Hello! In childhood, when I was 8 years old, my parents left for another city to earn money, and I was left to be raised by my grandmother. So I lived with my grandmother and great-grandmother, when I turned 13, my parents divorced and my mother moved to us. it all started ..... Grandma could stop talking at any moment, without any reason. We did not quarrel, in the evening, let's say everything was fine, in the morning she could swear at you and shut up. I remember how many times I tried with her how then talk to find out the reason why she stopped talking to us, maybe we really offended her with something. It all ended with one thing, she yelled at me that I would leave her room. Then one day she started talking again like nothing Because of the constant change in the mood of my grandmother. had a stroke in my great-grandmother, then a second, as a result, 4 years ago she died because of anxiety. because she constantly yelled at her while my mother and I were not at home, which horrible collected .After death pr Ababshuki, she seemed to have changed a little, I already at that time was 16 years old. The year lived normally, my mother herself with her own money and on her own completely made repairs in the apartment, helped her in the country. After that, my mother had serious back problems, since She laid out the tiles herself. After they helped her to take everything out of the garden, made repairs, she stopped talking again. For several years now I notice how she only needs something from us, she is immediately good, as soon as we do not need help from us, we are bad And she doesn't talk to us. How many times they helped in the fall to take everything out of the garden, she stopped talking and hid all the vegetables no matter what we ate. So for several years ... we helped with my mother in the garden, we took everything out and we even that we will not eat, she gave everything to her son, who had never even appeared in the garden. Also, 1 share of the grandmother's apartment, 2-uncle, 3-mothers) Constantly yells that my son and I have 2 shares, and you have one apartment, we will sell us enough money for an apartment, but you don’t. A year ago, my mother left to work , I was left with her alone. And at the same time, my uncle brought his son, and he and his wife went to rest. At that time I was just defending my diploma, he had not finished school yet (9 years) he had to be transported, grandma dumped to the dacha and I was left with him alone. Defending a diploma, he needs to be fed, lessons with him, take away to school. Money was not left by my uncle, not my grandmother. I spent all my scholarship. I don’t before him, I sat at night doing my diploma, thank God I defended it perfectly. When my mother returned, my grandmother told my mother that I did not help her in the garden, SHE TIRED WITH THE CHILD I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING AT ALL! I also left for another city for work, it will turn out to move, about a year later, after 1.5. The same situation is repeated again, the month of June I have a session (I am studying at the institute for the 1st year), my uncle brings my sons, and dumps, the grandma again leaves for I need a computer to do work, he is bored, he wants to play. Again he will play enough during the day, I sit at night getting ready. I could not resist took him to another grandmother (to the mother of my uncle's wife) in a couple of days, my uncle calls and says take my son please, otherwise he is bored with his grandmother asks to you. I refused. He insolently called several times ... it's difficult for you, but who are you doing ... I called my grandmother and said that my uncle got me, I have a session, I can't sit with his son, he bothers me. I'll hand over the session I'll take him. Now I don’t have time, I want to pass without 3 so that there would be a scholarship. Then my grandmother again freaked out, I said I’m not doing good to people at all, and bad and stuff like that. Now she doesn’t talk to me. She hid all the food, pasta, rice, butter, etc. Although I bought butter, rice, I took bread with my own money. One morning I woke up and the kitchen was empty. Now I bought food, no matter how funny it sounds, but now I keep everything in my room. Yelling at me says that I'm angry, I won't be needed by anyone, I will be alone (by the way, my grandfather ran away from her, unrestrained her character and divorced her when my mother was still 10 years old). I’m calling my mother, she says, a lot, it cannot be that much, let her show the receipts. She asked for receipts, she didn’t want to give them. As a result, she showed me 1,500 rubles, she wanted to rip me off. I can’t with her ... before, somehow I tried not to pay attention to her tantrums, now I'm already breaking down myself, oh I'm happy, after that she walks happy and full of strength like an energy vampire ... there is no place to go from her, even though my mother was there before, now I am completely alone ... thanks to everyone who read, there is no one to speak out ...

