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Five Year Diary? | ThriftyFun
October 26, 20060 found this helpful
Just a thought—-I think our local Dollar Tree has them.
If you have a dollar store nearby, check that out.
Or visit a bookstore.
I’ve been using a journal for such events. Its not dated, but I can record anytime and how much I want to write.
October 26, 20060 found this helpful
I’m with mobo on this one, Amy. My Sister and Nieces have pretty much given up trying to find them. They’ve chosen other alternatives, instead. Office supply stores carry hard-coover notebooks. My neice Amy likes to write a lot so she chose a binder and looseleaf. My other niece used her computer to design her own pages: she wanted to record specific things each day and uses the headings as reminders (during gardening months, different things in the winter). The most inexpensive is likely the binder and looseleaf.
By Diana (Guest Post)
October 30, 20060 found this helpful
I’ve been looking for them to
Since mine is full
I use it to record the “not-so-memorable” events like first daffodil of the season, deer, visit to the pumpkin patch, etc.
October 31, 20060 found this helpful
Why not get a nice blank journal, or a spiral bound notebook and put your own dates/entries in them? There’s lots of pretty and inexpensive ones on the market.
By (Guest Post)
December 3, 20060 found this helpful
Did you ever find a cheap 5 year diary? We make them here in UK and we could make up one for $10. plus shipping to US from UK. e-mail: john @highgateworks.com. I’ll send you a picture. john
By Anita Campbell (Guest Post)
January 8, 20070 found this helpful
If you find out where to get them, I’d love to know!! I have kept one for over 50 years, and my daughter is now keeping one. We can’t find them anywhere except in the UK, and that would be incredibly expensive. Don’t they make them here in the States anymore?? I, too, have searched the WEB from one end to the other with no luck.
By Amy (Guest Post)
January 8, 20070 found this helpful
I ended up getting a 5 Year diary at www.ArtKrafts.com. It was much more than I expected to pay (about $25). If I average the cost over 5 years, it’s not too bad…and the price will definitely motivate me to use it as intended!!!
Thank you for all the great feedback – I am glad I am not the only one in this boat!
By Crazimom (Guest Post)
August 8, 20070 found this helpful
I found a place in Omaha, Ne that carries 5 yr diaries. Village Stationery 402-397-5111 they will be approx $18.00 with tax and shipping!
Hope you enjoy!
By Tracy (Guest Post)
October 6, 20070 found this helpful
I found a five year diary here for only $15.65 and free shipping when I bought two. www.tower.com/
The same diary is on Amazon.com for over $16
By Jan (Guest Post)
March 9, 20080 found this helpful
Collins does a nice one with gilt edged pages and a lock 🙂
Avoid spiral bound
By Judy (Guest Post)
October 31, 20080 found this helpful
I thought I was the only one looking for one! No luck so far but maybe closer to Christmas. Tuesday Morning used to carry them.
By Pearl (Guest Post)
December 20, 20080 found this helpful
I am from Canada and need to find a 5 yr diary..cannot find one here either. Any Canadian stores?
By Cheryl (Guest Post)
December 28, 20080 found this helpful
My mother has kept one of these forever, and it’s amazing. She solves many a dispute in the family when it comes to remembering when certain events took place, who was there, etc. I cannot find one anywhere, and believe me, I look in every store I go in. We used to get them at dime stores and good gift shops. They’re small, about 6 in. x 5 in. and each page has a few lines for each year.
The cost was no more than $8 or $9. I am thinking about “publishing” them myself. Last year I had to buy her a regular small journal, and she put her own dates/years in — not nearly as handy. I have a large five-year diary, about 7.5 in. x 11 in. — by Doreene Clement, but it’s not what my mom wants, plus it was $25.
June 18, 20130 found this helpful
There is a market for 5 year diaries….new parents, college students, newlyweds could easily log events. My grandmother did this and we all cherished her diaries.
I want diaries for my adult daughters and my own “senior years”.
10 best diary apps and journal apps for Android
Joe Hindy / Android Authority
Diaries and journals have been around for centuries. They are great spots to express your innermost feelings. Frankly, people should do that more often. It would probably help people deal with stuff that people aren’t so good at dealing with anymore. Existential crises aside, journal apps and diary apps can be extremely cathartic. Many even have extra features like mood tracking that your old paper journals and diaries couldn’t do. Here are the best diary apps and journal apps for Android!
Price: Free / $3.99 per month / $29.99 per year
Daybook is a fairly decent journal app. It has a bunch of functionality. The features include password protection, to-do list features, voice recording (with speech to text), and more. It also has features for expense tracking, a class note book, a trip diary, and other similar uses. The UI is simple Material Design. You get a calendar view and the editing view is free from too many distractions. This one used to be free, but it now has an optional subscription cost. We’re not big fans of that so you should stick with the free version for now.
Joe Hindy / Android Authority
Price: Free / Up to $3.99
Daylio is a flashy and popular diary app. It has all of the basic features like daily entries, backup and restore with Google Drive, a PIN lock, and CSV document exporting. This one also tracks your mood. Each entry has a mood that you choose. There are dozens of them to choose from. Over time, you can see a graph and other stats about your moods. This is great for stuff like depression where tracking your bad days matters. You can unlock all of the features for a single $3.99 in-app purchase. Most of the rest of the features are free. This one is also free if you use Google Play Pass.
Price: Free / $1.49
Diary++ is another flashy diary app. It comes with a very colorful and enjoyable Material Design UI. Additionally, this is one of the few diary apps that includes fingerprint locking. Some other features includes mood tracking, PDF exporting, Google Drive backup and restoring, reminders, and more. This covers basically all of the bases. It may be a bit too flashy for some. However, the writing experience is still rather enjoyable. The premium version goes for $0.99 as an in-app purchase. The security won’t keep out a hacker, but it should work fine for your stupid brother (or sister).
Joe Hindy / Android Authority
Price: Free / $5.49
Diaro is an above average diary app. You get a lot of the good stuff, including a privacy lock, various themes, support for over 30 languages, geotagging, simple navigation, and more. Those who go pro also get syncing with Dropbox, an ad-free experience, and exporting to PDF. This is also one of the few diary apps with fingerprint scanner support. It’s easy to use and very few unnecessary distractions. This one seems primed for a subscription service eventually. We don’t think that’s a good idea, but for now, it’s a single price tag. This one is also free if you use Google Play Pass.
Joe Hindy / Android Authority
Price: Free / $4.99
Diary Book is another simple, but useful diary app. You get the usual assortment of features with this one. That includes daily reminders to write, themes, a night mode, cloud sync with Google Drive, and various types of locks. This one also boasts decent rich text support. That includes links, colors, bold, italic, and the usual suspects in text formatting. You also get text to speech and an auto-lock mode. The UI is a simple Material Design. There really isn’t anything to complain about with this one. It’s good for what it does.
