Cool! 10
Every person has a favorite thing. But what is a “favorite thing”? This is something that is very dear to a person. This thing can be different for everyone. Someone might say that their favorite thing is a teddy bear given to them by someone close to them. Another will say that his favorite thing is a book that left a positive impression on him. But the main thing is what this most beloved thing carries within itself. After all, an object received from someone important to you, which contains the memory of something close to your heart, is more valuable than gold and silver.
My favorite thing is an old coin that my grandmother gave me. Perhaps someone will say that this is stupid. After all, you can’t play with a coin like a plush toy. But for me this coin is more valuable than any treasure of the white world. It holds my happy memories of fun times. It reminds me of how my friends and I played and had fun. This coin has more than once helped us make sometimes small, and sometimes very important decisions for us.
One day my coin fell out of my pocket. When my friends and I noticed this, we all went looking for her together. We searched for a very long time, and everyone was very worried. After all, my grandmother’s gift became a member of our friendly group. In one hour long search we still found her. Everyone was very happy that we were still able to find our comrade, who had helped us out more than once in difficult times. After that day it became clear that I had the best and faithful friends. They didn't abandon me. Therefore, this coin became a symbol of our friendship.
Some might say that my favorite thing is memories or friends. But this is not true at all. It is that same old scratched coin that is most dear to me. After all, it was in her that everything that was most dear to me came together. This coin combines memories of my dear beloved grandmother, friendship with my friends, my separate world, in which life seems to stop, and I can relive the happiest periods of my life.
Even more essays on the topic: “My favorite thing”:
An item can become loved and important if it is useful, if it was given by an important person to you, or if pleasant memories are associated with it. It could be anything from a book to a car. What matters is what memories and emotions are associated with it. Every person has things that are dear to him, that he loves.
I also have a favorite thing - a bicycle. You might think it's new and shiny, which is why I love it so much and treasure it. This is not entirely true. I really love riding a bike, and one day my grandfather suggested that I build a bike for me. I was very happy and agreed immediately. He and I assembled my bike together in the garage for two weeks. It was long and painstaking work. My grandfather had some of the parts, but I had to look for and buy some more. I actually traded the chain from my neighbor for Tetris.
In the end we have a great fast bike. We painted it matte black and called it “Whirlwind.” That same day, my grandfather and I went out for a ride on the field: he on his, and I on mine. It was very funny. We raced and drove down the mountain. True, at the end I turned unsuccessfully and fell, but there was not a scratch left on the Whirlwind, we made it conscientiously.
Since then, I only ride on it, and in winter I carefully store it in the garage next to my dad’s car. It is very dear to me and not only as a means of transport. I put part of my soul into it, it’s exactly the way I like it and, besides, my grandfather and I became very close while we were making it. He showed me that nothing is impossible, if you really want something, do it. I remembered this lesson forever.
Dad even offered to buy me New Year another bike, with gear shifting, but I refused. There is no greater one than my Whirlwind. He gave me many pleasant moments, how can I refuse him? Well, then, the Whirlwind is in excellent condition, I’m keeping an eye on it. My grandfather is no longer here, but the bike reminds me of the times when we were together.
Source sdam-na5.ru
Brief announcement: every person has a favorite thing and it occupies a certain place in his life. My favorite thing is my tablet.
The entire space in which a person lives is filled with things, be it a home, a school, a hospital, or everywhere! There are household things, such as furniture, computers, televisions, without which we can no longer imagine life in modern world– they make our life more comfortable. And there are personal things that each of us has in our wardrobe. And among these things there are favorite things that we often wear, and unloved things that we wear very rarely and only because my mother insisted.
I have a lot of favorite things, these are pajamas with Spiderman - how sweetly I sleep in them and what cool dreams I have in them, and my favorite backpack - everything that has been in it, and I even have a favorite toy from childhood - my hare with such long and soft ears, but my favorite thing is my tablet. I have been asking my parents to buy me a tablet for a long time and finally this year for my birthday my dream came true! He is so cool, I never even dreamed of this! I even named him "Goodwin" after the wizard from the emerald city.
Now all my friends, and I admit, me too, spend a lot of time on computers, laptops, tablets and phones. And every free minute at home we run to the computer or tablet screen; during breaks at school we are all on our phones. My parents always scold me for spending so much time on my tablet! They say that in their childhood they spent a lot of time outside, playing football, basketball, catch-up, and I sit at home and communicate on the Internet. But times have changed! In the modern world you simply cannot live without a computer or tablet! With the advent of the tablet, my life changed dramatically. I turn it on, go online and can travel around the world, I can find out a lot of information about what interests me. I also listen to my favorite music on my tablet, watch interesting films, and play games. I chat on Skype with my friends and now I don’t have to run to a friend to find out homework. You can, of course, call, but on Skype we see each other. And what super photos you can take with my tablet!
I recently downloaded a photo processing program from the Internet and you can use it to create different designs. The result is such beauty: some photographs look as if you are looking through water, others look like old black and white photos, others look like they were drawn with a simple pencil, and others look like graffiti. But I haven’t even had time to try everything yet. Every day I am surprised how many new things I learn and all thanks to him - my tablet.
My tablet is always with me, we are inseparable! One day I went to visit a friend of mine who lives two blocks away from me. We played so much that I was in a hurry to get home and then it turned out that I had forgotten my tablet with him. I was very worried, I couldn’t fall asleep for a long time and from the very morning I was already rushing to my friend’s for my “Goodwin”! A tablet is not just a favorite thing, it is my friend and assistant!