STORIES ABOUT MYGRANDMA. MY GRANDMOTHER. My grandmother always said that the whole truth of life is concentrated in young children. And I think that old people, like little children, are truthful in their old age. My grandmother was born in a small town in Belarus, in a large and poor family. From hunger and cold, almost all members of the once larger family died out. Grandmother endured a lot of grief and hardship in her lifetime. Her childhood and youth passed in a period of violent upheavals - revolutions, wars, hunger and devastation. She married early, gave birth to three children, was beaten by her husband many times with everything that came to his hand! The bullying and beatings ended only after he left his family and disappeared forever ... My grandmother had many trials, but she always, like a flexible tree after a storm, found the strength to straighten up and carry her burden further through life. First, she raised her children, and then us - her grandchildren! She was lucky to see and love her great-grandchildren with all her heart. It would seem that life's hardships and storms should have spoiled the grandmother's character, turning her into an unfriendly and bitter person. But my grandmother, a woman with little education, had a tenacious worldly mind and a kind, sympathetic heart. There was no malice and envy in her at all. She lived a long and meaningful life, although she rarely left her city. The grandmother had a restless character. She loved to sing, adored cinema, knew how to listen to other people, interestingly told all kinds of fairy tales and fables. My grandmother was known as a wise person. Often our neighbors came to her with their troubles and problems. And she, not possessing special knowledge, tried to help them as much as she could. Her advice was accepted and highly appreciated by our acquaintances. Even now, years later, I hear how one of the neighbors calls out to my grandmother and asks her to express her opinion on a particular issue. Often her sharp words or expressions became the property of the entire street. Sometimes the word was pronounced incorrectly, and the stress was placed in the wrong place. But this did not prevent my grandmother from expressing her opinion and not looking funny or incomprehensible at the same time. In these small stories, I, her granddaughter, decided to remember, and in my own way perpetuate a person dear to me - my GRANDMA! .. UNHEALTHY MY GRANDMA. Television came to our humble home much earlier than many household appliances that could ease the difficult life of a family. They didn't even dream of refrigerators. In general, indulging in dreams and daydreams was not in the customs of our family. The everyday struggle for a normal existence made both my grandmother and my mother realistic. They accepted life, everyday concerns "about their daily bread" stoically. The fridge replaced the cellar for us. All the hostesses of our yard, and of all nearby houses, from morning until late at night, scurried about with pots, jugs and jugs, pots and huge pots, pans - from the cellar to the house, and from home, after another meal by each member of the family in individually, or all together, into the cellar. The staircase, which had to go down to the cellar, was covered with a slippery coating. It was necessary to possess certain skills in order to repeatedly descend and climb such a ladder, remaining without bruises, without breaking or spilling what you were carrying. The smells of mold and dampness there always mingled with the smells of food. Food was put into the cellars for the whole cold long winter. Cucumbers and tomatoes were salted in large barrels. All this was eaten together in our hotly heated apartment, under the howling of the wind in the chimney. Without such reserves, it was incredibly difficult for a low-income family to live and survive. Reliable my grandmother, without any objection, responded to all the requests of her adult children, grandchildren, and even their friends and classmates. As soon as breakfast, lunch or dinner ended for some, everything started all over again. And again my restless grandmother, along the old slimy stairs, scurried back and forth with pots and pots, pots and pans, pans and jugs, trying to please everyone, feed everyone, treat everyone ... GRANDMA AND ESTHER FIELD. I remember my grandmother's stories about one strange person - Esther Paul. Maybe he was not called that, but my grandmother called him that. It was this name that I remember forever. This character was often mentioned by her in various life situations. Whether such a person really existed, or whether it was a character invented by life, she herself did not know. The grandmother's hero lived in Ukraine, in the glorious city of Odessa. He, driven by need and the claims of the authorities, like many of his other compatriots, was forced to emigrate to the coveted America. Not everyone was destined to get to this blessed land. Most likely, Esther Pole was more fortunate than others. He got to America, took this country into his kind and sympathetic heart with all its advantages and disadvantages. And he noticed only everything good there, unlike many other immigrants. And endless letters flew to his former homeland about his life - being in a new land. Esther Pole, in her letters, enthusiastically described everything he saw - all the delights of life there. Looking into the windows of cafes and restaurants, peering into the sleek, happy faces of Native Americans, he, rolling, rejoiced in someone else's life, forgetting that his own was passing by ... Oh, that Esther Pole, Esther Pole! ... When someone with my grandmother enthusiastically and enthusiastically described an extraneous prosperous life, foreign lands and customs, she, waving her hand and with a slight smile on her lips, always uttered the same phrase: - Well, again, new and the ineradicable Esther Pole appeared on our horizon ... The meaning that my grandmother put into this phrase became clear to me much later. And although not every person in this world is able to sincerely rejoice in someone else's happiness and prosperity, my grandmother, a hard worker and a realist, did not like people like Esther Pole. They seemed to her empty and pitiful people. And the one who, in her presence, praised other people's wealth and prosperity, having nothing of their own, was ridiculous and uninteresting to my grandmother. She used to be content with something small, but her own. And for her it was always very dear and important only that which she herself possessed. And this strange man, Esther Pole, nevertheless entered our life forever ... GRANDMA AND OVEN. Once my grandmother brought an ancient elder to our home. One of the neighbors told her that he was an experienced stove-maker. The grandfather was tall with a long gray beard. This old man was deaf, incredibly angry and angry. To our great regret, we learned about his bad character, unhealthy habits, and many other things much later, when it was not so easy to get rid of him. The stove played a very important role in our difficult life. In the summer, coal was bought by all available means, huge wooden logs were cut into small firewood. This oven kept us warm all winter. On the most rainy autumn days, and on the coldest winter days, one could, pressing against her with all his body, forget about sorrows; get away from everyday life. Closing your eyes, take off in your dreams to distant, inaccessible countries and continents. Under the melodic crackling of wood, it was pleasant to dream of something of your own purely personal, secret and intimate ... This stove was not only the main source of heat in our home, but also the soul of this house. She created that unique microclimate, without which it would be difficult to live and survive in our difficult life. We fell asleep to its buzz, listening to the crackle of burning firewood; plunged into the sweet world of dreams and dreams. Our oven had its own special character. Sometimes she pleased us with her warmth and ardor, and sometimes she obstinately did not want to submit to the will of people. It was necessary to constantly take care of it, as if it was not a stove, but a living being ... The stove-maker negotiated a price for a long time. Then he needed a deposit. Having received a certain amount, he disappeared for a long time. And, having arisen, he began to break the old stove with trembling hands and lay out a new one for some reason in the middle of the room. Each person who entered had many doubts about such construction, but we did not express our doubts aloud for the time being. There was still a hope in us that we misunderstood something in the oven business. With every day of work, the old man became more aggressive and angrier. And at that moment, when bricks began to fly around the apartment in all doubters and dissidents, we realized that it would be much more difficult to part with this employee than we had previously assumed. Sometimes it makes me happy that everything in this world has both its beginning and its end. True, our family had to pay off him, otherwise a happy parting would never have happened! Save us, Lord, from such stove-makers! .. Many years later, even when our family was already living in a new apartment with central heating, we sometimes remembered this evil old man. We have always associated with his image incompetence and greed. And our grandmother still got into different and all sorts of stories ... GRANDMA AND TOTAL SOLAR ECLIPSE. And there came a day of total solar eclipse on Earth. And my multi-ethnic, many-sided and many-voiced courtyard greeted this long-awaited event with enthusiastic shouts. All the inhabitants of our merry lane prepared for it for a long time and purposefully. They were looking for a place from which it would be most convenient to observe such an amazing and rare phenomenon as a solar eclipse. The children were looking for pieces of glass, which, then, were held over the fire for a long time, so that they would smoke more strongly. Vanity, expectation of such a significant