Five Minute Journal
Five Minute Journal is a unique journal app. This one focuses on getting your feelings on paper in about five minutes. It uses the Five Minute Journal method. You can actually find the book about it on Amazon. Anyway, this app features a simple interface, a decent timeline view, daily quotes, challenges, reminders, and password protection as well as backup and export functions. It’s not as flashy as other diary apps or journal apps. However, sometimes it just doesn’t need to be. It comes with a price up front and that’s also a little unique in this space. Be sure to try it within the refund time to make sure you really like it.
Price: Free / $4.99 / $29.99 per year
Journey is in a weird space for journal apps and diary apps. It’s flashy, popular, and comes jam packed with features. It also includes a subscription and we don’t like that at all. The basic features include mood tracking, rich text, a PIN lock, integration with Google Fit, and some other neat stuff. You also get syncing to the cloud via Google Drive as well as some other good features. The subscription unlocks the premium version, costs $29.99 per year, and lets you add things like images and shows you old journal entries as throwbacks along with some other features. This is one of the journal apps to beat in this space.
Luci is a dream journal and a good one. It features a colorful and functional UI. Some other features include a sleep recorder for you sleep talkers out there. Additionally, you get no ads, syncing and backup options, a sketchpad, a lock function, reminders, and more. It’s usable as a normal journal or diary. However, the features make it work best for recording your dreams rather than your everyday life. There isn’t a free version. However, $1.49 is fairy inexpensive comparatively speaking. Just make sure you try it inside of the refund time to make sure you like it. You can also use it free if you have Google Play Pass.
Price: Free / $0.99
Offline Diary is as the name suggests. It’s a simple diary that works offline. This one scales back the features in favor of a more minimal experience. You get a simple UI with almost no distractions as well as a password lock. That’s it, really. You just open it, journal it up, and close it down. The free version comes with advertising. The pro version costs $0.99 as an in-app purchase. It adds backup and restore options and removes advertising. We recommend springing for the pro version if you choose this one. It’s only a dollar.
Price: Free / Up to $3.49
Universum is an above average journal app. It comes with all of the basics, including exporting, backup to Google Drive and Dropbox, reminders, mood tracking, various organizational features, and even a dark theme. It’s another one of the few journal apps with fingerprint scanner support as a lock function. This one functions well in a variety of areas. You can use it for travel, diet, or even as a dream journal. You can also add images or draw stuff on the sketchpad. Its name is surprisingly appropriate. It has the features for basically most types of journal writing.
Joe Hindy / Android Authority
Best journaling apps for iPhone and iPad in 2021
No matter who we are and the kinds of lives that we live, we all have memories, whether they’re good or bad. Regardless, these memories are always worth remembering at some point, because who knows what will happen? What if we lost all of our memories one day and can’t remember a thing? That’s why keeping a journal is so important, even if you think it’s silly, it’s one way to recall all of the great events and milestones that occurred in your life.
In days old, people kept analog journals written in pen and paper. But now we’re equipped with smartphones, and these are an even better way of keeping our memories intact since we probably have hundreds, or even thousands, of photos and videos to relive moments with.
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These are the best apps for keeping a digital journal of your life as it happens.
Day One Journal
Day One Journal is my absolute favorite way to keep a journal. This beautiful app lets you create multiple journals and color code them for easy organization. All of your journal entries can be formatted with rich text options, have photos, include activity, location, and even weather data of your location, and more. The latest update added audio recording capabilities, a new intuitive editor, a gorgeous Dark Mode, and other slick features.
Day One Journal is free to download, but you have a few limitations on the number of journals you can keep and how many photos you can upload. If you go for a Premium subscription, which starts at $3.99 a month or $34.99 a year, unlocks unlimited journals, up to 30 photos per entry, audio recording, Dark Mode, 25 percent off of printed books, and more.
Free – Download Now
Momento is similar to Day One, except it’s more about automation with your social network feeds. With Momento, you can manually create journal entries with some rich text formatting, multiple photos, tags, locations, and other bits of data that you want to remember. But the real magic lies within the ability to link up your social media accounts, which then populate each day’s entries as you go. All of your updates and posts are fetched and pulled into Momento, so it’s like a digital record of your private and online lives.
Momento is free to download and use, but you’ll be limited to three social accounts. You can add three more through in-app purchases, or subscribe to Premium to get unlimited accounts. Premium starts at $3.99 a month.
Free – Download Now
Keeping track of how you feel is just as important as remembering memories. Because some of us don’t mind keeping track of our own mental health and well-being. Moodnotes is a sleek app that helps you track your moods and the reasons behind how you feel. The colorful interface is warm and welcoming, and it’ll ask you how you’re feeling. Pick a mood that reflects how you are doing, and each one of these is represented with an emote and color. You can choose to add more details to the entry, or just leave it as is.
If you opt for more details, the app asks you why you feel the way you do. Doing this makes you think and reflect on why you’re feeling that way. For the negative moods, Moodnotes helps you identify traps that you’ve fallen into, and even give some tips on avoiding doing the same thing in the future.
Over time, Moodnotes keeps track of patterns in your moods and helps you get into the mindset of developing healthier perspectives. This app is most effective when used daily.
$4.99 – Download Now
If you want something that’s like Day One, but is available on pretty much every platform, then Journey is for you. Journey lets you create journal entries with text, photos and video, location, activity, and more. Journey is cross-platform and accessible on all platforms because it syncs seamlessly with Google Drive, and you can import Day One entries into Journey if you want to switch.
Journey, like the other journaling apps, is free to download and use, but you’ll get the most out of the app by becoming a Premium subscriber. This starts at $3.99 a month or $29.99 per year.
Free – Download Now
Like the idea of journaling but just don’t have time? Then Daylio’s micro-journaling method may be best for your needs. Daylio simply asks you to pick your mood for the day, and then add an activity to go along with it, presumably the one that makes you feel the way you do. This counts as an entry, and optionally, you can add some notes to it if needed, just like a traditional diary. But the core focus with Daylio is fast and simple micro journaling. As you use it more, it keeps track of your mood by showing the data in simple charts and graphs, and you’ll see what your average mood is.
Free – Download Now
If you tend to be someone who has trouble getting started with writing a journal entry from scratch, then Grid Diary is a good option. It uses journaling templates of inspiring questions to answer and has them all lined up in a grid. Pick the one you want to answer for the day and then write your answer as a journal entry. It’s a good way to get some inspiration for your writing, and you can always use your answer as a lead-in to writing about your entire day.
For many, it’s just hard to write, so having journaling templates is more effective in getting the juices flowing. You can also add photos to your entries, search for specific keywords, and sync your data. Grid Diary is free to download and use, but you can upgrade to Pro ($4.99 one-time purchase or $1.99 monthly) for passcode lock, multiple export formats, multiple reminders, custom font styles, and more.
