E' la Stagione!! ... e un Poncho

Autunno in Veneto

E’ tornato l'autunno nel mio angolo del nord Italia, ma l’autunno in Veneto non possiede le qualità"mellow" che si trovano nell’autunno in Inghilterra che hanno ispirato il poeta Keats a scrivere "Ode to Autumn".  Qui, nel posto della foschia c’è la nebbia fitta come la polenta, e una produzione di frutta esplosiva. La gestione della raccolta perfino rallenta il traffico in coda dietro rimorchi colmi d’uva, trainati da trattori ponderosi.  Tuttavia trovo l'Italia  un paese più “drammatico” che tranquillo. Il tempo in questa zona, lontana dall’influenza moderante del Mediterraneo  sicuramente non è mite. In estate si può soffocare; il caldo e  l'afa vengono alle volte interrotte dai temporali spettacolari, che possono buttare in terra sia torrenti d’acqua, o a volte chicconi di grandine di proporzioni devastanti.

Preferirei l'uovo in testa, grazie!!! 

L’inverno è all'estremo opposto – terribilmente freddo con dei venti che soffiano giù nella Val d’Adige che a volte sono forti a sufficienza da suonare le campane delle chiese.  

Pure primavera e autunno richiedono degli approcci speciali.  Se devi uscire per una giornata intera, è essenziale vestirsi a cipolla, con strati di vestiti sotto un capotto, con anche berretto, sciarpa e guanti. Ma entro mezzogiorno ti puoi trovare vestito di solo una maglietta a pranzo fuori a goderti il sole. Per qualche ora verrai infastidito dai vestiti ingombranti  (che hai tolto per non morire dal caldo) e che adesso devi portare a mano. Ma aspetta... Non appena cala il sole, sarai gratissimo di ricostruire la "cipolla".

Ho deciso che qui è il posto giusto per parlarti del 

 mio  "Poncho Autunnale (im)Perfetto"

Questo poncho è nato da una coperta fatta a maglia da una bellissima signora anziana.

Come gran parte delle signore rurali della sua generazione, per lei era inconcepibile rimanere inattiva soltanto perché stava in una casa di cura.

Per me era ovvio che doveva diventare un poncho.

 Adoro indossarlo. E' come essere avvolta da un bozzolo calduccio

 e mi piace il melange di marrone e grigio;

 ma questo non spiega perché così tanti estranei lo accolgono con reazioni addirittura amorevoli.

Delle signore mi fermano per contare il numero di punti sul poncho, e sulla faccia di altri, si aprono dei sorrisi lenti quando viene notata la "chiusura" fatta da grossi bottoni.

Ehi Sally, non pestare la Crespella Campagnola

Ho provato a ricrearlo con delle altre coperte che mi hanno regalato, ma non ho avuto successo. Le dimensioni giuste sono chiave, com'è anche il peso del filo (misto lana/sintetico) per creare il drappeggio. E anche il fatto che è di maglia, invece che di punto crochet che sarebbe meno elastico, è importante.  

Se vuoi lo puoì fare anche tu - è molto semplice.

Il mio poncho è fatto di una coperta da 100cm x 160cm. (Io sono alta 167cm, perciò se sei meno alta di me, sarebbe meglio ridimensionarlo, mantenendo le stesse proporzioni)

La coperta deve essere 100 x 160cm come da disegno.
Ho usato mio poncho solo come fondo qui. 

Misura 70cm dal lato destro di uno dei lati corti per fare punto A.

Sul lato lungo a sinistra, misura 70cm dal basso in alto per fare punto B

Segna punti A e B, poi sovraponi A sopra B - e C sopra D
Cuci insieme i 70cm dai punti A/B e C/D
Lascia aperto l'angolo da B a A per il collo collo

Sovrapponi punto A a punto B - e punto C a punto D

Chiudi i 70cm tra A/B e C/D. Io l'ho chiuso con tanti bottoni diversi,

ma si può semplicemente cucire.

Lascia aperto l'angolo tra B e A per creare il collo.

Fammi sapere se lo fai anche tu. 

Abbiamo tutti bisogno di vestiti che ci amano!!!

Adesso, torniamo al Autunno in Veneto.....

Trovarai che sbadigli sempre - ma non in modo signorile!  Ti rivolgerai poi ai tuoi amici italiani dicendogli“Ma come? Sono sempre così stanca”. Ma loro non si sorprendono. “ PER FORZA hai sonno”, ti consolano, “E’ la stagione”, e ti consigliano il  tonico erbale che prendono da anni per aiutarli a supportare il cambio di stagione.