event, brought variety to our everyday life. What can be more interesting for children than to become an eyewitness of some significant event! Yes, and take part in it! My grandmother, doing her usual household chores, listened to our conversations. She was very interested to see this sight. She specified the time many times so that she would not accidentally miss it. As you know, the longer you prepare and wait for the pleasant, the sooner it ends, the faster the happy moments of our being run by. On the day and hour set by nature, the entire population gathered in the middle of the courtyard. Everyone expected a miracle. And the miracle happened. It became dark. Everyone around, including my grandmother, expected that it would be so dark that even a person standing next to him could hardly be discerned and seen. Absolutely sure of that, my inquisitive restless grandmother, who did not lose interest in life with age, jumped out of our apartment into the yard, in a short nightgown and with a frying pan in her hand. Her appearance was unexpected for the entire population of our restless courtyard. My grandmother was greeted with friendly laughter from those present, which turned into hysterical laughter and squealing. Neither the laughter of the neighbors, nor anything else, embarrassed my grandmother. She firmly believed that the Great Solar Eclipse would cover her with its shadow, protect her from immodest eyes ... A cheerful, unplanned incident distracted the audience from the solar eclipse itself. It ended as quickly as it began. Everything in this mortal world has its beginning and its end. We are left with only memories that evoke a slight sadness for the fact that it will never return - for a long-gone childhood, cloudless youth, for our friends. For all those who have left us forever ... And before my eyes, as if in an old movie, a frame froze, and in it my restless grandmother, forever frozen with a frying pan in her hand, gazes intently into the dark sky ... Granddaughters and granddaughters. My mother, in her incomplete twenty years, was already a mother. And at the age of forty, my grandmother was called by her patronymic: "Isaakovna". And not because my grandmother gave the impression of an old man. It's just that in those still young years of hers, she was already a grandmother for her grandchildren and granddaughters, whom she loved and pampered, despite all sorts of prohibitions of our parents. She especially adored and pampered her grandchildren. She always had a special relationship with boys. After all, her granddaughters lived with her, and the grandchildren lived separately from her. And she, pampering them, allowed them to do whatever they pleased. I tried to make up for the time when they were away from her. All grandmother's grandchildren and granddaughters, without realizing it, enjoyed her love and indulgence. It was always possible to beg for a ruble from her for pocket money. The grandmother could easily be convinced of many things, without much effort. She instantly responded to all our requests. She always supported us with everything she could. We knew that our grandmother was our loyal ally. And whatever happens to us, she will always be on our side. This has always been the case throughout her life. This is how she forever remained in our memory and in our heart - restless, loving, anxious ... Our grandmother, like all of us, was a frantic admirer of cinema. It was not difficult for her to stand in the longest queue for tickets for a new film. My grandmother was annoyed and suffered as much as we do if tickets for some reason were not enough. In those distant now years there was a boom in French films. We all, young and old, were passionate moviegoers. It was as easy as shelling pears to persuade grandmother to go to the cinema with the yard children for a morning show. And if there was also ice cream "sundae" on sale, then the day was not lived by all of us in vain. Going to the cinemas of the city was loved by all the inhabitants of our courtyard. It is extremely rare that we missed the screening of new films. Over the years, television began to supplant the cinema. But this happened much later. Our grandmother, on demand, could boil potatoes in "uniforms" and eggs. Quickly collect for us, her grandchildren and granddaughters, everything necessary for a trip to the river, to the forest. Regardless of her time or her state of health, she tried to pamper everyone, please everyone. Of course, sometimes my grandmother lost her restraint and patience with us. She could scold, get angry, shout. But none of us took offense at her for a long time. The quarrel was immediately followed by a truce. She was not naive for her age. She accepted everything we said as truth. But we rarely deceived grandmother, because we knew that she trusted us unconditionally ... If the weather was bad - it was snowing heavily, or it rained without stopping, and nature once again presented people with its surprises - on such days, grandmother always tried to keep us at home. She worried about us, not realizing that we had grown up, matured. And, growing up, her grandchildren and granddaughters overgrown with responsibilities, from which it was already impossible to fence off the bad weather. But our grandmother still saw in us little children who could fall, hurt themselves, get wet in the rain, and get sick. She used to feel sorry for us ... And her excessive care and love were already weighing on us. We longed for freedom. We chose our own path - success and failure; mistakes and misses; ups and downs; hopes and disappointments. As usual at all times and in all ages, none of us really listened to her instructions and advice. We naively believed that we ourselves knew everything and understood everything much better than our relatives and friends. And only after having lived most of your life, you begin to understand the wisdom of those who have left us forever. And their care, then annoying, and now so necessary. And boundless love, which cannot be bought for any riches in our crazy world ... ... Through the years, and now even through the centuries, through the thickness of the years, I hear my grandmother's alarmed voice. She shouts after her grandson, my cousin, in her own unique dialect: - "Eager, Eager / Igor / don't go out naked ..." - And this phrase just meant that her grandson Igor ran out on a frosty day outside without a coat ... MY GRANDMA, OUR WING AND WILD GRAPE BRUSH. Grandmother, mother and my sister and I, then two little girls, loved to sit on a wooden porch on quiet summer evenings, look into the starry sky and listen, and sometimes sing along, to grandmother. The porch was a favorite resting place for our entire small family. A small wooden porch, entwined with a bush of wild-growing grapes, made the difficult life of my family more joyful. It was possible to rest in this small space; drink tea; just sit on the steps, listening to the nocturnal rustles of a short summer night. It was convenient to whisper with your girlfriends about something of your own, very important and intimate. It was interesting to stand on the porch for hours, follow the movement of the clouds and dream of something distant, unknown, unattainable ... A bush of wild grapes grew next to our porch. Nobody planted it on purpose, nobody raised it, nobody looked after it. Once upon a time, a crazy wind brought seeds and threw them into fertile soil. In winter, this bush lost its foliage and it seemed that severe frosts and cold winds forever destroyed its roots, barely sticking out of the ground. But with the arrival of spring, with the first rays of the warm spring sun, he came to life. Nature, tired of the long and protracted winter, returned its spreading crown to the unpretentious bush. For many years this bush of wild grapes served us faithfully. Its leaves, intertwining with each other, sheltered us from strong gusts of wind, from the rays of the sultry sun, from rains, and even from prying eyes. For decades, the wild grape bush has fought against the vagaries of nature, constantly winning this difficult, unequal battle. We could not imagine our life without this bush, as well as without a young tree, which also grew next to the porch. It was a cherry tree. The most delicious cherries in the world grew on this tree. It did not always bear fruit. Sometimes the tree blessed us with its fruits for our love and affection for it. Every year my grandmother planted flowers next to the cherry. They always had a bright color and a pungent, tantalizing smell. On summer evenings, after a hot and long day, our whole family rested on our favorite wooden porch. Often the grandmother sang the same song. This song had a nice melody and simple words. They sang there about distant lands; about the seas and oceans; about a girl who embroidered linen with silk threads, which "she lacked"; about a brave and beautiful sailor who lured a girl aboard a huge ship, promising her all the blessings of the earth ... This song ended with words addressed to the young man: - - We are three sisters: one after the count, - the other duke's wife, - and I, all the younger and more beautiful, a simple sailor should be! To the sad words of the girl, the young man replied: - Do not worry, dear, - leave sad dreams - you will not be a simple sailor - but you will become a queen! The song always died down as unexpectedly as it began. And my sister and I tried to imagine both that girl, deceitfully lured to someone else's ship, and that gallant sailor who promised her all earthly blessings for love ... Did the girl wait for everything that was promised? Did she become queen? Or did all the promises of the young sailor remain just empty words? ... My childhood is long gone. Nor is that little wooden porch entwined with wild grapes. All the pungent-smelling flowers have faded. The girls have grown to become adult women. And for a long time our unforgettable grandmother is gone with us, who sang unpretentious words of a simple song to two little girls in the silence of the night ... Only our memory is alive ...

