national pie day

Pies, Pies, Pies....in quante canzoni, poesie, cartoni animati, film, fotografie, nomi di bands sorge questa parola a tre lettere che di tutto parla, soprattutto di dolce e salato (quiche francese)?

Iniziamo dalla musica: Humble Pie,  Apple Pie, The Wild Honey Pie, Cherry Pie, Custard Pie,  Pork Pie James, Revolution Pie, Alligator Pie, Shepherds Pie, Eel Pie Folkband, Sweet Potato Pie Band, Studebaker Pie Band, King Pie Swing Band.

Film: American Pie, The Pie Lady's mini-film.

Brani Musicali: Where's My Apple Pie - Joan Baez,  Bake That Chicken Pie - The Tallboys,
Chinquapin Pie - Bruce Molsky;  No Apple Pies - Ralph Agresta, American Pie - Don Mclean, Sugar & Pie - Abigail Washburn & Sparrow Quartet, Chinquapin (Pie and Hunting) - Mark Johnson,  Cherry Pie - Sade;  Sugar Pie - The Subdudes;  Honey Pie - The Beatles, I Like Pie, I Like Cake - Four Chefs;  Country Pie - Bob Dylan;  Buzzard Pie - Rudy Green & His Orchestra,  I Can't Help Myself (Sugar Pie Honey Bunch) - The Four Tops, Sweet Potato Pie - Ray Charles & James Taylor,  Puddin' And Pie - Danny Gatton,
Mud Pies and Gasoline - Patricia Vonne

Nursery Rhymes:

Little Jack Horner
Sat in the corner,
Eating a Christmas pie;
He put in his thumb,
And pulled out a plum,
And said 'What a good boy am I


Sing a song of sixpence a pocket full of rye,
Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened the birds began to sing,
Oh wasn't that a dainty dish to set before the king?
The king was in his counting house counting out his money,
The queen was in the parlour eating bread and honey
The maid was in the garden hanging out the clothes,
When down came a blackbird and pecked off her nose!


Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie
Kissed the girls and made them cry
When the boys came out to play
Georgie Porgie ran away.


The Queen of Hearts
She made some tarts,
All on a summer's day;
The Knave of Hearts
He stole the tarts,
And took them clean away. The King of Hearts
Called for the tarts,
And beat the Knave full sore;
The Knave of Hearts
Brought back the tarts,
And vowed he'd steal no more.

Simple simon, met a Pieman
Going to the fair
Says Simple simon to the Pieman
Let me taste your ware. says the Pieman to Simple simon
Show me first your penny;
Says Simple simon to the Pieman,
Indeed I have not any. Simple simon went a fishing,
For to catch a whale;
All the water he had got
Was in his mother's pail. Simple simon went to look
If plums grew on a thistle;
He pricked his finger very much,
Which made poor Simon whistle

Martin Luther King - una ricerca per gli studenti di Thea

Dear Students,
last Monday was Martin Luther King Day and many of you were asked to do some reaserch on Mr. King. Some of you were asked to read his biography, and some of you were asked to watch a video or two about him (Voice of America had a beautiful short video on Mr. King's life) but all of  you were asked to read or to listen to his historical speech "I have a Dream" which I shall now post for the pleasure of all those of you who have never had the opportunity of  coming across this beautiful and empowering message:


I have a Dream by Martin Luther King jr.

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.
Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.
But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.
In a sense we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check -- a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quick sands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.
But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.
We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. They have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.
As we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied, as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating "For Whites Only". We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.
I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.
Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.
I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right there in Alabama, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.
This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."
And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!
Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!
Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California!
But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!
Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.
And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

"The Night Before Christmas"

The Night Before Christmas by Clement Moore

‘Twas the night before Christmas,

when all through the house

not a creature was stirring,

not even a mouse;

the stockings were hung

by the chimney with care,

in hopes that St. Nicholas

soon would be there.

The children were nestled

all snug in their beds,

while visions of sugar-plums

danced in their heads;

and mama in her kerchief,

and I in may cap,

had just settled down for a long

winter’ s nap.

When out on the lawn there arose

such a clatter,

I sprang from my bed to see what

was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

tore open the shutters and threw up

the sash.

The moon on the breast of the newfallen

snow,

gave a lustre of midday to objects below,

when, what to my wondering eyes

should appear,

but a miniature sleigh, and eight

tiny reindeer,

with a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles

his coursers they came,

and he whistled, and shouted

and called them by name:

“Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer!

Now, Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! On, Cupid!