Almost everyone has a favorite and dear thing to their heart. For example, a medal that reminds you of pleasant moments in life, such as winning a sports competition or a dance competition. For some, their favorite thing is a laptop, which allows them to learn a lot of new things, but for others, it’s just fashion sneakers pleasing with convenience and beauty.
For me, my favorite thing was an art set of markers and an album. Many people think that these are too simple and uninteresting things, but it seems to me that there is nothing more interesting and exciting than drawing. And even though I don’t draw very well, this is not an obstacle for me, because with the help of colored markers you can draw whatever you want.
So why did the drawing set become my favorite thing? Because with a felt-tip pen in your hand it is very convenient to dream, invent something and fantasize. Even when you are sad, you can improve your mood by transferring your thoughts to paper.
How many times have I been rescued and entertained by an art set! And on a boring trip, when there is nothing else to do, and during a long wait.
While drawing I feel like a real creator. Every book I read is then necessarily supplemented with illustrations drawn with my favorite felt-tip pens. I like to draw images of heroes, the way only I see them. It is especially interesting to draw fantastic stories, legends and fairy tales. In this case, real freedom comes for my favorite set, because in these books there are a huge number of characters and plots that no one has seen and you can draw them as you please. It’s incredibly interesting to figure out how many legs and what color tails the inhabitants of another planet from the book you just read will have.
I also like to draw events that will certainly happen to me. For example, when I feel cold and uncomfortable in winter, I take my favorite set of markers. And now I am already surrounded by the warmth of summer, drawing a distant turquoise sea, a blinding sun, hot sand and of course myself, sailing to a boat in the distance.
And it happens that I am invited to the circus or to the premiere of a great film. After such an event, being impressed, I come home and draw trained animals, acrobats, or the continuation of an interesting film.
After the possibilities that a regular box of markers gives me, shouldn't this be my favorite thing? For me, this thing is like another way of communicating or transmitting information. Almost like speech or writing.
In addition, I am attracted by the brightness and richness with which felt-tip pens draw. The pictures I came up with come to life, you just have to paint them in different colors. I also have favorite colors that I use more often than others. I really love all shades of blue and purple, which is why fantasy trolls from other worlds, as a rule, turn out to be purple or blue.
In general, my favorite thing, not just any object. For me, this is a whole world full of different ideas, fantasies and vivid impressions.
Every person has some favorite thing, the so-called “material piece of the soul.” For children it is almost always a toy. For adults and older children, it can be anything: from a souvenir brought from the coast of Sochi to a photograph of a loved one...
In general, many people tried to explain to themselves why they needed their favorite thing, even if it was of no use.
For example, my cousin Vika never parted with a small figurine of Cheburashka. This same Cheburashka always hangs on her keys, that is, it is an ordinary keychain. And it has been hanging for more than 17 years... I wonder why? “It turns out that such a thing serves as a kind of talisman for a person, even if he doesn’t know it himself,” scientists say. She reminds of something close, something that a person really likes, which is why he loves her so much. In fact, I have such an item too...
It is an Intel i5 processor. It's funny, isn't it? It came to me after this processor burned out on my computer. That’s when I noticed it - such a tiny microcircuit, enclosed in a beautiful silver metal case, but so important and “smart”. I immediately put it in my pocket - it still doesn’t work and there is no visible damage.
For me he is a symbol of achievement modern technologies, a symbol of the future, and the main thing - the computer, because who doesn’t love this machine, which combines so many devices for work and entertainment. Besides, for some reason it reminds me of home, and home, as they say, is the most important place on Earth. And he “helps” me morally in difficult times.
So I carry this processor with me everywhere, even now, when I am writing this essay, it is in my trouser pocket. It’s funny, of course, but I’m not alone in this, so the conclusion is this: a favorite thing, no matter what it is, is the most important thing in the life of any person.
At one of the literary reading lessons, the children were given a creative task: to write a story about inconspicuous objects in their house or about “How things in my house treat me.” Here are the most interesting little essays.
Terentyev Daniil
Once upon a time there was an old clock. They stood in the largest room and in the most visible place. Every half hour they rang the chimes, but no one noticed them.
One day the clock broke. The house became sad and quiet. And everyone immediately noticed how bad it was to live without a watch. Therefore, they were sent to a watch workshop. The master repaired it and the watch returned home. Since then, the watch began a new happy story.
Semenova Natalya
In our homes there are a lot of different objects and things that benefit us and help us live.
One of the items is a socket. Yes, a very ordinary electrical outlet. This is a source of electricity thanks to which my family and I can watch TV, turn on household appliances, charge a laptop, tablet and phones, which are so necessary in the modern world.
Zakrevskaya Arina
I think that every person has his own favorite thing that he values and loves. Perhaps this thing is associated with pleasant memories. For some it is a computer, a bicycle, a doll or a book. And one of my favorite things is my bed. She stands in the most secluded corner of my room.
Why do I love her? How can you not love her! After all, she takes care of me, my rest. Before bed I like to read, and she probably listens to me too. And she’s also friends with my toys, who love to sleep in it. I take care of my pet: I keep it clean, I fill it up. I think our friendship will last a long time!
Zhigareva Valeria
Things in my house treat me well. I love them and they love me. The desk treats me very well. I do my homework for him, write, draw. loves me desk lamp. It shines on me so as not to spoil my vision. My sofa loves me. He is soft and beautiful. When I sleep on it, I have sweet dreams. I have a good relationship with TV. He and I are friends. I also love my briefcase - because I carry textbooks, notebooks and good grades in it.