Grandmother, Grand-mere, Grandmother ... Memories of grandchildren and granddaughters about grandmothers, famous and not so, with vintage photographs of the XIX-XX centuries Lavrentieva Elena Vladimirovna

Stories by Grandmother E.P. Yankov

Grandma's stories

E. P. Yankova

I was born in the village of Bobrovo, which was bought by the late grandmother, my father's mother, Evpraksia Vasilievna, the daughter of the historian Vasily Nikitich Tatishchev. In her first marriage, she was with her grandfather, Mikhail Andreevich Rimsky-Korsakov, and she had only two children from him: Father Pyotr Mikhailovich and Aunt Princess Marya Mikhailovna Volkonskaya. Soon, widowed, my grandmother married Shepelev (I think Ivan Ivanovich); they had no children, and they soon parted<…>.

Grandmother Epraksia Vasilyevna was, they say, of a very tough disposition, and as a noble and big lady was in great esteem and did not really stand on ceremony with small neighbors, so that many of the neighbors did not dare to enter her front porch, but everyone went to the girl's porch.<…>

Here is what our mother, Marya Ivanovna, who was a hay girl with my grandmother, also told me about grandmother Evpraksia Vasilievna: “The general was very strict and obstinate; it happened, as they deign to be angry with one of us, they would immediately deign to take off the shoe from the leg and spank him quickly. As they are punished, you will bow down and say: “Forgive me, lady, it’s guilty, don’t be angry.” And she: "Well, go, you fool, don't go ahead." And if anyone does not obey, she will beat him again ... She was a real lady: she held herself high, no one dared to utter a word with her; as soon as he looks menacingly, he will swallow you ... Truly a lady ... God rest her ... Not like the current gentlemen. "

At one time my grandmother was very well educated and educated; She spoke good German, I heard that from Father Pyotr Mikhailovich.<…>

In 1733, my grandmother bought the village of Bobrovo seventeen miles from Kaluga and lived there permanently for most of the year, and in Moscow she had her own house near Ostozhenka, in the parish of Elijah Obydenny, and we still lived in this house when I was married in 1793, and got married there.<…>

My grandmother was very pious and pious and generally disposed towards the clergy and monasticism. She commanded her son never to leave the house without reading the 26th psalm, that is, "The Lord is my enlightenment and my Savior, whom I fear." Father always observed this. And, for sure, he always had strong enemies, and although they tried to harm him, but, nevertheless, the Lord had mercy and saved him from destruction.

My grandmother always received the monks-collectors: she used to call in, feed them, give them water, give money, order them to take a room where to spend the night, and let everyone go happy with her reception. Once they say to her: a monk has arrived with a collection. She ordered to call: "Where from, father?" - "From there," - calls the monastery. - "Sit down, old man."

She told me to make something to treat him to. They sit and talk. The monk said to her: "Mother, I know your son, Pyotr Mikhailovich, too." - “How so? Where did you see him? " - "There," - and begins to talk to the grandmother in detail about the priest; and for sure, according to the words, it is clear that he knows him. Grandmother was even more inclined towards the monk. Only suddenly, during a conversation, a man runs and reports to his grandmother: Pyotr Mikhailovich has arrived. The monk turned up: he wants to leave the room, his grandmother persuades him to stay, and meanwhile the priest enters. After greeting his mother, he glanced at the monk. He is neither alive nor dead.

"How are you here?" - shouted father to him. The one in the legs: "Do not ruin, I am guilty." Grandmother looks, cannot understand what is happening. Father and says to her: “Do you know, mother, whom you deigned to receive? This is a fugitive soldier from my company; they've been looking for him for a long time. “Do not destroy,” he repeats.

Father wanted, it was, to send him on stage, but the grandmother persuaded her son not to shame her at home and not lay hands on the guest, whoever he is. He promised to appear in the regiment on his own; I don’t remember now whether he kept his promise. Although my grandmother did not stop accepting the monks-collectors, she has become much more careful since then, fearing that, under the guise of a real monk, she would not accept some fugitive, and father, remembering this incident, was always afraid of collectors.<…>

Grandmother Evpraksia Vasilievna was still alive when the father married, and she was very kind to mother and took in her upbringing my sister (father's second daughter), who, like me, was called Elizabeth. I have a letter written by my grandmother to my mother on the occasion of my birth: she writes that she congratulates and that she and her husband are sending fifty rubles to her homeland and on her name day. Grandmother Evpraksia Vasilyevna was weak, although in her years she was still not at all old: she was hardly sixty years old.

In 1792, her grandmother, Princess Anna Ivanovna Shcherbatova, died. She most of all lived in the village, in the village of Syaskovo, also in the Kaluga province. It was her own estate, a dowry. Auntie, Countess Alexandra Nikolaevna Tolstaya, lived with her grandmother. Her husband, Count Stepan Fedorovich, when he got married, was no longer young and was a foreman. He had all his fortune and only had: a gilded double carriage and a pair of pego-roan horses, and his aunt, like mother, received 1000 souls as a dowry.

The grandmother-princess was very small in stature, she always wore a black dress, like a widow, and wore not a cap on her head, but just a silk scarf. Only once did I happen to see my grandmother in the whole parade: she came to us in Moscow from somewhere at a wedding dinner or from a wedding: she was wearing a dress with gold mesh and an elegant cap with white ribbons. We were all still children, ran out to meet her and, seeing her in an unusual outfit, began to jump in front of her and shout: “Grandmother in a cap! Grandma in a cap! "

She was angry with us for this:

- Oh, you fools girls! What a curiosity that I am wearing a cap? Grandma in a cap! And you thought that I really didn't know how to put on a cap ... I'll kick your ears for that ... Father came, she complains to him about us:

- Your fools ran out to me and shout: "Grandma in a cap!" Know, you are not enough for their ears, that they do not honor elders.

Father began to reassure her: "Mother, do not be so angry with them, the children are stupid, they do not understand anything yet."

After the grandmother left, we got the race for it from the father; then I was hardly more than five years old. We went to see grandmother Shcherbatova in the village and after my mother’s death we stayed with her for a long time, and even before we had spent several days in Syaskovo. This happened almost always in the fall, because they were adjusted to get to grandmother's name-days, September 9. My younger sister Anna was named after her, and I was named Elizabeth in honor of Vzimkova, who almost baptized the priest. Grandmother got up early and ate at noon; well, therefore, we had to get up even earlier so that we would be ready when grandmother came out. Then, until dinner, we would sit at attention in the living room in front of her, silent, waiting for grandmother to ask us something; when she asks, you get up and answer while standing and wait for her to say again: "Well, sit down." This means that she will not talk to you anymore. It used to be that you never dare to sit down in front of your father or mother, until someone says: "Why are you standing, Elizabeth, sit down." Then just sit down.

After dinner, the grandmother was resting, and she would say to us: “Well, kids, tea, you’re bored with the old woman, you all sit at attention; Come, my lights, into the garden, have some fun there, look, if there are any scoundrels, and I will lie down to rest. "

Do you know what it means: scoundrels? These are the ripest nuts that are left on the bushes inadvertently while the nuts are taken. Then they ripen and fall from the bushes to the ground; these are the tastiest nuts because they ripen.

At that time, the garden in Syaskovo was very large, there were few flower beds, and then there were no flowers as good as they are now: double roses, rose hips, iris, daffodils, arrogance of the aristocracy, peonies, jonkili. Gardens were more and more fruit: apples, pears, cherries, plums, prunes, and almost everywhere walnut alleys. Now there are no such varieties of apples that I ate in my youth; were at the priest in Bobrov: a muzzle, a small long apple, narrow at the top, just like the muzzle of some animal, and the bell was round, flat, and when it was completely ripe, the seeds were rattling like a rattle. Now they don't even know these varieties: when my brother Mikhail Petrovich got Bobrovo, how much I wanted to get grafts from these apple trees; searched - did not find, they say, froze.