On, Donder and Blitzen!

To the top of the porch!

To the top of the wall!

Now dash away! Dash away!

Dash away all!”

As dry leaves that before the

wild hurricane fly,

when they meet with an obstacle,

mount to the sky,

so up to the housetop the coursers

they flew,

with a sleigh full of toys and

St. Nicholas, too.

And when in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,

the prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my head, and was

turning around,

down the chimney St. Nicholas came

with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur from his

head to his foot,

and his clothes were all tarnished

with ashes and soot.

A bundle of toys

he had flung on his back,

and he looked like a peddler

just opening his pack.

His eyes…how they twinkled! His dimples,

how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose

like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up

like a bow,

and the beard on his chin was as white

as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

and the smoke it encircled his head

like a wreath.

He had a broad face and a round little belly,

that shook when he laughed, like a

bowl full of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right

jolly old elf,

and I laughed when I saw him,

in spite of myself.

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

soon gave me to know I had nothing

to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight

to his work,

and filled all the stockings; then turned

with a jerk,

and laying his finger aside of his nose,

and giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

he sprang to his sleigh, to his team

gave a whistle,

and away they all flew like the down

of a thistle,

but I heard him exclaim as he drove

out of sight:

“Happy Christmas to All,

and to All a Good Night!”

perché è importante imparare le lingue?

Sino ad oggi abbiamo parlato del Business English, del General English, di Logistics Management, di Lean production, di English for Administration, di Presentations, di Speech & Debate, di Public speaking,  English for Nurses, Medical English, English for Architects...insomma vi abbiamo parlato tanto dei nostri corsi di lingue, degli aspetti importanti ed addirittura  fondamentali della internazionalizzazione delle piccole e medie imprese. Vi abbiamo presentato il Russo, il Portoghese, lo Spagnolo, il Francese, il Tedesco, il Cinese, il Giapponese, l'Italiano per i manager e quello per i blue collars, il vocabolario degli imprenditori e quelle dei tecnici,  le traduzioni dei bilanci e degli statuti e quelle del marketing e della comunicazione, come preparare l'agenda per un meeting minute per minute, come stare al telefono, come usare il body-language nelle presentazioni ma ancora non vi abbiamo insegnato una cosa importantissima.... e questa cosa importantissima potrebbe restare un segreto per sempre... il nostro know-how e l'amore che ci porta tutte e tutti a fare il lavoro che facciamo....ma ancora più importante del nostro know-how e della qualità dei nostri servizi linguistici e delle nostre consulenze (consulting) è....è...è...peperrepppeeee pepepererepppererererer (squillo di trombe).....
come si dice Kanelbullar in tutte le lingue del mondo????
Perché se adori i Kanelbullar e viaggi tanto come farai a  farti capire quando le vuoi ordinare? E se vai da Starbucks (che è in tutto il mondo) dove te le servono calde e profumate di cannella con la glassa ancora morbida che si scioglie sul palato...come fai ad ordinarle se non sai come si chiamano in un'altra lingua???? Ah che delitto, che delirio, che dilemma!
Ma non temere, i cavalieri e le cavaliere di Active Languages sono sempre al tuo fianco con la giusta soluzione fatta su misura per te:

Kanelbullar in Svedese
Girelle alla cannella in Italiano

Cinnamon Rolls in Inglese
Zimtschnecken in Tedesco
Kaneel Broodje in Olandese
Rollos de Canela in Spagnolo

ecco, e mano a mano che scopriamo i nuovi termini potete restare assicurati che li posteremo qui per aggiornarvi in modo che possiate sempre ordinarle ovunque vi troviate nel mondo. se questo non è servizio top-quality ditemi voi cosa lo è?

siamo al 26 gennaio ed ancor nessuno ha aggiunto nuovo nomi per i Cinnamon Rolls?
a questo punto vado a cercarli io;

Korvapuusti in Finlandese
Honey buns negli Stati sudisti del Nord America
Bâton de canelle in Francese
Kalofagas in Greco

Plushki in Russo

Skillingsboller in Norvegese

That's all folks, per il momento è tutto. Se scoprite altre lingue in cui dire Cinnamon Rolls prego volerle indicare qui di seguito nei commenti. Grazie

Poesia di Natale - Iosif Brodskij

24 декабря 1971 года
 

В Рождество все немного волхвы.

В продовольственных слякоть и давка.

Из-за банки кофейной халвы

производит осаду прилавка

грудой свертков навьюченный люд:

каждый сам себе царь и верблюд.