Markvart Alexey
I use it every day many things that make my life easier, but some things are small and inconspicuous. Cutlery helps me eat, and a table lamp provides light in a dark room. In the morning I have breakfast and my mother makes me tea, but without a kettle it would be difficult. Sometimes I don’t notice the closet, it seems big, but I’m so used to it that I put my things there without thinking about it. In fact, there are a lot of inconspicuous things in our house, but this does not mean that they are useless or of little use - on the contrary, the more inconspicuous things are, the more we need them.
Kotova Lyubov
Things treat me well because I try to keep them clean and tidy. And sometimes my things are hidden from me. This happens when I forget to put them in their place. The bed is my most beloved friend. We have an understanding with her. I fill it up, and it gives me magical dreams.
Mitin Maxim
The computer desk doesn’t like me very much; something constantly falls under it: a pen, a notebook, or a very important piece of paper. And I don’t even want to talk about the closet - either clothes will fall out of it, or you won’t be able to find what you need. The bed loves me very much, it is good, soft, comfortable and I have wonderful dreams on it. I am also friends with the chest of drawers, because I neatly put things in it.
The chair doesn’t respect me because I always spin around on it. But I really like the sofa. I come home from school tired, lie down on the sofa, and he carefully puts a pillow under my ear. How a person treats his things in the house, so they will reciprocate him.
Mitin Kirill
I really love my home and the things that are in it. But not all things love me. So there is a mess on the table and in the closet, then the closet is not my friend. When I pack my things well, in a few days he will be offended at me for something, and all the things will become crumpled.
I love my desk, I write and draw at it too often. The chair doesn't respect me, I fell out of it once. The sofa loves me, it is very comfortable and I have wonderful dreams on it. But I don’t like the blanket at all, because I often throw it on the floor.
At some stage, an ordinary object can turn into a magical one. What is needed for this? Sometimes this requires an important meeting. And this meeting happened one day...
Fairy tale "The Magic Pen"
Once upon a time there lived an ordinary ball pen. And she had a dream - she wanted to become magical. But she didn’t know how ordinary hands turn into magic ones. And then one day the boy Kolya, who carried this pen to school, accidentally lost it. The poor hand had to go through a lot. She got wet in the rain, lay in the mud for a long time, but did not despair. The pen believed in a happy future. And finally, an unfamiliar passerby picked her up. He turned out to be a storyteller. After some time, the pen ended up in the storyteller’s house. Once, a storyteller invited the pen to go to a magical land. Since then, the pen has written about the Sun, about the stars, about distant Galaxies, and about how a little boy When Kolya grows up, he will make a magical flight to a distant planet... The storyteller conveyed part of his magical power pen. She became fabulously magical and wrote about everything herself.
Questions and tasks for the fairy tale
What subject are we talking about in the fairy tale?
What did the ballpoint pen dream about?
How did the pen end up on the street?
With whom did the significant meeting for the pen take place?
Did the pen manage to become magical?
What did the magic pen write about?
the main idea fairy tale is that if you really want something, then it is quite possible that it will come true.
What proverbs fit the fairy tale?
Happy is the one who has a dream.
Life without a dream is like a bird without wings.
These stories were told by my eighth graders after they met M.A.’s story in a literature lesson. Osorgina "Pince-nez".
Party ticket
I really liked the story “Pince-nez” by Mikhail Andreevich Osorgin. After reading it, I began to carefully observe different things around me, and became convinced that things really live their own lives, each of them has its own story.
I have one such story. About the ticket. I was going to go to the camp along it. He was issued three weeks before departure. I decided to photocopy it so that I could keep it as a keepsake, and went to the Service Center.
After a while, I remembered that my ticket had not caught my eye for a long time, I looked at the shelf where, as I remembered, I had put it - no. The scanned one is there, but the real one is not there.
I looked for it, turned the whole apartment upside down, was worried, asked everyone, but no one could help me: no one had seen the ticket. I even went to the Service Center in the hope that I accidentally left it there. But...alas! And there was no ticket there.
At home they told me that they wouldn’t let me in based on the photocopy, and, completely upset, I decided to take a walk.
In the vestibule, putting on my sneakers, I found... a ticket. He lay calmly, dormant behind the shoe cabinet. When I moved the cabinet slightly, he... as it seemed to me, he stood up and looked at me in surprise, apparently, he was dissatisfied with being disturbed.
You probably thought that when I came home from the Service Center, I simply accidentally dropped it behind the cabinet. But I am absolutely sure that this could not have happened, and I am convinced that my ticket decided to take a walk around the apartment and, tired from a multi-day walk, the reveler decided to rest in the vestibule.
Yes, all things live their own lives.
Ekaterina Kachaeva
How the mug punished me
All things live their own special life. Sometimes it happens that they get lost. But I think a person is always involved in their disappearance. Even if they disappear “of their own free will.”
One day my mug went missing. I once poured tea into it, drank it, and left the mug on the coffee table, near the chair. I had no idea that she could disappear. But when I decided to drink tea again, I discovered it was missing.
I spent a long time looking for my favorite mug throughout the apartment, but it seemed to have disappeared into the ground. When I no longer had the strength to look, I took another mug and soon forgot about the old one.
After some time, renovations began in the apartment. They began to take things out of the room, including a sofa and armchairs. Imagine my surprise when I found my mug behind the chair! It turns out that all this time she was lying, or rather, “sagging,” pressed against the wall with the back of her chair.