Il tonico che ti viene consigliato assomiglia tanto a questo.

Inoltre, ti dicono che è pure la stagione dei ladri, e gli devo dare ragione. C’è un motivo per questo. La vendemmia attira tanti lavoratori stagionali dai paesi limitrofi.

Campo di vitigne a Bardolino

….. e Uva Bardolino.

E una volta finita la raccolta, sembra che certi dei lavoratori, che adesso sono disoccupati, rischiano il tutto per tutto poiché non hanno nulla da perdere e tentano la fortuna entrando nelle case a rubare.

Un anno fa ho avuto una piccola visita da parte di questa gente.

E' andata cosi.

Marina Tonini è una mia carissima amica e vicina di casa che si relaziona regolarmente con gli extra-terrestri.(Ridi se vuoi, ma è stata intervistata più volte in TV su “Mistero”, allora deve essere vero, no?)

Allora, quando alle ore 04.30 una luce brillante è passata attraverso la serratura della porta della camera di mia figlia Camilla; e poi la porta cominciava ad aprirsi, lei (che ha sempre prestato attenzione ai discorsi di Marina) è arrivata presto alla conclusione che un rapimento alieno stesse per iniziare.

Un Rapimento Alieno!!!

C’è chi spera nel brivido di un rapimento alieno!!!

Camilla ha subito cercato di stabilire un rapporto amichevole, con un saluto, “Hello!” (forse pensava che avrebbero preferito parlare in Inglese), ma la porta si è socchiusa silenziosamente e, delusa di non trovarsi in un viaggio scintillante verso un pianeta distante, lei è venuta in camera mia a raccontarmi gli avvenimenti.

I nostri ladri hanno rotto il lucchetto della porta di cucina (era già abbastanza andata), e hanno trovato borsa, computer e cellulare tutti li' pronti sulla tavola, come serviti su un piatto d’argento (BRAVA SALLY!)  Poi, visto che le cose erano andate cosi bene fino a quel punto, hanno deciso di fare un tentativo al primo piano. 

Si sente spesso di ladri cattivi che rovinano case nella ricerca di roba da rubare, (di recente ho sentito che hanno rubato perfino l’urna delle ceneri della moglia di un signore anziano!)

Ma, i nostri ladri non erano dei vandali. Erano dei Gentiluomini dalle dita e dai piedi agili –  (e non ho dubbio che il loro bisogno fosse più grande del nostro). Con relativamente poco danno, ho imparato delle lezioni importanti. 

Insieme ai vicini abbiamo creato un gruppo Whatsapp per promuovere la solidarietà civica fra di noi. Se uno nota qualche attività sospettosa, o sente che ladri girano nella vicinanza, possiamo informare tutti tramite il gruppo. Il senso civico è scarso in Italia per tanti motivi; non meno per quelli storici. Gli italiani hanno dovuto affilare le loro capacità di adattamento se volevano sopravvivere bene durante le numerose invasioni subite, ed oggi tendono a curare solo i loro più stretti familiari e cari, senza capire il potenziale che può avere l'unione con altri che hanno obiettivi in comune. Allora, nonostante il fatto che un gruppo Whatsapp è davvero solo una goccia nell'oceano, è sempre una mossa verso una direzione nuova.

Ho imparato anche ad essere meno ingenua. Adesso chiudo le porte esterne – con catenaccio – e anche gli scuri. Quando esco o vado a dormire, sposto gli articoli di valore dai loro soliti posti di utilizzo. E' vero che, se vogliono, potrebbero sempre entrare ma tocca a me non fargli proprio dei "regali" una volta dentro.

Il PORTONE al sicuro

A volte sono capace di spostare questo catenaccio con due mani, ma altre volte mi serve un martello se voglio aprirlo e uscire di casa!

Una cosa che non cambio - 

continuo a vivere in serenità a casa mia.

Ho un elenco di Mantra personali che da anni uso in momenti specifici. Per esempio, se sono in partenza  per una vacanza i Mantra che ripeto con ferma sicurezza sono “Viaggio sempre in sicurezza”  e “Solo colui che mi augura bene entra in casa mia”.