In Syaskovo there were also a lot of apple trees and all kinds of berries and long walnut alleys: is all this whole now? More than seventy-five years have passed since then! .. Shcherbatova's grandmother was very pious, but at the same time very superstitious and had many signs that she believed. In the then it was not so strange, but now it's funny to remember what she was afraid of, my dear! So, for example, if she sees a thread on the floor, she will always go around it, because "God knows who laid this thread, and not with any intention?" If a circle in the sand is somewhere in the garden from a watering can or from a bucket, it will never step over it: "It's not good, there will be lichens." On the first day of each month, I went to eavesdrop at the door of the maiden's and, according to what word she heard, she concluded whether the month would be safe or not. However, the girls knew her weakness, and when they heard that the princess was shuffling with her feet, they would blink and immediately start a speech that could be interpreted to her for her well-being, and the grandmother would immediately enter the girl’s in order to take her at her word.

- What did you say? - she will say.

The girls pretend that they didn’t even hear her come in, and they pile up on her with all sorts of nonsense and then add:

- This, sovereign princess, to know, to well-being.

And if she hears something awkward, she spits and goes back.

Sometimes he will come and say to his aunt: “Aleksashenka, this is what I heard,” and he will tell her, and then they will reinterpret together whether this word means well-being or not good.

She believed in witchcraft, the eye, werewolves, mermaids, goblin; I thought that it was possible to spoil a person, and had many different signs, which I now do not remember.

In winter, when she shoots down the windows, I looked at the patterns and judged by the figures: for good or not for good.

Auntie, Countess Tolstaya, who lived with her until her death, had gained much from her and had great oddities.

It is very clear: they lived in the village, there were no classes, so they sit and come up with all sorts of things for themselves.

A LETTER FROM GRANDMA These lines were awakened by a Roy of forgotten voices, Iridescent, distant, Thin-thin chime of the clock. Well, when I dream The happiness of the world of children, As, admiring Austerlitz, I led the troops along the floorboards of the inflated buttons, As on the lacquer icon Above the beds in

CHAPTER XIV. "GRANDMAS" The father of Alexandria Tolstoy was the brother of Ilya Andreevich Tolstoy - the grandfather of Lev Nikolaevich, therefore Alexandra Tolstaya was Leo's great-aunt. She was still very young, only eleven years older than her nephew, and Tolstoy

At GRANDMA's We are visiting grandma. We sit at the table. Dinner is served, and our grandmother is sitting next to grandfather. Grandpa is fat, overweight. He looks like a lion. And the grandmother looks like a lioness. The lion and the lioness are sitting at the table. I do not stop looking at the grandmother. This is mom's mom. She has gray hair. And dark

“I LEFT FROM GRANDMA ...” The Grand Duke talentedly played the role assigned to him by his grandmother. But, unlike Kochubei, he did not burn with a romantic passion for freedom; unlike Stroganov, he was not eager to fight for her; unlike Czartoryski, he did not devote every minute of his life to achieving

Grandmother's notes Long ago, when five of my children were still young (and now some of them have already become grandmothers), Korney Ivanovich Chukovsky wrote in one of his letters to me: “How I envy you that you can listen to children's speech every day! Listen, memorize, and also

Grandfathers, grandmothers My grandmother, major of the medical service Rebekah Ilyinichna Belkina. From the family of the famous writer Ivan Petrovich Belkin in the 20s of the last century. Grandfather, Colonel of the Medical Service Alexander (Osher) Vladimirovich Livshits, to questions about ancestors something

2. From “Bride” to “Granny” A Garden in an Industrial City In the world of lynching, frustration, suspicion or fear are often associated with educational institutions, well-established teaching methods, texts and even individual letters. By all accounts, he himself was never different

My grandmother's story “I was six years old (and she was born in 1900) when Uncle Abel Yenukidze appeared in our house. He came to us quite often. I remember him well, because he was always cheerful, he loved me, spoiled me and perfectly read fairy tales by heart

III Genus of the grandmother Azaryeva Great-grandfather Vasily Azaryev. the landowner Novgorodsky and Tverskoy, a former military man, was married to Demidova. He lived with her for several happy ... years and suddenly she died. Shortly before her death, she brought her husband her will, according to which she passed

Institute for grandmothers 1. In any business, look for someone who benefits from it. This is the golden rule of any detective: in any business, look for someone who benefits from it. He's not necessarily guilty, but he knows the killer. We, of course, are not investigating a crime, but this rule is the search for the recipient of dividends -

Lessons from grandmother Lena It turned out that until I was twelve and a half years old I was "under the wing of my grandmother." Father and mother, in search of a good job and a better life, traveled either through Kazakhstan or through the gold mines of Magadan, taking with them my very little sister, Tanyushka. I am very

My three grandmothers My "Jewish grandmother", Rosa Ilyinichna Rubinstein, in my present understanding, was a feminist and a very progressive woman. She indignantly told me about the morning prayer in which a man thanks God for not creating him

The funeral of grandmother Andrei, to tell the truth, had little contact with his relatives. With them he was bored and uninteresting. It seemed to him that he was losing precious time of his life. Maria Ivanovna felt the character of a person with her liver, she was deeply versed in people, seeing even in trifles

My grandmother's stories © Vyacheslav Zagornov In a society where eyewitnesses of certain events are still alive, it is difficult to change history. It is difficult even where there are still those who have heard the stories of living eyewitnesses. This living memory in some cultures passes through the centuries, preserving grains

Oh, my grandmother was a classic sociopath, just like they wrote "Bury me behind the skirting board" from her. And there could be no talk of any kind of heart-to-heart talk, the main thing is that she does not exhaust her soul. And when she died (I was 9) it was an indescribable relief. Although it is a pity that she did not leave earlier, nevertheless she managed to shit very much, and without her my life would be different.

My grandmother left me six months ago. She was the only one in the family who truly loved me. I was with her in the last years of my life. And the second grandmother. Well, she was like everyone else in my family

I haven't seen my grandmother on my father's side, um, almost all my life, from the age of 3, as soon as my parents divorced. I saw only a year ago, at the age of 19. She invited me to visit them through my dad. And before that, no call, nothing. On her birthday, she could convey something on the little things through her father. Once upon a time it really hurt me, as well as the fact that my father saw me and called only 2 times a year. Now it has long become all the same. But ironically, outwardly I am just a copy of this grandmother when I was young. After the meeting, by the way, we didn't talk anymore.
And on my mother's side, my grandmother is a person of a purely Soviet temper. Twice a widow. Very hardworking, favorite phrase “there is no word“ I don’t want ”, there is the word“ must. ”As a child, I often visited with my grandparents, and she was always an evil policeman, and grandfather was kind. But she never scolded much. She also performs stereotypical grandmother's duties - she helps to sit with her younger brother, brings food and pickles.
My mother told me that she wants to be a young grandmother. Well, we'll have to disappoint her.

My grandmother was a very difficult and domineering person, but she loved all of us. We swore with her - there was a roar. But every time, entering the room after a quarrel, I checked whether she was breathing, and from the thought that she might not breathe, she began to roar. She had a difficult fate - her mother died, an evil stepmother appeared, then she married the most handsome guy in the village, and he turned out to be a terrible womanizer, constantly cheating on her. She never forgave him for that - when he was dying of cancer in the living room, she did not even come up to him. And in her will she insisted that she be buried far from him. It's sad to say, but after the death of my grandmother, it became easier to live in a family - she really controlled everything. But we still miss her and love her.