Сетки, сумки, авоськи, кульки,

шапки, галстуки, сбитые набок.

Запах водки, хвои и трески,

мандаринов, корицы и яблок.

Хаос лиц, и не видно тропы

в Вифлеем из-за снежной крупы.

И разносчики скромных даров

в транспорт прыгают, ломятся в двери,

исчезают в провалах дворов,

даже зная, что пусто в пещере:

ни животных, ни яслей, ни Той,

над Которою –нимб золотой.

Пустота. Но при мысли о ней

видишь вдруг как бы свет ниоткуда.

Знал бы Ирод, что чем он сильней,

тем верней, неизбежнее чудо.

Постоянство такого родства -

основной механизм Рождества.

То и празднуют нынче везде,

что Его приближенье, сдвигая

все столы. Не потребность в звезде

пусть еще, но уж воля благая

в человеках видна издали,

и костры пастухи разожгли.

Валит снег; не дымят, но трубят

трубы кровель. Все лица, как пятна.

Ирод пьет. Бабы прячут ребят.

Кто грядет –никому непонятно:

мы не знаем примет, и сердца

могут вдруг не признать пришлеца.

Но, когда на дверном сквозняке

из тумана ночного густого

возникает фигура в платке,

и Младенца, и Духа Святого

ощущаешь в себе без стыда;

смотришь в небо и видишь –звезда.

24 Dicembre 1971

Siamo tutti a Natale, un po’ Re Magi.

Negli empori, fanghiglia e affollamento.

La gente, carica di mucchi di pacchetti,

mette un bancone sotto accerchiamento

per un po’ di croccante al gusto di caffé

cosìciascuno ècammello e insieme re.

Reticelle, sacchetti, borse della spesa,

colbacchi e cravatte che vanno di traverso.

Effluvi di vodka, odori di pino e baccalà

e di cannella, mandarini e mele.

Marea di volti, e per via del vento misto a neve

il sentiero verso Betlemme non si vede.

Quelli che portano i modesti doni

saltano sui mezzi, sfondano i portoni,

spariscono negli abissi dei cortili,

eppure sanno che la grotta èvuota:

niente greppia, néun bue con l’ asinello,

o Colei che circonfusa èda un aureo anello.

Il vuoto. Ma basta immaginarlo con la mente,

e dal nulla, di colpo un guizzo luminoso.

Deve saperlo Erode che quanto piùèpotente,

tanto piùcerto, ineludibile èil prodigioso evento.

La costanza di tale affinitàèil meccanismo fondante della Natività

E adesso ovunque festeggiano

il Suo avvento, mettendo tutti i tavoli vicino.

Ancora non serve la stella nel turchino,

ma giàsi puòvedere da lontano

la buona volontàdi ogni figlio d’Adamo,

mentre i pastori attizzano i falò

Fiocca la neve: non fumano i comignoli

sui tetti, squillano invece. I volti come macchie.

Erode beve. Le donne nascondono i piccini.

Chi sta giungendo - non si sa mai:

ignoriamo i presagi, e il cuore sull’istante

potrebbe non ravvisar un forestiero nel viandante.

Ma quando, nel gelo della porta spalancata,

una figura avvolta nello scialle emerge

dalla foschia fitta della notte,

senti esistere in te senza vergogna

il Bambino e lo Spirito Santo;

poi guardi il cielo ed eccola - la Stella.

Da “Poesie di Natale” di Iosif Brodskij

(Premio Nobel per la Letteratura 1987)

Il poeta (Leningrado 1940 - New York 1996) spiegava ad un giornalista: “Da

quando ho iniziato a scrivere versi seriamente - piùo meno seriamente - ho cercato

di comporre una poesia per ogni Natale, quasi fosse un augurio di compleanno.

Molte volte ho perso l’occasione giusta, l’ho lasciata cadere. Questa o quella

circostanza bloccavano la strada. Mi ispiravo a un’Adorazione dei Magi che avevo

visto su una rivista... Amavo quella concentrazione di ogni cosa in un solo luogo -

il che èquanto si verifica nella scena della grotta...e si compie il Miracolo. Perchéi miracoli, attratti dalla terra, serbano gli indirizzi, anelando talmente a svolgere la

prescritta funzione da giungere a destinazione perfino nel deserto.”

A heartfelt invitation to our Christmas party.

le illustrazioni sono quelle di Arthur Rackham che illustrò molti racconti dei Fratelli Grimm. Egli appartiene alla letteratura per bambino come il colore giallo appartiene a Van Gogh oppure l'oro a Klimt.