Apparently, she cleverly decided to hide from me, punishing me for not putting her back in her place.
Roman Tarkov
Strange things happen to things...
Surprisingly, things have a habit of disappearing at the most inopportune moments. Sometimes it’s impossible to find an eraser, sometimes a pencil, sometimes a pen. You turn the whole apartment over, search it up and down - and not a trace. It’s amazing, but then they appear, and most often when you have already found a replacement for them.
My leaders in the number of “escapes” are pencils. You put it in one place, and a minute later you look and it’s gone. You search and search - to no avail. You find it completely by accident and in the most unexpected place. Books also have a strange habit of constantly hiding.
Yes, strange things sometimes happen to things...
Anna KurdinaPencil with the soul of a traveler
Throughout a person’s life, he is surrounded by all sorts of things that he creates for his own convenience. These things can be anything - from pencils to furniture and cars. But it is with pencils (and even with pens) that we have the most problems. We constantly forget them somewhere and lose them. There is probably no person on Earth who has never lost a pen or pencil in his life.One such incident happened to me.
For New Year I was given a wonderful retractable pencil. He lived with me for about three months. During this time I managed to lose him several times. I found it in the most unexpected places: sometimes in a vest pocket, sometimes under the bed, sometimes in a crevice of the sofa. But the last time he disappeared forever. Having interrupted the entire apartment, I was annoyed and bought myself a new pencil.
Sometimes it seems to me that every thing has a soul. Perhaps my pencil had the soul of a traveler. Having traveled around the apartment and explored everything in it interesting corners, he probably decided to expand the boundaries of his world and went for a walk outside the apartment. Maybe one day I’ll meet him somewhere and tell him: “What a reveler you are!”
Pavel Mitryaykin
Curious pen
Happened to me once amazing story. Sometime during school year They bought me a new briefcase. When we brought the briefcase home, I began to carefully study it and, having discovered a secret compartment in it, I immediately decided that I would put pens, pencils, a ruler and an eraser in it. I have had good mood, and I completely forgot about the lessons, about the essay assigned for that day. But homework had to be done. I finished writing the draft essay only at midnight. I quickly washed my face and went to bed.
The next day, when I came to school with an old briefcase, I didn’t find a single pen in it. During class, I asked my friend Maxim for a spare pen. Returning home, I sat down at the table, took out a draft, a notebook for essays, and then I remembered that the pen was in my new briefcase. I unzipped the secret pocket and put my hand in there, but, to my great surprise, there was nothing there. I searched my pocket for another minute until I was completely sure that it was empty.
After a few minutes I realized the seriousness of this incident. There was not a single pen in the house. Except for a few non-writers. I didn’t have money to go to the store for a new pen, and neither of my parents were at home. True, my grandmother was supposed to return from work in an hour, but I was given a lot of lessons and I might not have time to learn them until the evening. However, there was nothing else to do but wait for the grandmother to arrive.
Half an hour later the phone rang. I picked up the phone and heard my grandmother's voice:
Sanya, I’ll stay at work for another hour. If you want to eat, there are dumplings in the refrigerator. Cook and eat.
Okay, grandma, bye, that’s all I could say.
Entering the room, I gave the briefcase a hearty kick. Something flew out of it, hit the wall and fell on the carpet nearby. Looking closer, I saw that it was a pen. He picked her up and began to do his homework.
Be it a brooch, a book, a wardrobe... We are waiting for family stories about things that are dear to you and your family, without which a home is unthinkable. Or - about things given by loved ones that are more than inanimate object.
“The Story of One Thing” is a competition that anyone can take part in.
Conditions:Must be sent interesting story about your favorite things. Be it a brooch, a book, a wardrobe. We are waiting for family stories about things that are dear to you and your family, without which a home is unthinkable. Or - about things given by loved ones, which are more to you than an inanimate object. Tell stories about “living” objects from home collections. Send your story to the Fontanka editorial office using the competition form below. Attach a photo. Don't forget to indicate your coordinates.
Results: The results of the competition will be announced on March 15. And the BODUM company, whose porcelain is kept in design museums around the world, will present a gift to the three authors. Prizes from the BODUM brand: coffee grinder, electric kettle, teapot. The brand has been producing tableware since 1944. Over the sixty-odd years of its history, it has created many things that have become legendary. The famous Osiris teapot is in the MoMA museum, and the French press BODUM coffee pot has become visually synonymous with Parisian coffee shops.
Yulia Arkadyevna Paramonova, St. Petersburg
Silver coin
My family keeps a silver coin, which, according to legend, was given to my great-grandmother by Nicholas II. She was just a little girl, it was the very end of the 19th century. Nicholas was not yet emperor and traveled around the world. With him are servants, and among them are my great-great-grandfather and his young wife, my great-great-grandmother. She cooked; my great-great-grandfather was an orderly. Anyway, halfway through the trip they found out they were having a baby. And so it happened that I had to give birth in Bombay! They were very worried, a foreign country, incomprehensible rules, everything unknown. Great-grandmother was born, thank God, without any difficulties. All was good. And it so happened that one day Nikolai saw my great-great-grandmother with her great-grandmother in her arms. And he gave me a coin. They immediately decided not to spend it on anything, but to store it. It became my great-grandmother’s talisman, and then a heirloom for the whole family. At that time, Nikolai and I also visited Egypt and Siam - that was such an interesting life.
Irina:
"Chicken God"
Lyudmila Vostretsova.