Free – Download Now
Five Minute Journal
Do you have five minutes to spare each day? If so, then grab Five Minute Journal, because that’s all you need. Five Minute Journal has writing prompts and questions that you answer quickly and easily. You can even add photos if you’d like, and there are also daily quotes to help inspire you, as well as weekly challenges. All of your entries get displayed in a beautiful timeline, where you can go back and reflect on memories with ease. There are also reminders, passcode lock, and backup/export to PDF options available.
$4.99 – Download Now
Penzu is a journaling app that focuses on your privacy. With Penzu, you’re able to create rich text entries with photos and sync your journal to access on the web for free. All you have to do is create a free Penzu account. However, to get the most out of Penzu, you’ll need Penzu Pro, which you can get for $4.99 a month, $19.99 a year.
Penzu Pro unlocks all of the available features, such as passcode lock for your journals, unlimited journals and photos, customize journal covers, and more.
Free – Download Now
What are your favorites?
These are some of the best journaling apps we’ve come across in the App Store at the moment. Personally, I’m a huge fan of Day One and have been using it as my journal for years now.
What are your favorite apps for journaling? Or do you prefer to stick with pen and paper? Let us know in the comments!
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90,000 Died like an adult. Diary of a mother whose two children were robbed of by the blockade | VICTORY
A resident of besieged Leningrad Angelina Krupnova-Shamova has a difficult fate. By the beginning of the blockade, she had three small children – 8-year-old Miletta, 6-year-old Kronid and 4-year-old Constantine. In addition, the woman was pregnant with her fourth child – Fedor. Miletta and Fyodor starved to death. It is impossible to imagine what she had to go through. And only a diary will help convey her feelings.To feed the babies, the mother of many children donated blood for the wounded soldiers throughout the war. Angelina Krupnova-Shamova lived for 97 years and died in 2008, surrounded by children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
12 January 1942
I’m writing it down, my hands are getting cold. The morning was sunny, frosty – a barge and a boat were frozen in the ice. At the doctor’s appointment I undressed, he poked me in the chest, asks: “What is this?” – “I will be a mother for the fourth time.” He grabbed his head and ran out. Three doctors came in at once – it turns out that pregnant women cannot donate blood – the donor card was crossed out.They didn’t feed me, they kicked me out, and I had to get a certificate for February, for a work card and rations (2 loaves, 900 g of meat, 2 kg of cereal) – if they took my blood.
She walked back slowly, slowly, and three children were waiting at home: Miletta, Kronid and Kostya. And my husband was taken as a sapper. I will receive a dependent card for February, which is 120 grams of bread a day. Death. When I climbed onto the ice, I saw on the right under the bridge a mountain of frozen people – some were lying, some were sitting, and a boy of about ten, as if alive, had his head pressed against one of the dead.And I so wanted to go to lie with them. I even turned off the path, but I remembered: three houses are on the same one and a half double bed, and I am limp …
There are four rooms in the apartment, ours is 9 meters. There is no water, the pipes have burst, but still people are pouring into the toilets, the slurry runs along the wall and freezes from the frost. And there are no glasses in the windows, they were all knocked out from explosions in the fall. The window is covered with a mattress, only a hole has been made for the pipe from the potbelly stove. I came home, the children are glad that I came. But they see that it is empty, and not a word, they are silent, that they are hungry.And at home there is a piece of bread. Three times. For an adult, that is, for me – 250 g and three children’s pieces – 125 g each. Nobody took it.
I lit the stove, put in a 7-liter saucepan, the water boiled, threw the dry grass of blueberry and strawberry into it. I cut a thin piece of bread, spread a lot of mustard and salted it very hard. We sat down, ate, drank a lot of tea and went to bed.
The apartment is empty, no one except us, everyone went to the front. And so day after day.Nothing from her husband. And then came the fateful night. Hour of the night, contractions. While she dressed three children, she packed the linen in a suitcase, tied two sons to the sled so that they would not fall, took them to the yard to the garbage dump, and left the daughter and the suitcase in the gateway. And she gave birth … In trousers …
I forgot that I have children on the street. She walked slowly, holding on to the wall of her house, quietly, afraid to crush the baby. And the apartment is dark, water drips from the ceiling in the corridor. She came, quickly unbuttoned her pants, wanted to put the baby on the ottoman and lost consciousness from the pain.
… Suddenly the door opens – a man enters. It turned out that he was walking through the yard, saw two children, asked: “Where are you going?” And my five-year-old Kostya says: “We are going to the maternity hospital!” – “Eh, children, your mother must have brought you to death.” And Kostya says: “No.” The man silently took up the sled: “Where to take?” And Kostyukha is in command. A man is looking, and here is another sled, another child. So he drove the children home, and at home lit a candle in a saucer. He broke a chair, lit the stove, put a pot of water – 12 liters, ran to the maternity ward.I got up, reached for the scissors, and the scissors are black with soot. She cut the wick and cut the umbilical cord in half with such scissors … I tied the umbilical cord to Fyodor, cut off an extra piece, smeared it with iodine. Barely waited for morning. And in the morning the old woman came: “Oh, you didn’t go for bread either, give me the cards, I’m running away.” The coupons were cut off for a decade: from the 1st to the 10th, but there remained the 8th, 9th and 10th – 250 g and three 125 g each for three days. So the old woman did not bring us this bread. But soon I saw her dead in the yard – so there is nothing to blame, she was a good person.
So we ate this porridge without bread and drank a 7-liter pot of tea, I dressed Fedenka, wrapped her in a blanket and went to the Vedeman maternity hospital on the 14th line. Brought, mummies – not a soul. I say, “Treat your son’s navel.” The doctor replied: “Go to the hospital, then we will treat!” I say: “I have three children, they were left alone in the apartment.” She insists: “Go to bed anyway!” I yelled at her, and she called the head physician. And the head physician yelled at her: “Process the child and give a certificate to the registry office for metrics and a child’s card.”
She turned the baby around and smiled. The umbilical cord, tied by me, praised: “Well done, mom!” She noted the weight – 2.5 kg. And I went to the registry office – it was located on the 16th line, in the basement of the executive committee. The queue is huge, people are standing for documents for the dead. And I am going with my son, the people are parting. Suddenly I hear someone shouting: “You are carrying a freeloader!” And others: “He brings victory!”
We wrote out metrics and a certificate on the children’s card, congratulated, and I went to the chairman of the executive committee.He asked: “What do you need?” I replied: “A daughter of eight years old, sitting at night under the arch on a sled, chilled, she would have to go to the hospital.”
He pressed a button, three girls in military uniform came out, as if on command, ran up to me, one took the child, and two took me under the arms and escorted me home. I burst into tears, I was suddenly tired … On the same day we were moved to another apartment on our own staircase – the fourth floor. The stove is working, two glass from our bookcase are inserted into the window, and on the stove is a 12-liter saucepan with hot water.The antenatal clinic doctor, who also came to the rescue, began to wash my children, the first – Miletus – had a bare head, not a single hair. Likewise, the sons are skinny, scary to look at.