“Attitudine di Gratitudine” e' un altro Mantra - vecchio ma buono.  Perciò scelgo di provare gratitudine per tutte le lezioni che ho imparato dai visitatori dell’anno scorso che sono arrivati senza invito.

Grazie Mille ragazzi –ma vi prego di non tornare in fretta.

Un ritratto della facciata di casa mia.

Questa è una foto di un quadro dipinto dalla mia adorabile nipote Josie, come regalo di ringraziamento dopo una vacanza in Italia. Dimostra gli scuri e le porte esterne che io, ingenuemente avevo tenuto aperte di notte.

Josie la trovate anche al Telegraph online http://www.telegraph.co.uk/journalists/josie-gurney-read/

Questo Blog é pro-autismo.
Grazie, Sally

'Tis the Season! ... and a Poncho

Veneto in autumn

Autumn has come again to my corner of Northern Italy, the Veneto region, but it hasn’t brought the mellow qualities which invited Keats’ praise for Autumn in England. Here, it’s a season not of mist, but of fog as thick as polenta and a fruitfulness so abundant it forces the ”rush hour” traffic to crawl behind chugging tractors as they haul trailers spilling grapes. From what I know of it, Italy doesn’t "do" mellow much at all. The weather in this area, without the proximity of the Mediterranean to temper it, certainly isn’t mellow.  Summer can suffocate; it’s hot and close, and it’s punctuated by spectacular thunderstorms which (may) throw lashings of rain at the land – or else hail stones of devastating proportions.

 Bags I get the egg on me 'ead!

Winter is the extreme opposite -  bitterly cold with an occasional wind which blows so strongly down the river Adige valley it's been known to ring the bells on local church towers.

Spring and Autumn too require special handling. In the mornings you’ll need to dress onion style, layering clothes under a coat, with possibly a hat, scarf and gloves too; But by mid-day you can be sitting in a T-shirt having lunch at a sunny outdoor restaurant, cursing the encumbrance of all the clothes you’ve now shed and are having to carry around with you. Careful though - as soon as the sun goes down you'll be only too grateful to revert to the Onion State.

I decided this was the perfect post in which to show you 

"My (im)Perfect Autumn Poncho"

This started life as a blanket knitted by a lovely old lady. As with many rural Italian women of her generation a state of inactivity was inconceivable to her, and the fact that she now lived in a home for the elderly couldn't halt the habits of a lifetime. I knew it had to become a poncho, but there was a load of procrastination before I finally lighted upon the perfect solution for creating it.

I'm always astounded by the downright loving reactions it elicits in strangers. True, I love wearing it. I love how it drapes around me like a cosy cocoon,

and I love the rust and grey melange with its grey crocheted border,

Watch out for the country pancake Sal!

but that doesn't explain the admirers who stop me, and slowly turn me around as they take mental note of amounts of stitches and rows,

or people who break into a slow smile at the mixture of buttons running down the front (or the side, or the back!).

I've tried to recreate it with other blankets but they haven't worked. Dimensions are key, as is the wool/synthetic blend of the yarn which lends weight and fluidity to the drape. I think knit as opposed to crochet counts too, as crochet lacks the stretch essential for wearing comfort.

If you'd like to make one, this is the rudimentary procedure (presented here in true Neanderthal style!) It's very simple.

Mine is made of a rectangular blanket 100cm x 160cm  (I am about 5'7"/167cm tall, so if you're shorter you may need to proportionally modify this)

Your knitted blanket must be 100cm x 160cm, as shown above
I used my poncho only as a background for the diagram

Mark points A and B on your rectangular blanket.
Then bring point  A down and overlap it on point B. Overlap point C on point D
Sew the 70cm edges together between A/B and C/D

Measure 70cm in from the right, on one short side to get point (A)

Measure 70cm up from the bottom on the long side to the left, to get point (B)

Bring point (A) to OVERLAP  point (B); and bring point (C) to overlap point (D) in the same way. Sew the 70cm overlapped edge closed, leaving the angle between (B) and (A) open to form the collar.

Leave the angle between A and B open for the collar

I secured the overlap with my mixture of big buttons which I matched up with smaller ones on the underside for strength.

And that's it.

Let me know if you try this. 

We all need clothes that love us.

So, back in Italy in Autumn ......