Dear Desk
About ten years ago I moved an old table from my parents. It moves apart and can gather twenty people around it. The top tabletop was cracked along its entire length, but assembled by a skilled craftsman, the table still serves with dignity.
I remember well his grand entry into his parents' house in the early 1950s. The appearance of the table opened a procession of new furniture: a huge sideboard, a voluminous wardrobe, a flirtatious mirror in a wide frame rising above the dressing table and a small bookcase on the bedside table. The last to be brought in were chairs with straight backs (at that time there was no word ergonomics in our family’s vocabulary, and the straight backs of chairs did not yet carefully bend to support the lower back).
Residents of capital cities may find it difficult to appreciate such an event. We lived then in a small Siberian mining town. I don't remember furniture stores at all. There was no commission trade either. After graduation, my father received a teaching position at a mining technical school. In our first home - a room in wooden house– the main place was occupied by my grandmother’s chest (it is still alive to this day). Then a wardrobe and a chest of drawers appeared in a small apartment, and finally, a two-story house was built for the teachers next to the technical school, in which we ended up with a three-room apartment. This is where furniture was needed.
A folk craftsman was found who created our wonderful set for us. He made it from Siberian cedar, so so far not a single pest has left a single trace of damage on the tree. The sanded surfaces were tinted, probably with stain and varnished (still preserved), so they acquired the noble appearance of mahogany. It was a "luxurious" purchase.
Our family's lifestyle today would be called an "open house." Neighboring colleagues always sat at our table. Then my many classmates began to gather around him, then friends joined them younger sisters. When the family decided that it was more convenient to gather friends around a round table, ours, hospitable and already somewhat old, moved to the “children’s room”, where we did our homework behind him. For this purpose, it also turned out to be surprisingly convenient: the legs of the table are secured not only under the tabletop, but also at the bottom - with a spacer, just at the height where it was convenient to put your feet.
It is still very comfortable to sit at this table today. He has certainly aged. In addition to the deep wrinkle-crack, he also has bald spots on the varnish surface. Today he places his extendable wings not under plates and salad bowls, but under piles of books; in the center - patiently holding a computer. At the market - the vanity fair - hardly anyone will pay attention to him. But I feel comfortable working at this table. All my relatives, both living and deceased, are next to me.
Daria Selyakova.
My house
As strange as it may seem, I don’t yet have a favorite thing in my house. I just love my home. But this did not happen right away. It didn’t take me long to fall in love with my home. I moved into an apartment where other people lived and lived for two years, getting used to the new space. I never got used to it, especially when I discovered the ubiquitous drywall under the wallpaper. Then my confidence in the strength of my home literally physically shook. I knew that the house was built in 1900, and only this gave me confidence that there must be at least some human materials under the plasterboard. At night, i.e. Coming home late from work, I picked out this same drywall piece by piece, and started with the doors. Amazing things began to be discovered: the doorways turned out to be huge, as if specially for double doors (how romantic). Then the plaster fell in a hail of stones, the shingles tore off, and finally the real wall was exposed - a thick plank palisade with cracks and holes from knots. Yes, but the cracks were filled with ordinary tow, like hay. And I felt somehow calm. I realized that I have walls, those that “help”, and this is MY home. And I began to “build” it according to my own principles: the windows that I ordered were wooden and very durable - these are my favorite windows; doors (5 of them - 2 of them double-leaf, 1 glass), with a reminder of the former beauty and skill of the carpentry. And these are MY favorite doors. There is a roof over our heads, thank God, although the ceiling requires serious repairs. Next will be: your favorite wallpaper, your favorite tiles, your favorite paints, then good-quality items and nice hangers. But the main “thing” has already appeared - “small Motherland” (“here is my village, here is my home..”). And here there is no sentimentality, it’s instinct.
Vera Solntseva.
Doll
On my birthday God-parents They gave me a Doll. An ordinary one like this soviet doll with a rubber head and blue eyes, yellow hard short hair, chubby face and plastic body. She was with me at a time when I didn’t remember myself. There are photographs where the Katya doll is larger than me, there are photographs where she is a little smaller than me, there are photographs where I seem to be already big and dragging my Katya by the hair. Katya became the most main toy my childhood. She always ruled the doll tea parties. She had a friend - a Tanya doll, more
Katya is the same size, but for some reason much less my favorite. And the rest of the toys that appeared in my childhood were in no way comparable to Katya. Katya was the main and beloved.
My grandmother, with whom I spent a lot of time, loved to knit. She tied the whole family, including my Katya. The Tanya doll was also tied, but not with such love. Even when I was very little, I loved to sit and watch the thread disappear from the ball. Then somehow I took a hook and began to knit myself, this skill was passed on to me by itself, I didn’t even have to study much. Strange, thanks to my grandmother for this and eternal memory.
I remember once my grandmother Katya and I were knitting a wedding dress: white skirt, blouse, Panama hat, scarf, handbag and socks. This became Katya’s favorite outfit; she mostly wore it. When I grew up, Katya sat in the closet for a long time. About once a year, her clothes were washed, and then they were put on the top shelf. Later they wrapped it in a bag and put it somewhere else
very far away. And somehow, in my opinion, when I was already studying at the institute, they made it at home general cleaning, and Katya was found. I took her and suddenly noticed that her eye was broken. There were eyelids with eyelashes that closed if you put Katya down.