Our daughter Miletta Konstantinovna, born on August 11, 1933, died – 8 years 8 months and 15 days old. The daughter died at 1 in the morning, and at 6 in the morning to breastfeed Fedor – not a single drop of milk. The children’s doctor said: “I am glad, otherwise the mother (that is, I) would have died and left three sons. Do not feel sorry for your daughter, she is a baby – she would have died at eighteen, without fail … “
In the morning she left for bread.I came, but I didn’t recognize Kronid – he was swollen, became very fat, he looked like a vanka-vstanka doll. I wrapped him in a blanket and dragged him to line 21 to the consultation, and there it was closed. Then I carried him to the 15th line, where the door was also locked. Brought it back home. She ran to the janitor and called the doctor. The doctor came, looked and said that this is the third degree of dystrophy.
A knock on the door. Opening: two orderlies from the Krupskaya Hospital – about my daughter. I closed the door in front of their noses, and they knock again.And then I came to my senses, there was no daughter, but Kronya and Kronechka were alive. I opened the door, explained that my son needed to go to the hospital …
No tears, but my soul is empty, terrible. Kostyukha quieted down, kisses me and Fedya looks after me, and Fedya lies in the galvanized children’s bathtub.
My husband came on foot from Finland Station for a day. We went to the ZhAKT for a cart and a certificate for the funeral at the Smolensk cemetery.
Besides my baby, there are two unidentified corpses.One of the dead was dragged by the janitors by the legs, and her head knocked on the steps. You couldn’t cry in the cemetery. Miletta was carried away and placed neatly on the “woodpile” of the dead by an unknown woman. Miletta lay at home for 15 days, her eyes were overgrown with moss – she had to cover her face with a silk rag. At 8 o’clock in the evening, the husband left on foot to the station: he must not be late, otherwise he would be brought to trial, and the train ran once a day.
I went to Leningrad for Kronid. He was discharged from the hospital with diagnoses: grade III dystrophy, paratyphoid fever, osteomyelitis.Not a single hair on the head, but white, large, 40 lice were killed. We sat at the station all day. I met women who explained: this is a cadaveric louse, does not run to a healthy person. We got off the train at five in the morning. My son is heavy, I carry it in my arms, I cannot hold my head. When we got home, Valya looked at him and cried: “He will die.” Doctor Irina Aleksandrovna came, gave an injection and silently left. Kronya opened his eyes and said: “I am a fine fellow, I didn’t even frown.” And fell asleep. And at 9 am the doctors came: the head doctor of the hospital, a professor and a nurse, examined, gave recommendations.We fulfilled them as best we could. Day after day I got better.
Fedenka, Fedor Konstantinovich died. I took him from the nursery, already hopeless. He was dying like an adult. He screamed somehow, took a deep breath and straightened up. She wrapped it in a blanket – an envelope – very beautiful, silk, and carried it to the police, where they wrote out a funeral certificate. I took him to the cemetery, here I picked flowers, they put him in the ground without a coffin and buried him. I couldn’t even cry …
90,000 Pray for Petrosyan
Vladislav Khodasevich walked along the Berlin streets for an elderly exhibitionist and described his torment in the poem “Under the Ground”, and the other day I saw a wonderful old man at the Chernaya Rechka metro station in St. Petersburg, where Dantes killed Pushkin.Gray, neat, he stood at a tram stop next to the hell of capitalist vegetables and enthusiastically read a collection of poems (judging by the ugly blue cover with the Admiralty ship, something hopelessly graphomaniac), and then took out the Rossiyskaya Gazeta, how Pravda was delivered. years ago, and also began to read. Such precious relic people are found only in this city. I had no doubt that he was a member of the Writers’ Union, and a poetry book was presented to him by a fellow writer. Of course, I immediately remembered the recently deceased V.L. Toporov. He was the hero of this now extinct world, where they intrigued at the publishing house “Khudozhestvennaya literatura”, drank royalties received for translations of fictional Karakalpak classics, spent August in Koktebel and seduced other people’s wives who had not yet left for Israel. Almost all my acquaintances hated Toporov, but although I did not communicate with him, I rather treated him with benevolent curiosity. He reminded me of the surrealist abbot Ernest de Gengenbach, who declared himself a “Satanic Pope” and, without taking off his cassock, blasphemed and sinned so violently that he shocked even André Breton.Toporov was also such a defrock. He belonged to a generation that believed in the power of literature and lived among papers and words. It seemed that the abolition of censorship would plow and sow this literary world with thousands of flowers, and the most reading country would continue to read diligently, only not Alexander Beck and Dudintsev, but Beckett and Robbe-Grillet. In the 90s, there were many great educational projects, and Toporov’s translations included Trakl, Poe, Wilde, Benn, and in 1994 he prepared a volume by Sylvia Plath for publication – a merit that outweighs many sins.
Marusya Klimova, who at that time, at the call of her heart, translated Selin’s tetralogy, calls the literature of the 90s superhuman; indeed, it was addressed to titans willing to read Castle to Castle near bonfires of expired vouchers. Titans turned out to be ridiculously small, circulations were falling, the masses did not want to acquire Canetti and Benn, and with the beginning of the new century, the short-lived superhuman utopia ended. Viktor Toporov was one of the first to feel its decline and, as befits a defrocked, he began to trample on past ideals.With heartbreaking masochism, he, the translator of Auden, Eliot and Brentano, began to praise the anecdotal graphomaniac, declaring the hope of Russian literature a semi-literate schoolgirl, and the best poet of the era – an elderly writer of ditties on the topic of the day. He rewarded Prokhanov, blessed prose writers from the riot police and openly sneered at ignorant readers, distorting the plots of the books reviewed in his critical articles: the quite chaste Gert Müller declared almost a pornographer, and in a response to the “Benevolent” he said that the main character, an SS man, everywhere accompanied by a Jewish violinist, who was not in the novel at all.I have no doubt that he knew the true price of everything perfectly well, but for the sake of amusement he slid on a wave of garbage every day.
Marusya Klimova (and she is the real heroine of these notes) seems to me anti-Toporov. Maroussia remained faithful to the superhuman end of the last century, when we seriously thought that the vaccination of Seline and Jean Genet would cure post-Soviet literature from chronic rubella (it is strange that only one writer felt the effect of this medicine – Dmitry Bortnikov, who died in France, whom Toporov once greeted and published) …Petersburg is a small city, and people busy with literary works stumble over each other, like Pushkin and Gogol in a famous sketch. Marusia in this communal world behaves like Gertrude Stein, who retired from her clumsy compatriots to France and forged American literature there for 40 years. Gertrude Stein translated into English the speeches of Marshal Pétain, Maroussia translated into Russian almost all of Selin, which in the face of Allah is one and the same. The last project we did together was the publication of The Book by Pierre Guillot, a new Bible written in a language destroyed by a nuclear explosion.The “book” has never been translated, and Marusya accomplished a feat, remarkable also because it is, in the highest sense, aimless labor, a flower thrown into the sinkhole of a coal mine.