Both my grandmothers died, one even before I was born, the other recently, and the one with whom I grew up was just like that for me: kind, understanding; he and his grandfather loved each other very much, until the very end. I do not agree with the author.

I had only one grandmother - the second died when I was just a baby, and I hardly remember her. She talked a lot about my life, I loved to listen, and so: she had no life, but only work, work and more work. Therefore, they pulled out the country during the war years, that instead of life there was only work. And what she loved, what she was interested in, she probably forgot even in the war.

I have two grandmothers, and they are not alike at all. I can't say anything good about my daddy grandmother - but she had a very difficult childhood and adolescence, her father is a terrible abuser and tyrant, and her first husband does not hurt better. As for her mother, she is very progressive, even feminist to some extent, she raised two daughters alone. There are, of course, its drawbacks, but she helped us a lot! Thank God, my grandmother is almost not sick and, I hope, will live for many more years, she is now 76 years old.

I have grandmothers one year of birth and even with one patronymic. Mamina lived all her life in the village. It seems to me that erasing her identity was for her a kind of decency. “What people say” is a very important motivation. She is always helpful to relatives, even through force. Sometimes later she complains about how hard it is for her, but if someone comes to visit, all the best is obligatory. Especially in front of men. She has two sons, 4 grandchildren, and two daughters and I am a granddaughter. With us she is more frank, but with men, as it were, at a distance.
The second grandmother has been living in the city since the age of 19. She is very strong and independent. Although it is very difficult for her to be on her own. Widowed 2 times (the second unofficial marriage began when she was 65 years old). And her policy towards men is a "woman's cunning". For me, she is a very close person, but I still make decisions myself. Perhaps my mother will soon become a grandmother. I will respect her right to be herself. In the meantime, I am actively pushing her towards self-knowledge from identifying herself only with my mother.

As I understand you. My mom is already 41, and she still tries to "steer" her life and climbs into our fate with my brother.

I can understand the author's position about grandmothers. I have two grandmothers - also two opposites. On my father's side, she led a very reclusive lifestyle - she did not go out into the street for no particular reason, did not go for a walk, was reluctant to go to family events and did not particularly welcome guests. She led us strictly and restrainedly. She never told stories about her life. So my sister and I got the role of "unloved granddaughters"

My great-grandmother was like that: sunny, with a bunch of interesting stories at the ready, baked the most delicious buns. I wish I had time to grow up and ask what kind of person she was before her grandfather beat her to death.

My heart skips a beat when you read stories like this. How much these women had to go through. And after that, women still dare to call the "weaker sex".

At the age of 9, my grandmother stayed on the farm with her younger brothers and sisters. And in general, I understand now that I want to talk a lot with her in her life, but she has always been very modest and patient. She sacrificed a lot for us, and she could tell only after a direct question. But she died when I was still a violent teenager, who often broke off and spoke rude things and offended her, it's a pity now.

Your story is just to tears. You didn’t have time to apologize, but you managed to understand everything - this is also valuable. I'm sure your great-grandmother would forgive you. And, judging by your story, she certainly would not want you to torment yourself for the rest of your life that you did not have time to ask for forgiveness. I really want to support you, but I don’t know which is better. I hug you in my mind, if I may. You had a wonderful great-grandmother.

And my grandparents told me a lot about the war. It is enough for me to fear her more than anything else and to sympathize with those who now unwittingly find themselves in the area of ​​hostilities. I try to remember everything, life is an interesting thing. And my great-grandmothers also talked a lot, you can write books about them, as an example of a woman's life in a patriarchal society, a complex and ambiguous fate. I miss my great-grandmother, Baba Katya, she taught me to read when I was a year and a half, while she was sitting with me. She herself did not have time to finish school, so she read slowly and understandably for me, and that's how I learned. I can still very clearly imagine her voice "you are running too fast, sparks are flying from under your heels!" - and all the time I tried to see these sparks.

I read it, and I am happy that since childhood I have always listened with pleasure to the stories of my grandmother about her youth, her boyfriends, her relationship with her parents and sisters. Until now, we gather at least once a week for tea and discuss our views on religion, politics, family, and each time it is incredibly interesting. Behind every woman's back is an incredible story, a heroic story. Thank you for your thoughts, very accurate and sensitive.

I have completely different grandmothers. One very cheerful and full of energy woman who loves me terribly. The second, on the contrary, is very gloomy, a little offended by the whole world, plus it seems that she does not consider me a wonderful child or, one might say, a grandson.

My great-grandmother went through the war in the rear. From the age of fifteen she worked on a collective farm. She spent her entire life on the same collective farm. As a child, I did not understand horror stories about hunger, spikelets, about ten years of imprisonment, about letters from the front. And she was madly in love with Indian films, she could retell the plot of everyone that she watched. As I grew older, her mind left her. Now I understand her fears: do not let me into the children's camp, "otherwise he will bring it in the hem", do not go with the boys, and so on. It's a shame that I remember so little of what she said.

For me, stories about good grandmothers are like from a parallel universe.
One was an aggressive bitch. In general, I hardly remember her smiling, being in a good mood. Almost everything she told me was the main thing "to wait for my husband." She did it herself, In front of the men she walked on her hind legs. At the same time, she pressed three daughters and all grandchildren.
She herself was a free servant, and she urged all the girls in the family to do the same. Parents scared me that, they say, I would behave badly - they would send me to this bitch for training. She beat me and all the other children constantly, saying that we were her shit. I remember once she even beat a baby - my sister for crying. I was once beaten because my legs hurt.
The second, at first glance, was harmless, never shouted or raised her hand to me. I generally considered her a victim, an unhappy sheep. But rather, the couple just bothered her, and she did dirty tricks with someone else's hands. For example, she complained to my parents about me. She knew that they were inadequate and could beat me. But apparently this is what she wanted. She was also opposed to her father marrying her mother, and spread rot on her. She said that she was a seryuchka, without education. And her son is urban, and deserves a city wife, with a prestigious education. Moreover, the mother was much more civilized than her urban husband. Then she got an education, began to work prestigiously, to pursue a career. Socially, she has reached much more than her father. But it didn't get any better for the grandmother.
There was also a great-grandmother, I hardly remember her, since she died when I was 6 years old. It seems that I loved her more than anyone else. She was me too, and she protected me from other fucking adults. Didn't let anyone scream and beat me. But I'm still not sure she was a good woman. It was said that they strongly spread rot on all the wives of their sons.

My maternal grandmother always seemed to me uninteresting, boring until the age of 17-18. Then I grew up and looked at her as a person with a very difficult life in the past, and not as a boring family member who was always nagging for unwashed dishes and bad grades. She, like all girls, married early. She gave birth early. Only now my husband (my grandfather) turned out to be a rapist, a liar, a lover to let his hands go, and also a pedophile. And it so happened that only I could save the family from this monster. And now I understand that she does not talk about herself, because no one just listened to her before. Her grandfather broke her, and only not so long ago she began to live a full life. I have long wanted to talk to her about her feelings and the past. But I do not even know how to do this, and whether it is even worthwhile for a person to climb into the soul, which is like a sieve.