So the little eye stopped opening. I suddenly felt pain and resentment for her, lying there for so many years, wrapped in a bag, forgotten, unnecessary. I was a little ashamed of my feelings for the plastic doll. But she still cried. I remember my mother’s bewilderment: “Vera, why are you crying?” “Katya’s eye is broken.” This is the last thing I remember about Katya. This feeling
affection and love, overshadowed by a feeling of shame for one’s emotions.
Svetlana.
Ficus 
My husband and ficus moved into my apartment at the same time. The husband held the ficus and a bag of things, the ficus held on with all his might. “He’s sick,” I thought. About ficus. “He’s kind of a dwarf,” my husband shrugged, “he’s been sitting still for two years now, not growing.” From then on, the three of us began our life together.
Ficus turned out to be a typical man: he demanded a lot of attention and did not promise anything in return. First, together we chose a suitable window sill for him: so that it is not hot, not cold, not drafty, not too bright, not too dark, and so that there are decent neighbors. The search for a suitable pot, soil, fertilizer and other men's accessories. “I fed you, gave you something to drink, and heat a bath for me.” With a soft damp cloth, I washed each leaf from the dust of my bachelor years and told the ficus how good, shiny, beautiful, promising and unique it was. And he believed.
Every day I told my husband: " Good morning, beloved, - and to the ficus: Hello, ficus!" And the men began to grow. The husband mainly grew in the abdomen, and the ficus grew in height, like a short teenager who sat too long in the first desk. Every year we buy wider pants and larger pots. And Now the critical moment has come: the ficus no longer fits on the windowsill. “I’ll have to give it to my mother or to kindergarten“- said the husband. The ficus and I felt sad at the prospect of an imminent separation; the ficus even dropped a couple of leaves on my carpet. I remembered them on the threshold, embarrassed and young... My husband seemed to remember this too when the next day I returned from work, he greeted me with a mysterious smile. From the table in the corner of the room, a good old ficus smiled with bright greenery :). It continues to grow, and my husband often jokes that soon a hole will have to be drilled in the ceiling. But he no longer stutters about moving :)
Dunya Ulyanova.
Old wardrobe
There has been an old wardrobe in our hallway for many years. The jackets of my grown son, my husband's raincoats, and my long-unworn coats are kept there. When guests arrive, wet from the usual St. Petersburg rains, there is always something in the closet to suit someone. The closet is called grandma's, and I remember it all my life.
It is simple and at the same time elegant - a large mirror with wide chamfers is inserted into the right door, and the left door is decorated with a carved flower on a long stem, a familiar sign of the undying Art Nouveau in the furniture business. The wardrobe appeared in a communal apartment on Ligovka, in a former Pertsov house, back in the thirties. It was purchased through a so-called “subscription”, announced to support the production of a furniture factory, that is, they contributed money and later received a beautiful “furnishings” among the first buyers. In 1934, the family moved to a cooperative house on the Petrograd side, and the closet took its place in the new apartment. He kept his grandmother's elegant colorful dresses, his grandfather's white trousers and shirts, his mother's school robe - things that pre-war photographs remind of. During the blockade they didn’t burn it, they just carefully swept away all the crusts from old sandwiches that accidentally got under it. In 1949 the family shrank and the grandmother changed apartments. Now aged faces were reflected in the mirror of the faded wardrobe, and not very much was hanging on the hangers. fashion clothes. Decades have passed, young people who love other subjects live in our house. An old wardrobe stands in the hallway, its mirror has darkened and is covered with small cracks and wrinkles. But now a little girl is looking into it, thinking of something, and the closet quietly answers her...
Irina Zhukova.
Chair number 14
This is a wooden object with a curved back in a circle, an object of stunning harmony. I cringe at him as I get to work. And if the eye catches it in the middle of the day, then it invariably pleases - the form is so perfect and unpretentiously simple. Its back is two dignified arches or two semicircles. The seat is two perfect circles - one carefully goes around the other, fitting tightly, so that the eyelids are not scary. Chair number fourteen! I didn’t even know that there was such a chair in history by the famous Viennese carpenter Michael Thonet. That in the 50s of the 19th century it was the most popular and widespread, that, in fact, all the Viennese chairs in the world and the romantically refined concept of “Viennese furniture” came from it. That after its launch to the masses, Thonet and his sons opened the production of rocking chairs, dressing tables, cradles, beds, and tables made of bent wood. It was the simplest chair. There are only six parts in the set, and the joints with the back and legs are lapped and stitched with wooden screws, which seems impossible today. The 14th model was “licensed”. The previous ones, from which the image was formed, now seem to not count... Re-reading the history of this chair, I imagined how difficult it was for the German Thonet in Austria the first time to receive privileges for the manufacture of armchairs and table legs from bent wood, “pre-steamed with water.” steam or soaked in boiling liquid." I imagined in every detail how once upon a time this chair of mine was held by the hands of a master. Was it Thonet himself or his son: Franz?, Michael? Josef? or August? One of my paired sets was then repaired in a completely unprivileged manner: the chair was trimmed with small nails around the perimeter of the seat, which did not spoil its charm, but added drama.
After my grandmother died, my mother wanted to get rid of the chairs. But I didn’t give it, because his shape always fascinated me. And then a friend came to visit with her sister, who said: “Yes, this is Thonet’s chair.” I nodded, adding that it could well be, but I still haven’t been able to find the master’s print. Then we turned the chair over again and found an inscription under the rim of the seat.
Two Thonet chairs coexisted in my apartment with my grandmother’s closet, sideboard and round wooden table. Despite their external sophistication, I know how strong they are. The durability of Thonet's chair was once demonstrated in a spectacular publicity stunt: it was thrown from the Eiffel Tower without breaking. No piece of modern furniture could withstand such a test.