You’ll find yourself yawning most unbecomingly too! “I’m just so tired all the time” you’ll confide in your Italian friends. They’re unsurprised. “OF COURSE you’re fatigued”, they respond consolingly  “It’s the season”,  and  they’ll sagely recommend the herbal “tonic” they’ve been taking for years during Spring and Autumn to help them to face the “cambio di stagione” – the change of season!

The tonic you're recommended will look worryingly similar to this

They’ll also tell you “It’s the season!” for burglars, and I think they’re probably right. There’s a reason for this. The grape harvest attracts lots of pickers from neighbouring countries,

Vineyards in Bardolino

...and Bardolino grapes

and once the work is finished it seems that before returning “home”, some of the, now unemployed, workers are prepared to risk Italy’s paltry penalties should they be caught, and try their luck at breaking and entering.

Almost a year ago to the day, we had such visitors.

My lovely friend and neighbour, Marina, has a bit of “a thing” going with extra-terrestrials (scoff if you will, but she’s been interviewed about it on Italian television more than once, so it must be true!!!).

When at 4.30am a brilliant light shone into my daughter’s bedroom through the keyhole, the door silently opening, she jumped to the obvious conclusion that an alien abduction was being initiated. (she'd been paying attention to Marina's stories you see!)

An alien abduction

There are those who crave the thrill of an alien abduction!

She proffered a friendly “Hello!?” (she must have felt intuitively that they’d favour English over Italian ), and waited. But the door soundlessly closed again, and finding herself still in bed instead of being whooshed to some distant planet she wandered through, disappointed but by no means traumatised,  to wake me and fill me in on these goings on.

Our thieves had broken in through the kitchen door (the lock  was already knackered), and had found my bag, computer and phone that I’d kindly left for them on the kitchen table – an offering on a silver platter (CLEVER Sal!!) Then, the pickings having been so easy, they’d decided to test their luck upstairs. You hear all the time of burglars who completely wreck homes, as well as stealing what they can (last week, in the absence of richer pickings, thieves even stole the urn containing a local householder’s, wife’s ashes!).

But our burglars were not vandals. They were light-footed, light-fingered Gentlemen (whom I imagine were also more needy than I). With relatively little inconvenience to myself, (yes, I had to call a locksmith to fix the door and replace an ancient pc; and YES, I replaced my adored Samsung with a poxy nokia - no, nokia does not merit a capital N!) they taught me important lessons too.

Together with our close neighbours we've now formed a "vigilanti" Whatsapp group. 

Civic solidarity is very uncommon in Italy for many reasons. Italians have historically had to hone their adaptability in order to survive and flourish under numerous invaders So they tend to take care of their nearest and dearest, at the exclusion of realising the potential power of a collective force for a common aim. Although it's a really tiny gesture,  a Whatsapp group which promotes the good of everyone in the community is still a move in the right direction.

I've also learnt to be less naïve and now though I don’t stash my valuables in a safe before I retire to bed (I haven't got a safe) I do remove them from their usual daytime spot. It's true that I can't absolutely stop burglars getting in if they want to, but I can impede their finding anything worth stealing – cunning eh?

And I shut the outer doors too,  huge iron bolts and all.

The state of "lock-down"

Mostly I can shift this bolt with two hands, but sometimes I have to take a hammer to it if I want to get out.

There's a vital point I haven't changed though - and that is to live in my home in a state of serenity

For years I’ve had some favorite mantras which I repeat to myself at specific times (I’ve been known to enthusiastically involve everyone within earshot in harmonious repetitions of some mantra or other; my  popularity with my children on such occasions soars).

If I’m leaving for a holiday for example, but also randomly, the mantra is:

“Only those who wish me well enter my home”,

and this is repeated with unshakeable conviction, together with "I always travel safely". 

“Attitude of gratitude” is another Oldy but Goody. 

So I choose to be grateful to our uninvited visitors of last year for all that I’ve learnt, (yep, that’s me “reclaiming my power”).

“Thank you” for that boys.  Just don’t hurry back!

A painting by Josie

This is an (almost) entirely gratuitous photograph of a picture painted as a surprise gift for me by my lovely niece.

It shows part of the facade of my house and you can just about see the outer wooden doors and the shutters which were constructed to keep out some of the marauders who have invaded this area of Italy over the centuries. That I didn't bother to shut them too beggars belief.

Josie is the Education Editor at the Telegraph online http://www.telegraph.co.uk/journalists/josie-gurney-read/

This Blog is pro-autism.

Thank you, Sallyxx

A flit across the Alps, what I didn't wear, and if angels could sing!

