramma!” she was thinking, but she has never told so to her grandmother. Every day she follows the same routine. She comes there and sits for hours playing the accordion. Seems that she is waiting for something. Her dog too. Or not…
I would like to write a few words about the gipsy girl and the group she belongs â€“one of my favourite photos of the gallery. She reminds me one of my pupils Christina. I work in an Intercultural Primary School in Greece Thessaloniki in which the most of the pupils are roma, gipsy in other words. Gypsies or Gipsies [from Egypt, because of an inaccurate idea that Gypsies came from a so-called Little Egypt], a traditionally nomadic people with particular folkways, term coined by William Graham Sumner in his treatise Folkways (1906) to denote those group habits that are common to a society or culture and are usually called customs. They have a unique language, found on every continent; they often refer to themselves as Roma. Their language, called Romany, language belonging to the Dardic group of the Indo-Iranian subfamily of the Indo-European family of languages (see Indo-Iranian languages). The mother tongue of the Gypsies, Romany has about 2 million speakers, largely outside India. They belong to the Indo-Iranian family and is closely related to the languages of NW India. Their blood groupings have been found to coincide with those of S Himalayan tribes, and genetic mutations they possess are otherwise found only among Indians and Pakistanis. Gypsies worldwide are estimated to number between 10 and 12 million. In the course of their wanderings, Gypsies have occasionally mixed with non-Gypsy neighbours and have sometimes settled down, but they have clung tenaciously to their identity and customs. Their physical type has remained largely unaltered; most Gypsies are darkcomplexioned, short, and lightly built. Their bands are still ruled by elders. Gypsies have usually adopted the religion of their country of residence; probably the greater number is Roman Catholic or Orthodox Eastern Christian. Each year in May they gather in S France from all over the world for a pilgrimage to Saintes-Mariesde-la-Mer. Gypsies usually travel in small caravans and make their living as metalworkers, singers, dancers, musicians, horse dealers, and auto mechanics.
and here is a song for the gipsy people in Greece Lyrics: Paulos Paulidis Music: Paulos Paulidis First version: Paulos Paulidis The nicest journey I've ever made was on the broken armchair that the gypsies left behind when they took off in an empty lot in the middle of winter So I was watching pass in front of me broken skies with swallows branches spreading like years the caravan in the fog The nicest song I've ever heard had been sung by a sea captain before he died "The nicest the nicest the nicest port is the next one" So I journeyed far to Spain one sunny afternoon The entire Mediterranean was like one beach a lady is walking in Granada Her hair is white, her scarf is white but the way she looks at you is black Since he was a little kid she'd sent her son to the place where bulls roar The bullfighter stumbles in the arena but the bull now stumbles as well Blossomed plains in front of his nostrils the crowd standing up claps In the arena where the crowds have gathered to watch the same end again from the start a girl sharpens with her nail
love's arrow behind our backs The bullfighter gains a start and strikes everybody thinks they're living a fairy tale She, not moving, looks into his eyes he waves at her, she's going to hit him The most beautiful girl of Granada will tame another wild beast this night What's the difference between Spain's sky and Greece's? He too might be now sitting in an armchair like this Watching pass in front of him the caravan that has set out once more This arrow in his heart, no one will ever be able to remove The nicest journey I've ever made was on the broken armchair that the gypsies left behind when they took off in an empty lot in the middle.. ...in the middle of winter
August von Pettenkofen - Gipsy Children
Photos by Ermis Kasapis Giorgos Kasapidis John D. Karnessiotis
(At the last 7 pages of this story book, there are stories focusing on some other pictures, one taken by the author)
Learning Event: Creative Writing in eTwinning â€“ a hand on experience Expert: Irene Pateraki e-book edit: Assimina Lambrakou 15-22 December 2012