What else did I learn about my chair: that the cost of one of these at the beginning of the 19th century was about three Austrian forints. Just think, he is over one hundred and fifty years old. One can only imagine what kind of people sat on it and what kind of conversations they had.
Elena Alekseevna.
Casket
I have a box: a wooden box with a hinged lid, on which there is a simple landscape in oil - green fir trees and birches surrounded by a simple carved frame. It seems to me that 50 years ago there were people like this in almost every family. I remember her as much as I remember myself, for almost half a century. As a child, the box seemed to me like a magic chest. Buttons were kept in it. I loved sorting through them, playing with them, for some reason always in “Mowgli”. She laid out buttons of different shapes and colors on the table and designated some as Hathi and others as Bagheera. And on back side I liked to scratch the lids with a colored pencil. The box survived many family disasters and moved with me from apartment to apartment. I still keep buttons in it, and some of them are the same ones that I played with as a child, and on inside the lids are emblazoned with my childhood doodles. I hope to leave this family heirloom to my grandchildren, if they ever have them.
Tsvetkova Valentina.
Gift
There is one thing without which my home has been unthinkable for some time now. It has no family significance, and even the situation surrounding its appearance is not worth ranking among the memorable events of my life. She has no history, she IS history, and a reminder, and a memory. The awareness of her presence is enough. By itself, it does not evoke affection; perhaps it could easily be replaced by another. With an absolute minimum of object value, its purpose is much higher than its value. Gradually a feeling or even confidence arose that it was not you, but she who had found you.
In fact, on occasion, at an Orthodox fair, I bought a reproduction of Andrei Rublev’s “Trinity”, glued to a board and covered with a thick layer of varnish - an ICON. And by acquiring it, she found it. An opportunity to join the absolute in Love. And to understanding the essence of things.
Irina Igorevna.
Grandma's book
I will write about my grandmother’s favorite book, or rather, about my grandmother. She has been gone for a long time, there is almost no one to remember her. All my life I'm damn sorry that my daughter didn't meet her. It could have, but it didn't happen. My grandmother died young, barely having time to see me as a schoolgirl. With the passing of my grandmother, childhood did not end, but it ceased to be totally happy, it became multi-colored. Something fundamental was forever shaken, but even in death, the grandmother did good, causing the first critical thought: is everything here as well organized as it seems?
The memory tape is rewinding. New Year. Huge apartment of friends. Everything is interesting and mysterious and magical. Children's performances. Problems from Perelman - who will figure it out first? The tree is of unprecedented, forgotten height - we now have low ceilings at home. Sudden silence, floorboards creaking. My parents came for me and hugged me: my grandmother was no more. I roar theatrically: this is how it should be. But I don't believe them. How is it - no? I am, that means she is too.
First grade. Uncle Borya (he is not an uncle at all, he is his grandfather’s colleague) grows unprecedented gladioli, receiving bulbs from Holland (Holland is only from a book about magic skates, there is no other one, but there is no doubt what they can send from it. Uncle Borya has everything maybe: he has a TV, we go to him to shout “puck-puck” for Spartak). Grandma grows Uncle Borin's bulbs on the balcony. There are always onlookers under the balcony. They look at the gladioli, which does not exist: they are green, black and purple, - I go to first grade with them, - with an avant-garde bouquet. The sun through black petals - from pink to purple. Grandma tied a particularly tight, strict schoolgirl tie! - the pigtails, apron and collars were sewn by her, the cambric was starched. The balcony smells of sweet peas until October, summer lasts - this is also grandma. She is delighted with the first large Oka refrigerator (he is taller than me), and is delighted by the egg compartments - how did they come up with it, eh?! - with special recesses. My real uncle sent him in a roundabout way across the country (it turned out that my grandmother has a son, he is my mother’s older brother, but I don’t know him, he is a military engineer, he serves in Kyrgyzstan. - Where is it? I climb into the Encyclopedia - green roots - she at the bottom of the shelf, it's interesting to read there). My new word is that he sent it in a “container”. Everyone is excited and happy.
Country house. We are “filming.” In the city, I woke up and heard voices in the kitchen through the wall: the price has increased, 150 rubles! What to do? Smiling, I fall asleep, what nonsense, summer and the sea will happen, and my grandmother so tenderly says to my grandfather: “My dear, Bubble needs the sea.” I sleep and my pillow smells so delicious.
Country house. Dark. The sound of the surf and fir trees. A moth knocking on a lampshade. The crackle of jammers. Words: BBC, Voice of America, Seva Novgorodians. Grandmother plays solitaire, grandfather makes crafts, he has “golden hands.” Listening to the radio, they look at each other furtively, for some reason they are having fun. I need to sleep a lot: I have “rheumatism.” Grandmother says: Leningrad is in the swamp, you will get better soon, it is in everyone’s family. I don’t know the word “genus”, I’m asking. Wow: my grandmother also had a grandmother, she came to her from Warsaw in a carriage (wow! was she a princess?), and then the Whites came, then the Reds. Grandfather's voice: girls, sleep! Grandfather is always next to grandmother, he just goes to work. Looking in, am I asleep? - they kiss. Like I don't know? They always kiss: “My dear Grandma” and “Irishenka is my beloved.”