I noticed an old man with Rossiyskaya Gazeta just after my meeting with Marusya Klimova. We met at the exhibition of the bully Ilya Trushevsky, who created a metal whirligig in the workshop of a correctional labor colony, where he is serving a five-year term. Opposite the entrance to the exhibition hall with a whirligig, the relics of Nicholas the Wonderworker are demonstrated, so, as the dead fox noticed, chaos reigns .
Marusya collects wonderful freaks, and they follow her everywhere, like midgets after the duchess. Commercial publishers, burdened with crosses and families, shy away from the works of Marusya, so they distribute them marvelous unmercenaries. Her new book, Mad Haze, has been published by the amazing Ravager Publishing House. It is kept by a Moscow pastry chef, who officially changed his surname in honor of Marusya and became Klimov. He recently released his novel under the same cover with the prose of André Breton, however, he printed it upside down, so that it is impossible to read anything.
“Mad Haze” – a blog turned into a moralizing story. For several years now, Maroussia has been writing about her life, which flows between Paris and St. Petersburg, and about new Russian saints such as Petrosyan or Dan Brown. Viktor Toporov, who organized a punk prayer service almost every day in the devastated temple of literature, could also, in principle, find himself in its iconostasis, but shortly before his death he quarreled with Marusya.
I really like one observation in this book. Maroussia writes that in France only some genius, for example Jean Genet, could declare that Stalin was right when he decided to kill Mandelstam.In Russia, 90% of viewers of the “Court of History” program think so. “Therefore, it seems to me,” concludes Marusya Klimova, “that Gogol was either mistaken about the Russian people, or the situation has changed a lot since then. In fact, in Russia now, in fact, there are only two problems: roads and geniuses.”
– Marusya, I remember that you hesitated to start a blog for a long time. In general, for a misanthrope, this is a rather unusual activity – to blog, a misanthrope must secretly keep a diary for himself.
– Modern artists paint on pavement, on houses, on walls, and therefore a writer can also write on blogs. Although I am sorry that literature in its usual forms is disappearing. Because, probably, the main pleasure for a writer is when readers can’t answer you. That is why I turned off the comments in my magazine almost from the very beginning.
– You compared yourself to an artist who writes on a wall. But there is a cleaning lady walking around and erasing these graffiti. So in LJ, trolls attack, and even if you turn off the comments, you still can’t hide from them.
– In any case, when comments are disabled it is already good, because they often cloud the essence. And so for me a blog is just something like a training, that is, I put my thoughts there and I myself look from the outside how they sound. There was a book “Style versus Ideas” dedicated to Celine. So I basically have the meaning of my small sketches and essays – it is the style, not the content. And when the comments are turned on, it turns out like in a concert hall, when you play some beautiful melody, and someone starts coughing or blowing their nose: that is, they distract and interfere with concentration.Therefore, I turned off the comments. And as for the trolls, yes, now LJ practically died because of them, because this muddy wave rushed and swept over him. That’s why I got myself a Facebook account, where, by the way, it is impossible to disable comments. And, by the way, I did it almost immediately after the ballerina Volochkova went down to the subway. Impressed by her act, I also decided to get closer to the people and get myself a Facebook.
– Did she leave the subway or is she still sitting there?
– She, of course, left the metro, but still plunged into it and felt in full measure, as they say, communication with the people.I started Facebook and stay there, unlike her.
Marusya Klimova and author of “The History of Surrealism” Maurice Nadeau (1911-2013)
– You write that “the task of a writer is to achieve purity of style, and it is very important to learn to enjoy the contemplation of impotent anger directed at him.” I think you have imagined people who dream of writing some commentary on your LJ entry, but cannot.
– Yes, you know, there have been such cases.Because sometimes I tracked some of my posts that caused a particularly violent reaction. For example, a post where my sad experience was described when I borrowed 10 plastic lids from salad bowls from Auchan. A terrible wave has gone, the attendance of my magazine has swept, in my opinion, 30 thousand in just one day. I was even scared. Some people organized groups, volunteers wrote a collective statement to the leadership of “Ashan”, so that a criminal case was opened against me, the situation was checked, and so on.A terrible seething began. And, in fact, if the comments were open, they would probably have received much more satisfaction, and so they had to implement themselves in VKontakte, in some other third-party resources, or just discuss this point among themselves.
– Did the “Auchan” management not respond to their calls?
– No, for some reason they did not respond to my surprise. I don’t know what they did, but there was no reaction. Although I feared the consequences for a while, I felt a little uneasy.It’s not very pleasant when creepy figures with square heads, judging by the photographs that I saw, write exclusively with obscenities, like: look, the liberal intelligentsia, the opposition – and they immediately ranked me as the opposition for some reason – so they steal the caps in “Auchan”. It was pretty frustrating.
– You can understand them, because they did not get the lids, and they came from “Ashan” unwillingly.
– They got French salad bowls, very expensive and without lids.And I also wrote in that post impartially about a woman with glasses, a store employee, that she had never heard the word “postmodernism”. And someone in the comments, I remember, was indignant: “Madame, you are wrong. I know the word” postmodernism. ” was then stormy, I would even say, too much. ”
-” Crazy haze “- is this your invention, or is the phrase stolen from some” Auchan “: a decadent poem or a cruel romance?
Vlad Mamyshev-Monroe and Marusya Klimova
– No, I made it up myself.In general, I am afraid of too capacious understandable names, because then the book will not be interesting to read. For example, there was a film by Nevzorov, or something, “Purgatory”: about Afghanistan or something like that. And when you see such a name, then everything immediately becomes clear in advance. And “Mad Haze” plunges readers into the darkness of uncertainty, pulls them out of an understandable simple environment and plunges them into a crazy world of vague ideas. I have always been close to the image of Susanin, although usually I am skeptical about heroes, because heroes are the antipodes of geniuses, they, as a rule, are dull, straightforward, one-dimensional.And Susanin defeats enemies with his intellect, luring them into a maze. This is a rare case and an exception, the only hero-genius. So “Mad Haze” lures the reader into the labyrinth, and its name is appropriate.
– In your book, reflections on Jean Dubuff, who called the works of madmen art and promoted art brut. You write that only schizophrenics and downs now have the right to brush across the canvas and write down their brilliant insights. Do you think there is enough insane darkness in Russian literature?
– No, in Russian literature just insane darkness is not enough, moreover, it is actually absent.And this is due to people who came to art and literature today, unlike, if you remember, from the 90s, since in the 90s art was rather superhuman. And now art has become subhuman. All Prilepins, driven by animal cunning, write, holding words together with difficulty, so it is difficult to understand what they are writing about. But their only goal is to get well in this life, so animal instincts prevail. And of course, such writers cannot be called oligophrenic or crazy, since these people, on the contrary, perfectly understand what they want, and purposefully stupidly, methodically go towards their goal.Therefore, in Russian literature there are no madmen, I do not see them, unfortunately for a large one.