“There is no world without Verona walls….Heaven is here”  Romeo & Juliet  Act 3 Scene 3

Verona, 
showing the Ponte di Castelvecchio over the River Adige, 
and the Roman Arena

Maybe Romeo was going a bit far, though Verona is an undeniably lovely city, and it arguably boasts the best location of any city in Europe – dare I say The World? Actually, I’ve never heard or read anyone else expound this specific view, and I take full responsibility for the sweepingness of the statement, but its proximity to the cocktail of culture offered by Venice, Milan, Mantua, Bologna and Trento and the ludic/sporting opportunities offered by the nearby Dolomites, Lake Garda and  sea are hard to find together in another, equally beautiful, city.

All that being said, back in July I quite literally leapt at the chance to turn my back on Verona and speed north up the motorway and over the Brenner Pass. Three hours later I arrived in the charming Austrian city of Innsbruck (I hate to labour a point, but see what I mean about Verona being “close to” stuff?)

                                                          

 Innsbruck has a river, the Inn, 
spectacular mountains, and a bridge, 
thats' the bruck(e) bit

quaint old city centre,

                  

          a rather smaller than expected, though certainly shiny, Golden Roof
and plenty of Italians on holiday.

The language spoken is German of course. I’ve always loved witnessing the physicality of ancient language dividers such as crossing a mountain range only to find that the languages spoken on either side are different. But as the point of my trip wasn’t specifically to see Innsbruck,  I’ll just say here that it’s very pretty and worth visiting.

No. I went because life opened an all too rare window of opportunity to spend time with a precious friend without having to plan my getaway weeks in advance. Umberto was spending an adventure week immersed in nature with friends, in a stone hut up on nearby Monte Baldo,

Monte Baldo flanks the eastern shore of Lake Garda

and Filippo and Camilla jumped at the chance of having the house to themselves, so off I galavanted without a backward glance, to join my friend. She manages some of the world’s finest opera singers, and was visiting one of her artists, the Australian countertenor David Hansen who was to perform in Porpora’s work “Germanico in Germania”.

Yes, we were going to .... The Opera

Australian counter-tenor David Hansen

(and now’s the perfect opportunity to show you what I DIDN’T wear that evening. I know it’s a bit of a con isn’t it? but as I didn’t make what I wore that evening, but I DID make this dress, and it's this dress which marks the beginning of my sewing again after more than 20 years, it’s fitting that it should be slotted into my very first blog post. I know we’ve only just met and I’m already taking liberties, but please bear with me in this and I’ll try not to make a habit of it!)

The dress I DIDN'T wear!

Readers for whom sewing details are mind-numbingly boring are invited to fast-forward to the fabulous David Hansen bit now.

So, I sew. I began as a teenager growing up in a provincial city where, even if I’d had the money and desire to buy clothes from Top Shop or Snob, it would have meant looking just like every other girl out on a Saturday night, which wasn’t acceptable to sixteen year old Sal.  So, I sewed; on my Mothers antique Singer (it’s still with her and working beautifully by all accounts).  Then, as now, I found no satisfaction in pouring love, creativity, energy, effort, time,  MYSELF, into everyday staples which could be bought for less,  so I saved up my saturday-job money for the train fare to London where I bought the best material I could afford - china silk. Today it's a common enough choice for lining but in 1970s Norwich it was a commodity of unheard of luxury. I carefully fashioned unique garments, teaching myself how by following the excellent Vogue pattern instructions to the letter, or by drafting my own patterns with the help of Ann Tuits book “Introducing Pattern Cutting”.  Thus ensued a 20 year period of marvelousness, followed by a 20 year maternal period of heightened marvelousness, only without the same sewing heft. Now, Rip Van Winkle-esque, Sal the Sewest is reawakening into an alien world where overlockers and lycra have long been old hat. Blimey, what am I to do with all this overwhelming STRETCH?