Morning, sun: there will be so many interesting things today! Grandmother’s hands are in uniform motion: knitting, sewing, typing, washing. Grandma has freckles, she is covered in golden dots, and she has gray eyes, she is lucky, she has huge, huge ones. They say they glow. And she has extraordinary hair, they say: a shock. Words: Vrubel's angel. What is this? Interesting.
House, 17th line. The silhouette of a sleepy grandmother: her back is straight, her eyes are laughing, she is very young with her back to the light. - “Did the squirrel come? She came and brought you 3 nuts.” I'll rush out of bed: that's great! The squirrel (she is drawn on a bookmark, and comes to life at night, and therefore only grandma can see her) was here again: here they are, the nuts. What a great life it is.
First memory. The sky is scary-huge, I fell off the swing, paralyzing with pain and horror. Below the sky, the grandmother’s face floats into the frame, and the smell of perfume, both strong and gentle hands, - it just seemed scary.
An old box containing letters and documents. 1909, telegram Perm-Pyatigorsk: “A dark-haired daughter was born. Everyone is healthy." Leningrad University. “Not accepted by social media. origin." Laboratory assistant, teacher, typist. Profile: “There was a brother: shot in 1918.” Sister: sentenced in 1948. Uncle - March 1935, his wife - 1935. The rest - 1938. Karpovka 39, apartment 1. Post-war letters to her husband: “Bob, dear, don’t worry, we are all healthy and miss you..”
Grandma never insisted on anything. She listened, understood, loved everyone. “If you please,” was the most angry verb in my grandmother’s vocabulary: “If you please, ask for forgiveness, Hero of the human race.” The only firm thing was that “coffee” of the neuter gender is “utter stupidity”, and “if you want in masculine terms, then if you please: “coffee” and “coffee”. But the amendment was also strict: “We were not “evacuated.” It was a business trip of the People's Commissar." Grandfather was not allowed to go to the front as a specialist. “He kept trying to leave us, running to the military registration and enlistment office.” At the end of March 1942, they were taken out of Leningrad on a military plane: husband, wife, two children. The children could no longer get up; they had to learn to walk again. The weight of the cargo was strictly limited. Grandma bandaged her favorite book into the pit of her stomach. It was thick, but the hole in the hypochondrium up to the spine contained it, it was unnoticeable. Everything left was lost. The whole memory, the whole library. Grandmother brought three books to the children: Alice in Wonderland, Little Lord Fauntleroy, Knights round table. And this one, which I couldn’t part with, although I knew it by heart: Lermontov. Works. M., 1891. Anniversary edition. Illustrations by Aivazovsky, Vasnetsov, Vrubel. Pictures of my childhood.
I prefer the poem about “the trembling lights of sad villages,” and my grandmother, Irina Ivanovna, read with inspiration: “Open the prison for me.” She simply flew away from me with her ever-beloved Lermontov. It was not done by “grandmother” at all. It seems that now I already understand what it was about. But, probably, not about everything.
Elena Alekseeva.
WITH part 
I want to talk about a family heirloom. This is an old dessert plate from the Kuznetsov factory. She is all that remains of her grandmother's set. Sometime in March 1929, her parents gave her this set as a wedding gift. My story is about the history of this plate.
In September 1941, German troops approached the small town of Malaya Vishera, where my family lived. The city was bombed, and the grandmother and her two children were hiding in the garden in a hole dug in the ground. Her husband, my grandfather, was a machinist. Drivers were not drafted into the active army, since in fact the Oktyabrskaya Railway and was the front. One September day, grandfather managed to get home. He ordered the grandmother and children to get ready and take with them only the bare essentials. Grandmother refused to leave without dishes. After arguing for a long time, grandfather found a way out. He suggested burying the dishes in the ground so that when they returned, everything could be retrieved. Granny packed her sets, figurines, vases carefully and for a long time. She put everything in boxes and late at night, in the dark, they buried everything. Early in the morning, on a hired cart, the grandfather took the grandmother and the children to the remote village of Klyonovo. There was nowhere else to take: on the one hand, Leningrad was surrounded by the enemy, on the other hand, Moscow, where battles were also taking place. A grandmother and her sons lived in this village for about two years. She worked on the collective farm along with the village women. And then the day came to return home.
The city was unrecognizable. Granny immediately started looking for her boxes. Some of them have disappeared. Apparently they dug it up and stole it. And most of it was simply broken. Of all the porcelain she loved so much, only one plate remained. All her life her grandmother took care of her. For her, it was a kind of line between life after 1945 and that life before the war, when she was so happy. Her parents, brothers, sisters were alive then; she had her own big house and two beautiful little sons. Grandmother was a soloist in the choir at the club, drowned in her husband’s love; she could afford to get on the train and go to Leningrad for the concert of Klavdia Shulzhenko. Until the end of her days, grandma loved to sing: “I am a cucaracha, I am a cucaracha...” And most importantly, she was so young and carefree.
When the war ended... Beloved younger brother Yurochka went missing, another brother, Misha, died in the bombing of a diesel locomotive. The same bomb damaged the hands of her husband Shurik. Brother Victor lost his leg and after the war became addicted to alcohol. Sister Susanna died of typhus. At the end of the forties, the eldest son brought a grenade from the forest and, while playing, threw it into the fire. The shrapnel made my youngest son disabled.
Grandparents lived a very long life. Grandfather died at 95 years old, and grandmother at 92 years old. After the war, they had a daughter - my mother. They built new house, planted and grew a huge apple orchard.
And only when the grandmother took this plate in her hands, her eyes filled with tears, and she very quietly repeated: “How happy I was then.”