– At the last Venice Biennale, art brut was in the center of the main exhibition “Encyclopedic Palace”, so that insane haze gradually obscures the clearances of sanity in contemporary art.
– Well if that were the case. But it seems to me that you are too optimistic about the situation. Because in fact, the insane darkness is just lacking, something completely different prevails.If we try to describe the current situation, comparing it with the 17th year, when the Bolsheviks came to power, then the Bolsheviks can be called “new barbarians”, and what is happening now more falls under the definition of “new boors”. These people, who are striving for power, are pushing their half-thought and unfinished ideology everywhere – these are the new boors: modern believers, including especially priests.
– You write that there are only three phenomena in contemporary art, your sympathy for which you can at any time declare out loud without hesitation: these are Petrosyan, Tsereteli and “Tender May”.Are they also opposed to the new rudeness?
Marusya Klimova at the presentation of the book “Mad Haze”
– They have no ideas at all, they are people of pure style, like Petrosyan, that Tsereteli, that “Tender May”. They have reached the ideal. And the face of Petrosyan, which everyone knows, has already turned into a modern icon. And if I painted icons, I probably would first of all write the icon of Petrosyan. It seems to me that she would be in demand, very popular among the masses. Because this is an extreme embodiment of the purity of style, and no further definitions fit, it is impossible to define and question anything here.Tsereteli is somehow the same.
– Who else? Bari Alibasov, about a conversation with whom you recall in your book?
– Yes, Bari Alibasov is beautiful too. When I called him, he told me that he was talking to me from the toilet, from the “privacy cabinet”. True, Bari Alibasov is not so famous today, he is somewhere behind, but yes, of course, I like him, I think that he is also a wonderful person, just wonderful.
– You write that Dan Brown could also appear on an Orthodox icon.
– Yes, quite. Because otherwise I cannot explain the popularity of Dan Brown’s works, except by the fact that he is supported by divine powers. Yes, of course, he also asks for an icon.
– We started talking about divine intervention, and I remembered a story from your new book about how you and Pierre Guillotte approached the column near which Paul Claudel had an inspiration in the Cathedral of Notre Dame. Have you experienced the enlightenment yourself, did you have a similar experience?
– Unfortunately, I have not had the same experience as, for example, Pascal, who had an inspiration when his carriage was carried on the bridge by horses.Or Claudel, who at the column of the cathedral experienced an enlightenment and came to God – or so, in any case, Pierre Guillot told me. In their youth, many experienced illumination in this way. The same Vasily Rozanov, who lived not far from me on Kolomenskaya Street and, perhaps, often experienced insights. You know what Vasily Rozanov meant by the words “to pray to your God.” Gippius, in my opinion, told how she came to Rozanov, who was almost on his deathbed, and Rozanov said: “And now I will pray to my God.”Gippius came out, and you know what he did …
– Yes, but we will not tell our listeners about it.
– No, we won’t, they themselves know, I hope.
– Marusya, another character in your pantheon is Ellochka the Ogre. You write that this is your favorite heroine in all Russian literature. We now catch a glimpse of Pierre Guillot, he is also experimenting with the language, like Ellochka the Cannibal?
– Yes, only he has more vocabulary.When I read and translated his books, I even envied him. So many words, and where does he only get them? All sorts of medical terms, names of unknown diseases, Arabic argo, Spanish argo, while he still distorts words and invents his own. And Ellochka the Cannibal is another, opposite pole, since she had three or four words in reserve, which she knew how to manage, rearranging them in every possible way, to express all her thoughts and feelings. But Pierre Guillotte uses too many words, it seems to me that there are even too many of them for one life.
– On the cover of the new book – “The Garden of Earthly Delights” by Bosch, which refers us to Guillot’s novel “Eden, Eden, Eden.” Is it your choice or the publisher’s choice?
– No, this is the publisher’s choice. The publishing house, like the Ravager magazine, employs wonderful young people. Vadim Klimov, editor-in-chief, came up with this idea. They are all advanced decadents and young. Their presence in contemporary art cannot but please me, because now the “principle of toads”, which I have written about many times, is prevailing everywhere.According to this principle, the Writers’ Union and Soviet writers existed, many of them have now become active again. More precisely, today people around in a huge mass remind me of “Soviet writers”, as they live and protect their territory according to the “principle of toads”, invading the Internet, for example. When you see toads, your first reaction is to move away from them somewhere, since it is disgusting to be near them. And they use it quite deliberately. But now, it seems to me, a new generation has grown up that is resistant to these nasty toads and weeds that clog beautiful flowers.And the presence of such young people in culture really inspires me. This is the same Vadim Klimov, about whom I have already said. Or Anatoly Ulyanov, the creator of the “Luch” website. Anton Korablev and Andrey Korol, who make the Chewbacca website. A lonely genius, a wonderful young man Sergei Dudnik, aka Seronkhelia. They all appeared and grew up on this rotten soil. And I hope they will be able to overcome the resistance of the environment and develop further. This is such a new growth of modern decadents.
– After the book is out, you don’t want to close your blog, will you continue?
– Yes, I will continue.This is a natural process, like a tree that grows and should not stop until it starts to dry out. It doesn’t seem to dry up yet, so I’ll probably be on Facebook. I don’t know about Live Journal, there is actually nothing to read there now. There is an abnormal invasion of bots engaged in imitation of live speech. And now even the argo common on the Internet has become a sign of a bot. Therefore, I don’t know about LiveJournal, but Facebook will continue, it has not yet exhausted itself, in my opinion.
– I just read the story of a girl who blogged for a long time in LiveJournal, and then fell in love with Muammar Gaddafi, left for Libya, stabbed a Libyan officer there and wrote curses to Gaddafi’s killers with his blood. See what blogging can do. Do you want to kill someone?
– I fully understand her, because Gaddafi is beautiful. I would also put it on the icon, but not quite in the sense in which I said about Petrosyan and Dan Brown, but in another, in another corner, I would hang him.Petrosyan and Dan Brown would hang in one corner, and Muammar Gaddafi in another. He is quite capable of evoking such strong feelings, so I perfectly understand this girl, you can kill for him.
Nicholas Roerich. Diary sheets. Volume II | Estonia
“Rutte, rutte” was the first Estonian word we learned when we were traveling in a big old carriage in four to Gapsal. I remember this trip. After all, she was the first departure from our estate “Izvara”, and at the age of five all impressions are especially clearly remembered.The gray walls of Narva flashed, I really liked the old Revel with towers and a pointed pick. It was unusual to drive over sand dunes and shallow flagstone to Gapsal. The horses ran slowly, and therefore the “rutte, rutte” heard at the Revel station was very useful. Driving past the arable land, we were surprised to hear a glassy-rocky sound. It turned out that the soil consisted of the smallest limestone, and it was all the more surprising to see that under a hardworking hand such soil could become fertile.