Dear ladies and gentlemen,

signore e signori gentili,

la nostra festa di natale rispecchia le culture di tanti mondi a noi vicini e lontani perchè le feste hanno le loro tradizioni ed in ogni paese esse vengono vissute in modo diverso.

Come il "panettone" riflette lo spirito italiano, così le "kanelbullar" riflettono quello svedese, il "christmas pudding" quello inglese,  i "honig lebkuchen" quello tedesco e via via a sfiorare tutte quelle nazioni che tra Solstizio, Yule, Sankt Lucia, Krampus e Christmas hanno molto da scambiarsi culturalmente pur osservando che da vicino che queste differenze tanto diverse non sono.

Vi aspettiamo al cospetto di tavoli imbanditi a festa per leggere con voi ed a voi alcune poesie ed alcuni racconti che allietano le notti intorno ai camini in attesa di quel mistero che ognuno ed ognuna di noi interpreta personalmente.

Dalle letture di Dickens a quelle di Moore, dal russo Josif Brodskij ai nostri intimi ricordi di natali trascorsi, apriamo le porte della Villa Silicani su di un mondo romantico di speranze e di sogni.

Augurando che un giardino lievemente innevato ci aiuti a  ricreare quell'atmosfera così cara agli spiriti bambini, dove  poter condividere una serata davvero speciale in cui il mondo...nel vero senso della parola...ci fa conoscere il suo di natale, attraverso profumi, sapori, lingue ed occhi diversi.

vorremmo  proporre un gioco che renderà l'atmosfera ancora più gioiosa; che ognuna ed ognuno porti un dono (valore massimo €10,00.-)  da scambiare con qualcuno/a nel corso della festa. Anche questo può servire per abbattere quegli ostacoli che a volte incontriamo nella vita e che attraverso la conoscenza si appianano diventando meno grandi e meno difficili.

Vi aspettiamo numerose e numerosi per accogliervi sotto ad uno splendido abete di elfi e di gnomi adobbato. Ritengo che dopo l'anno quasi trascorso sia diritto di ognuna ed ognuno di noi concederci un momento di intensa gioia senza nulla a cui pensare se non il diritto di sognare e soprattutto di sperare ancora!

porteremo anche alcuni libri di Arthur Rackham nel caso qualcuno o qualcuna fosse interessato/a sfogliarli. Cheers!

Kanelbullar - Swedish cinnamon rolls

KANELBULLAR

Girelle di cannella e zucchero Ingredienti per la pasta base: 50 gr lievito di birra 1/4 di bicchiere di acqua tiepida 100 gr di burro o margarina 400ml di latte 1/2 cucchiaino di sale 150 ml di zucchero  1,3 litri di farina (misurata in un recipiente graduato in dl o litri) Ingredienti per il ripieno di cannella e zucchero: 100gr burro o margarina 1/2 cucchiaio o più di cannella 100 ml di zucchero 1 uovo sbattuto per spennellare  le girelle. granella di zucchero per decorare In una grossa terrina sciogliere il lievito nell'acqua con un pizzico di zucchero oppure un cucchiaino di miele. In un pentolino sciogliere il burro e versarvi successivamente il latte riscaldando il tutto sino a aggiungere i 37° c circa.. Versare il liquido tiepido nella terrina con il lievito e mescolare. Aggiungere sale e zucchero sempre mescolando. Aggiungere poi la farina gradualmente fino ad ottenere una pasta morbida e non appiccicosa. Porla nella terrina e lasciarla lievitare un'ora al riparo da cambiamenti di temperatura repentini. Impastarla di nuovo finché non sia bella liscia. Dividerla in tre parti uguali e stendere le tre parti in rettangoli da 25 cm X 30 cm circa. Spalmare il ripieno nei tre rettangoli lasciando spazio su uno dei bordi lunghi per la chiusura e arrotolarli cominciando dalla parte più lunga.  I rotoli di pasta con il loro ripieno vanno tagliati a fette spesse almeno un centimetro l'una. ogni fetta va poggiata orizzontalmente sulla placca da forno (ricoperta di carta da forno)  in modo da mostrare il suo volto a chiocciola. lasciar lievitare le girelle chiocciole per un'altra ora e mezzo circa. Spennellarle con l'uovo ed infornarle nel forno preriscaldato a 200°C per circa 20 min. Lasciarle raffreddare su una griglia coperta da un panno.