Ask a question that is clearly respectful, tell her that she can not answer if she doesn’t want to. "Grandma, I understand that you had a hard life that you might not want to remember, but could you tell me something?"

My grandmothers were never interested in me or my brother or other grandchildren. My father's mother still considers me to be a walk-up, never helped my mother with eczema and falling off fingers (in the literal sense of the word, it was very difficult after the second birth) neither to wash the dishes, nor to take food to cook, nothing.
She just sat with another grandmother in the kitchen while her mother washed the dishes and moaned in pain, and they just shook their heads that "I should help her, but what can I do, because she was not asked, she did not ask" and other nonsense. I was five, and there was little sense from me, except that I was sitting with a one-year-old child, instead of grandmothers, who were not even in the hospital. On the occasion of the birth of my brother, only me, dad, and my grandfathers were in the maternity hospital. And the younger sister of my father. Everything. Nobody.
Perhaps, yes, offended by life, blah blah blah, but the problem is that the grandfathers were normal people, with respectful understanding of others! Both were, yes, bosses, but the attitude to the end was pleasant and even loving.
Conclusion: I have never had grandmothers, about whom they write in books. "Moreover, I did not have grandmothers, even such closed, such personal, such people, about whom in the article.
Yes, my mother's mother died - I did not feel much pain, because, well, how can I regret a dead person whom I do not know? I roared, roared almost the entire elementary school when my uncle died, yes, a drug addict, yes, from an overdose, but he loved me and my mother and father, communicated with me. Yes, I cried when my father's father died - he loved me and my brother, he idolized his brother, "the bearer of the surname". I love my mother's father - a grandfather, just a grandfather.
And the grandmother who stayed, no. She requires communication, however, even to a banal request to help me - "well, you know, I can't, I won't succeed, I'm old, I am this, I am." As if I don't know she's lying. And how to communicate with someone who does not want to make contact? However, poke that "you are my only granddaughter! Girl! Why don't you look after me?"
Yes, it's stupid, but I don't want to. She is nobody to me, she was nobody and she became nobody. Just a person whom I don't even see once a year.

And my grandmother reads the cards. Even if I don't tell you anything, she still knows what is going on with me, down to eerie details - for example, once she dumbfounded the question "how is your new home?" Although no one knew that I left my husband for a week, and rented another apartment (moreover, a house, not an apartment); another time she asked what was the name of that little black man who had lived at my house for four days. When asked how she found out exactly how many days it was, the answer was - and I laid out cards for four days in a row, and you were together in your house, and on the fifth - he was already in another country. So I realized that it is useless to hide anything from Granny, and I tell her everything. Which is why I am glad that there is a person in the family whom I trust, or, more correctly, I am not afraid of condemnation or rejection.

Thank you very much for your support. I told only one girl about it. It’s easier already because she said about it. Ashamed. Of course it's a shame. But now, having understood everything, I try to be less selfish towards those closest to me who love and support me.

I read this, and somehow at the same time it was both insulting and sad. It so happened that at the age of 8, I left far away from both my grandmothers, who, unfortunately, are no longer there. Mom's mother was then lying with a stroke, I remember how kind she was and how silent. I really saw what pain she was experiencing and how embarrassing she was that everyone was "running around" with her, as she said. Why is it sad, because I did not have time to tell her much, she did not see me as an adult, although I know for sure, she really dreamed about it, my silent granny with sad eyes. I'm sure that there was a whole world in it, a whole universe that I never knew about ...
And the second grandmother, my father's mother, since I left, did not want to know anything about me. She did not call, did not write. But I still love her and miss her. After all, who knows what she was thinking then, what she wanted.
It's just sad that I will never know this.
Yes, I have always dreamed of sitting with my grandmother on the sofa together, drinking tea and just chatting, asking her about everything in the world and talking about myself.
Very sorry.

My grandma calls me fuck. From the age of 10, she claims that I am a slut, because I played football with boys. There were few girls in the yard, I played with whoever I was. She lived with a boyfriend, my grandmother wanted my wedding, she was afraid that I would bring it in the hem.

Because relatives are not chosen, and grandmothers are as different as any other women. I understand that I am still not ready for the fact that my grandmothers will be gone. It seems to me that when a good relationship and we know so much about each other, letting go is simply unrealistic, I try to get used to the idea that I myself can theoretically be a grandmother and this is an inevitable course of life, but I still cannot let them go, I I know that.

Very good topic! I can no longer distinguish between whom I love more - my mother or my beloved grandmother. My grandmother is Lezginka, and all her childhood she looked after me, still affectionately calls me a swallow and sang songs in our native language (which I learned thanks to her). She is a very interesting person, cheerful, optimistic and often jokes.
And best of all, she supports the feminist line of my thinking.

Yes, my grandmother is such a grandmother. True, she told me a lot of interesting things about her life, about the life of her mother, father and sisters. And she really does not like what she does (farming, embroidery, watching TV series and sitting with her friends on the bench). I'm happy for her. She often calls me, and I tell me how things are going. Although, of course, she knows much less about me than I do about her. If she knew what kind of person I am, she would not have understood me. But I love my granny and she love me. And in general, all my relatives.

I had the same grandmother as in the films mentioned by the author. The most understanding and kind. Unfortunately, we lived in different cities and rarely met.

My grandmother was the head of our family. I often talked about my life, and I told her about mine, due to the openness of my character, although understanding was far from always.

There is such a stereotype about older women, as well as about women of any other age, and although I am still far from the age of a "grandmother," sometimes I wonder with horror what old age awaits me, because I will never become such an old woman in a dress in peas, with grandchildren, with specialties and the habit of persuading everyone to taste my goodies. It is scary that we are trapped in public opinion all our lives, and a step to the left and a step to the right - we will be condemned, expelled from society. "Abnormal" old women are also ashamed - they say, she was a fool in her youth, now die alone! Or: what do you imagine, you old fool, because of your age you are not supposed to! Or (if there are children-grandchildren): I didn’t bring them up like that, they are what they have grown up into!
The grandmother on Batin's line lived like this all her life, trying to show herself in society as "correct", and demanded the same from others. She was ashamed of her son, my uncle, when he fell in love with a representative of an ethnic minority, because "what will people say," then she picked up a wife for him, and was ashamed when he and his wife divorced, and his wife took her granddaughter - it seems Because of the breakup with my cousin, I was worried so much for my reputation - after all, she does not have an exemplary family! People will gossip! All my life she disliked my mother because she was from an extremely poor family, and then also because she suddenly turned from a correct patriarchal into a self-confident careerist (yes, my mother is cool!). Then came the sufferers that I, they say, "at this age" do not marry, do not give birth to children, wrong, disorder.
And the worst thing is that I am observing, albeit not such a nightmarish, but still dependence on public opinion. The example of my grandmother shows how pitiful and worthless it looks, she didn’t live properly, but as if she was making a show out of her life that people should like.