The ruins of an old castle attracted attention in Hapsala. We took a closer look at them when we heard the legend about a white lady appearing in a gothic dilapidated window. Skeptics assured that at a certain position of the moon, the outlines of a figure were obtained, but I wanted to believe that this was not a lunar reflection, but the white lady herself, appearing in front of something special. At the same time, they told us the legends of the ancient Revel towers and the legends about the castles of Lod and Taube – all this was unusual, and after the silence of the Izvara forests and lakes, the sound of the sea surf also thundered some fascinating northern saga.
The second visit to Gapsal – many years later – was already in 1910. Several paintings were also painted there. “Great lands beyond the seas” – this picture was the impression of the coast. Severyanka, towards the distant wind, dreams of unknown wonderful lands, of that fabulous country that lives in the human heart. At the same time, a sketch for “The Path of the Giants” was written. The “Varangian Motive” was also formed there, and the thought of the Revel towers was used for the painting “The Old King”. At the same time, sketches were also prepared for the temple in Talashkino, the estate of Princess M.K. Tenisheva. “The Heavenly Queen on the Bank of the River of Life” was completed in Hapsala.
Estonia gave a number of impressions in this way. From the house of Breverne de la Gardie, we bought excellent furniture of Peter’s times, which for a long time reminded us of this region. Then, in Finland, we met more than once friends from Estonia, and therefore now every news from Tallinn receives a particularly friendly meaning. The greetings of the “Union of Estonian Academic Artists” deeply touched me, for the field of art is all-encompassing and artists are truly working on a global scale.Long, long ago, I had to write that art is the best ambassador of humanity. The great examples of Velasquez, Rubens and other wonderful masters have shown firsthand how powerful the foundations of creativity were. A symphony of colors and sounds, as in the myth of Orpheus, has always been the best victory. In the article “The Migration of Art”  I had to remember how in our century peoples began to exchange exhibitions, theater, concerts. It was with these national foundations that all that was most valuable was strengthened.In the language of art, there was no need to resort to some kind of admonition, on the contrary, in the words of creativity, inspiration descended, the concept of universal humanity grew.
The French say: “When the construction goes on, then everything goes.” Let’s say: when the people create, then the flourishing of the country comes. This is not an exaggeration. Irrefutable classical examples have shown where the flourishing of countries came from, how the revival developed. For a number of centuries, the people were renewed precisely with the colors of creativity. Several former students of the School for the Encouragement of the Arts live in Tallinn.I remember them heartily and rejoice when I read about their successes in the newspapers. Correctly says the proverb that “friendship does not rust.” I have had to receive news from former students from all over the world. At the same time, one could make sure that they all remember good school time. This means that the school’s principles were correct. Indeed, our School was truly a people’s school. Every capable person could find free access to the School. He could choose exactly those subjects that interested him, and could communicate with Shkola without any conventional restrictions.The school was called the “People’s Academy” – and so it really was. When you remember the diverse composition of the School, you can only rejoice at how all these young people concentratedly rushed to the study of art. Two teachers of the School also live in Tallinn – Klara Feodorovna Zeidler and Nikolai Feodorovich Root, as well as the talented Anatoly Dmitrievich Kaigorodov, who, although not formally in our Kuindzhi Workshop, but internally, of course, was Kuindzhi’s student, and thus ours companion.How many joyful connections are revealed as soon as you think about the Ancient Tallinn Towers.
I hear that a group of our Pact for the Preservation of Cultural Property has been formed in Tallinn. This Red Cross of Culture is close, or rather should be close, to all centuries and peoples. There can be no division, competition or irritation in the mutual protection of Cultural Property. Arable land of Culture is a common arable land. Each nation has its own unique jewels. By respecting a person’s personality, we also respect the fruits of his genius.Let us not forget that the Red Cross was not recognized for a long time and was even subjected to ignorant mockery. And now there will be some cruel-eyed person who will scoff, saying that the Red Cross is not always respected even now. But no one will say that Dunant’s noble idea is not applicable. In the same way, there will be a time when people will understand that the Red Cross of Culture, in other words, a nationwide agreement on the protection of Cultural values should be introduced urgently. The moral impulse to preserve common cultural values should be widely proclaimed and strengthened in the minds of the people, starting from the first school days.
Remembering the eternal values, I would like to quote the words of two wonderful poets – Richard Rudzitis, the poet of Latvia, and Yuri Baltrushaitis, the poet of Lithuania. Rudzitis in his book “Consciousness of beauty will save” says: “The consciousness of beauty will truly save humanity. It will save through refinement, spiritualization and transformation of forms. It will save through the expansion and illumination of consciousness. It will save through the purification of the heart – the source of waterfalls of grace. It will save through the inextinguishable light of cooperation, unity. and love, through the containment and embodiment of the highest Worlds of Beauty. “
J. Baltrushaitis says:
There is one among the lonely dreams
Most of all on earth is lonely …
There are some countries inaccessible country,
Most of all for aspiration distant …
In the joyous hour of unearthly heights
This dream glows with lightning –
Happy who is in the depths of silent darkness
With this mysterious spark will meet ..
“In the dark path along the slopes of the earth
Everything will be blotted out in the heart, forgotten
Only she is constantly alive,
As if an intoxicating dream, it seems.
Only she invisibly leads us
The rocky path of infinity.
Quietly, like a mother over a baby, sings
About the jubilant festivities of Eternity …
“Zeita gramata”. Riga, 1938
Diary of dacha days – DaryaDarya – LiveJournal
There were times when our family had thoughts of selling a dacha. It requires so much money and attention. But I have always insisted that we need this piece of land, we really need it. Times have changed, and indeed, the dacha is gradually becoming a paradise, where it is not a sin to spend a whole vacation.
What we have never tried to do is turn the dacha into a warehouse for old furniture. So that every single bedside table stood for another twenty years and honestly turned into dust. Cluttering and relaxation are not friends with each other. Some neighbors who visited us also began to exhibit dimensionless deposits of chipboard in early May. On May 9, a tractor with peasants drives through the dachas and collects everything that the owners of the dachas put out at the gates. If my memory serves me, then in Italy there is a similar annual tradition.
Next will be about electric trains, Maloyaroslavets, home decoration and just photos. As soon as I get to my computer, I’ll show you some more shots from the camera.
Leaving the stone jungle. My friend’s five-year-old daughter considers City to be glass castles and loves to drive by. For her, Moscow is no longer Moscow without them.
If I am traveling light, the train comes out more comfortable and faster than a car. The main thing is to know which express train to take. Every year in the trains everything is cleaner and cleaner.