I was not prepared to be beaten, so I picked up a Husqvarna Huskylock 905 for €100 (I’m told I got a bargain!), and peered at the out-of-print Lagerfeld dress pattern Vogue 1979 which had been taunting me for more years than I care to remember with its “Fabrics: Moderate stretch knits only”,

Out-of-print Vogue pattern 1970 -
I made up the pink version on the left

I LOVE line drawings!
 Mine's dress B on the right 

rummaged through a depleted “stash” of oddly hued (wotchamacallit) polo shirt material(?),  and decided if I was going to learn some essential stretch-taming techniques I'd better get on with it. I also created a safety net for myself, saying that if it turned out horribly I could excuse it as a “wearable toile”. Then, “Oh, good god … WHAT SIZE am I now?”  Look, I’ve never owned a dressmakers dummy, (I didn’t seem to need one then, but I desperately want one now so will be coming to my dear readers in possession of sewing expertise for recommendations please, and by cutting a size 12 which graded out to a 14 at the bottom always seemed to work back then …. so I took a deep, hopeful breath and cut the 14.  BINGO! What FUN! I was sewing again and it was (almost) plain sailing.  Karls instructions did have me unexpectedly stabilizing all sorts of  seams – which I sewed in the end with a straight stretch stitch and then overlocked together, 

I raised the shoulders by 2cm which consequently raised the neckline

I hasten to state here that I did this soley in order to correct upper body fit, and not as the result of a morbidly excessive sense of modesty. This is Italy. Cleavages are unashamedly, and justly, displayed and admired.  Think Sofia Loren.  When did we ever see her dressed as a nun? Unless she was in the role of a nun of course.

   I used a contrasting orange bias binding for the neckline and armholes, 

Reflected in the "mystic mirror" with my very patient photographer son

                                   

and using embroidery thread I made a “feature” of the visibly botched, "joke invisible-zip" insertion.

I was so distracted with pleasure,  I got my feet on the wrong legs 

The pink dress on the pattern envelope is just boring.....

...look at these zazzy colours!    

 ....... even if it was far from perfect.
Underlining would have the prevented this seam-allowance from showing. 



Then it shrank in the wash!

Definitely a snug fit now

I still wear it and feel it doesn’t deserve to be demoted to “wearable toile” status, but it fits rather snugly now as can be seen.

So, back to Innsbruck’s Tiroler Landestheater on the evening of the opera.

My expectations of the stranger I was to meet were ambivalent as we made our way backstage to say hello, and “break a leg” to David. But he surprised me by getting up from his seat,  (leaving the makeup artist, brush poised,) to greet us with warm, delighted hugs, kisses and jokes,  and enquiries about our comfort; had we had trouble collecting our tickets? did we have good seats? I found such spontaneity and lack of pretention remarkable in an artist who was soon to be on stage for the best part of the five hour opening night performance.

(When I read on Marcy's gorgeous blog www.oonaballoona.com of her account  of  meeting  Pavarotti, I couldn't help wondering whether such humanity was a general Opera Singer thing???)  Whatever the case, even though I had yet to hear him sing, I was already completely smitten by this man.

Now, just about everyone who lives in Verona has been to the opera, since each summer there’s an open-air opera season staged in the Roman Arena, which makes for a unique and spectacular evening’s entertainment.

Opera season in the Roman Arena, Verona

But it lacks the intimacy of an opera house, and this particular production was exceptional too in its remaining faithful to the period of the piece, employing an orchestra of eighteenth century instruments, including a theorbo (I know, I had to Google it too).  

And then David sang, and I was transfixed. His performance was mesmerising. I would genuinely love to wax very lyrical at this point, but such gushings would be incongruous to a blog post, and there are others who have done it better.

The opera was followed by a reception in the glorious Royal Palace

The Royal Palace, Innsbruck

The reception was in this very room!!!

where we met David’s beautiful Norwegian wife Ida, joined by his parents visiting from Sydney, to whom huge respect is due for nurturing such a son. His sparkling mind and personality, his care, warmth and generosity of spirit, and his diminished ego add up to a human being of rare quality.  Then, add to this his extraordinary talent! Truly, if angels could sing they’d strive to sound like David Hansen;

after all “ Ancient Greek theorists held that the entire cosmos vibrated with the harmonies audible in music, it was so heavenly that it had magical properties Music of renowned excellence, continues to offer a sound that connects with the human soul to soothe, to motivate and lift it up to a place of grace and contemplation.”

Later, as we all wished each other goodnight, he asked me with a hug if he could give me a copy of his CD, “Rivals”...... Could he???  I nearly fell over with joy.

If you'd like to get to know David better, you can find him on YouTube – I especially like this video of when “Rivals” was being recorded.

And his website is 
http://www.guywhosingshigh.com/

Yes,  he has a sense of humour too!!

This Blog is pro-autism.

Thank you, Sally xx