And my great-grandmother left 3 years ago. Great-grandfather fell ill from a stroke, the doctors said - a maximum of a year, and then he would not even get up. She wore it on herself every day, did exercises, washed it. And he got to his feet! I went and played sports with her. After that, he lived for another 10 years. Granny was very happy that he was there. True, after her grandfather passed away, she only lived for a couple of years. Nothing, she said, no longer wants. There was great love, pure, light. They loved each other very much. She was a very kind woman. Now I regret that I had so little time with her.

And my grandmother is exactly, as the author described, the grandmother from the films, especially in behavior, oddly enough. At 65, she looks 10 years younger, always dressed "in fashion" and carefully monitoring her appearance. But besides this mask, it is exactly how people interpret this image in films and books. I can talk to her on equal terms, she can give me advice. What are all the same different people in this world!

Grandmothers are the same women. With his Personal life, including.

My grandmother is a wonderful, kindest woman, ethical, tactful. War child, raised in harsh conditions. She entered the medical institute, left central Russia to "raise" the fraternal republic. She rode a horse through the villages, provided medical assistance. And by the way, several times I saved my grandfather from death, “went out”, and then went to her sister for a couple of weeks, thousands of kilometers away, and there was no one to save grandfather. But he refused to save himself, forbade calling an ambulance, and so on. A perfect illustration of a woman's responsibilities is also to be responsible for all lives, including adult men. Okay, not about that. Now in good health, we see each other very often. She watches the news, bakes pies, she uses her mobile phone better than her mother, but she is a little sad. He cannot find something to his liking, and we do not know how to help. Already so many have changed their minds. I don’t know what to do already.

It seems to me that everything depends on the character. For example, I am a terribly uncommunicative person. I can not communicate for days without feeling any discomfort. Empty conversations about anything bore me, and I don't like family feasts at all, just because of empty conversations during the forced 3-4 hours. But there are people who like it, I admit it.
We are all different. Sociable grandmothers who with great pleasure communicate with grandchildren, other elderly women, in queues, etc., and those women who prefer to stay apart and go about their business - this is all normal. Both options are fine. It's just that we are all different.
Anyway, I think so.

How do you like the article?

If you have been married for twenty years, you cannot let your husband go free - he will die. I corrected his face a couple of times, of course, and said "you once and me once." My cycle may end soon, but I still don't know anything about forbidden pleasures. My husband, a respected person, a party member, also did not want to get divorced. Well, he says, my soul, no soap will wash off. I bless you for a one-time adultery. And if you bring me a nasty French disease in my hem, I'll poison it with my own hands, I'm telling you as a pediatrician. And laughs, jokes means.

Well, after that incident, my little eyes opened like a window into her to Europe. I began to notice, what is being done on the sides.And it was noticed. NSDuring the week, Ninel brings the man, the gabardine one, to our cutting room, and jerks his head so impatiently: go away, my friend says, for a little while, we will check the quality of the fabric here. “Right now,” I answer casually. "There is no need to roll rolls here, go to your office, check the strength of the furniture." And I stood there, I cut myself further, but I glanced at the gabardine, like that dear "bowing her head sideways." And I myself think “Idiot piece that you found this in Ninelka. Look, my mouth is one hundred percent sweeter, my bra is more lacy and borscht with donuts. " And Ninelka stared at him, seemingly inspiring too.

The man almost broke in two from such hypnosis, but made the only correct choice. Poor fellow. Ninelka called him insultingly and told him to go to a well-known address.
The man, sensitive to female rudeness, winced, introduced himself as Volodenka and began to drag himself towards me. Ninel, of course, dropped the iron at me a couple of times, not counting the small dirty tricks. Yes, and I, too, did not find myself in a leper colony under the sink. She screamed with a falsetto, with scissors at Ninela's muzzle she lethally clicked and our African passions subsided.

For six months Volodenka showed me the Kama Sutra. I was about to leave him, not that I was disgusted, but tired as a dog. I don’t know about the others, but this adultery was an unbearable burden for me. Work, children, merry husband “Yeah, are you late? Is the order urgent? You do not take care of yourself. " To me, too, Torquemada was looking for something.

Volodenka, meanwhile, was completely mad. I called thirty times a day. “I woke up, I ate, I worked ...” And all this with assurances of utter passion. I pooped, thu. Yes, and Volodenka did not earn that decently. For two families. Well, I told him. It's time to leave, I will never forget you, well, you yourself know everything. And Volodenka suddenly on his knees - boom and lamented “I have been reading stupid books about perversion for a year, the Tao of Love is called, I dragged you a wagon of flowers and got used to borscht as to my mother’s sis. Now I even divide the harvest from the dacha into three: the family, my mother and you. If you suddenly leave me, then I will eat up means for cleaning toilets made in the GDR, and lie down on the tram tracks all in tears and with a note of vile content. " Well, something like that.

A woman's heart is as soft as wheat porridge, that's what. Moreover, Volodenka turned out to be very capable in terms of studying the above-mentioned Tao. Well, this bagpipe stretched itself further.

And Volodenka got burned as expected - on nonsense. Wife, don't be a fool, she felt something. Of course, you will feel here when in the second year a third of the harvest floats to the left. Raspberries will not give birth, the bark beetle eats potatoes, lettuce tomatoes have not been born this year at all, forgive me dear, I did not notice. Volodenka is all running around the studio. So my wife decided to see everything with her own eyes. These demonic Internet of yours had not yet been invented, there was only one opportunity to find out everything - to hide in a closet during the division of the harvest.

Volodenka arrived one day from the dacha, there was no one, only for some reason a hot saucepan with pickle gurgles on the stove. And let's put everything into three piles: this is for me, this is for mom, and this is in the studio. “What is an atelier? - Volodenka's wife choked on an artificial fur coat in the closet. I sat quietly until my husband left, and then let me look at his notebook with passion. The book was thoroughly suspicious: only Ivan Petrovich and Vasily Alekseevich. Only one woman was found, with the letter a "Atelier Luda". Of course, my wife's breath caught in her goiter. And she decided to ruin my life completely, like the SRs to the sans-culottes. I called and invited my husband to a date.

Husband-merry fellow agreed with the hunt, with entertainment in our time somehow was not very good. I came to the botanical garden in a gray suit with a large newspaper - a sign for recognition. And there is a wife, nervously running around the fountain. In general, she suggested poisoning Volodenka and me. She suggested, leaned back on the bench and looked at mine. And my doctor, they have a very specific sense of humor.
- Well, - says mine, - I agree to everything. Only at first you are yours, otherwise I do not really trust strangers' wives.

So, what is next? I ask. We are with a familiar grandmother sitting at a leisurely conversation, waiting for children-grandchildren from English courses. - Did you give a laxative?
- Laxative, - the grandmother draws contemptuously. - I gave it to Brom. A horse's dose, to be sure.

Grandma neatly folded up the X-Files. By that time, I was lying between the chairs and only grunting with delight.
- No, - the grandmother adds sternly, remembering something, - we didn't have sex. Passion was, but these nasty things were not. So you should know!