On the way back, however, there were fellow travelers, ahem, “nice”. They did not drink or gnaw seeds. But two guys were sitting in the same shorts. With them was a girl and a nursing baby. The child was also undressed, but he surpassed his father and his friend, was even without pants. I would have no complaints about them if we were on the beach. But in the city, and in a public place, where it is expected to be in close contact with strangers, you should not undress. I call this in one word – disgusting, bue. If it’s hot, then you just don’t need to wear synthetics.Nobody made any comments to them, and I was a silent witness, because I was sitting three “kupeshki”.
I buried myself in the book for an hour and a half.
Or looked out the window.
Express does not go to the station where the dacha is located. I go out in the nearest large city – Maloyaroslavets. The central street was put in order. Delicious bread is baked in the city, and at the local market we already know from whom to buy meat and from whom fruit.
After the train, you want a little civilization.There is no coffee shop in the city as a class. And restaurants are like roadside cafes. Found the only restaurant “Gusar Ballada”. The outside of the building shows this composition (find the cat), and the inside is pretty decent, especially against the background of the rest of the proposal. We simply close our eyes to service.
The shoemaker is not an artist.
And here’s another note from the streets of the hero city. Maloyaroslavetsky Street Fashion. And we swear at women who put their belly up to the navel.
We get to the dacha by taxi.
The station lives its own life. An uncle in an orange vest came out of the shed and tried not to wave his right hand with the bottle in front of me. At the same time, there is always complete order at the station and around.
It turns out that the cards are sold in sports stores. I brought these beautiful Austrian maps from Kazan. Except as a couple of fools, we don’t play anything else. We do not know how. Can you tell me interesting games for two or three?
This notebook is 15 years old, no less.Our art with a friend, like we are cool fashion designers.
The beauty of two abandoned vegetable gardens is revealed in June, when peonies and lupins are in bloom.
“And the money is in the can”.
Everyone goes for drinking water differently. We pour in small cans, and some come with whole barrels.
“Let’s go under the pine tree?”
The legendary place of night parties of our youth. In May, I tidied up the shops and the fireplace. They played tricks there all summer.At one time we had Vitya “sponsor”, a banquet at his expense. And now no one is going to. It is unrealistic to dock. Some have children, others also have children, and still others work and do not want to hear about the dacha at all. The younger generation is not getting ready yet, and it seems that it is unlikely to be.
Several neighboring cottages.
And here is our beauty. We changed the roof this year. We got such cool workers, they did it in less than a week.They also do not drink, eat little and look great, even if you take them as husbands!
In the photo there is still an old cap on the pipe. A more suitable “house” has already been installed. In the future, we want to decorate the house. It will be lining again. I boycott siding with all hands and feet. Plastic houses look … like plastic houses. There was also a thought about a block house, but I don’t like this “bath” style.
I think I got the shutters back. With a new finish, these will go to the fire. They are already thirty years old.You will need to find or order new ones of the exact same type. We close them in the heat and keep cool at home.
Before a thunderstorm. I’ve only seen such a sky in scary films.
And here I am, after swimming and in punk outfit. A vest and pants from the uniform of the American army.
Cats. They live in our bedroom with Maxich.
This is not a brush, but a museum piece (-:
She is twelve years old, bought at the dawn of Ikea in Russia.She is still more alive than all the living.
That year I bought merry gloves in bulk in Fix-price.
Neighborhood children run to the swing. And I really love after a bath on them in the sky swinging. Air cooling system, like a Zaporozhets (-:
Daru ~ Darov’s valuable gift. ZiKovy ceramics. dachas.Redo the kitchen or build a new one, how a beautiful utility block should look like, and so on. We want to make the window that can be seen in the photo as a door, that is, a French window, to the floor. And inside the kitchen, break a senseless wall and put a long solid wood table.
A pond a stone’s throw from the house. You can train normally in it. More than three people never bathe at a time, there is enough space. The length is 150-200 meters, I guess.
We also have a lake.You need to go to it by car.
Through flat field roads.
After the rain in the lowland, the road is washed away, it is not possible to drive on this pepelatse.
I’m dismounting. The lake is already close.
Maria Orlova – Mistress of the Castle read online
Orlova Maria Nikolaevna
Mistress of the castle
The beginning of spring this year turned out to be wonderful, there was little rain and they came mainly at night, and the sun was still not hot during the day.Even the cold wind from the sea did not spoil Aurora’s good mood. The mood was spoiled by the upcoming meeting. The girl sighed, put a cup of coffee on the table. The Mistress of Truth is majestic as always, and her son is disgusting as always. No matter how Sebastian Istin dressed, no matter how good he was, Aurora always felt sick from the mere sight of him. In fact, Sebastian Istin de Conte was a very nice young man: tall, moderately pumped up, but very arrogant and, in Aurora’s opinion, too arrogant.In other respects, all the Truths were like that, and not only they, Aurora would not have named a dozen not such people among the members of high society.
“Good afternoon, Aurora,” Mrs. Truth smiled at the girl.
– Good afternoon, Mrs. Filicia, – Aurora rose from her seat. – Hi Sebastian.
“My child, a girl of your rank should not get up from the table to greet and greet a man first, too, is not proper,” the woman scolded Aurora, sitting down on the chair that her son obligingly pulled back for her.- Thanks Sebastian.
Aurora smiled tightly, oh, these rules of etiquette, but she saw them in the coffin, and she would have seen the Truth family there, if not her daddy’s fool, who immediately after her birth wanted to become related to this family. Lord, this is the twenty-first century, and she was betrothed from birth to this degenerate. Well, of course, the heiress of the noblest family of Travin de Corneli Irnek cannot be otherwise, such are the traditions. The noble marry the noble, the commoners marry the commoners.
– You will soon be twenty-five, – Mrs. Filicia drank coffee with her little finger protruding in a mannered manner, Sebastian grinned, but said nothing.
“You are absolutely right,” Aurora nodded and fell silent, she guessed that the conversation would go exactly to the engagement, but did not want to start the first. Maybe it’s childish, but suddenly they didn’t invite her for this, or, what’s even more stupid, suddenly Mrs. Istin forgets what she came for. But Philicia Truths, much to Aurora’s chagrin, never forgot anything.
“Twenty-five years is more than a serious age,” the woman carefully chose her words.“I suppose you’ve walked around enough and now it’s time to talk about your marriage to Sebastian.
Aurora sighed heavily and brought her already empty cup of coffee to her mouth, so that they would not hear her teeth gritting.
“I know that you are in a very dire situation,” Sebastian began, with the permission of his mother. – But, in spite of this, I am still ready to fulfill the will of my parents. This is a matter of honor and duty. You in every possible way avoid gatherings and balls of our society, yes, I understand, you can’t afford it, but becoming my wife, you will catch up, our family can afford it.
Aurora put the empty cup on the table so abruptly that it clinked and a crack ran across it. It was foolish to expect that she would not be reminded that she was, in fact, a beggar and that they were doing her a great favor, for which she had to thank the Truth family all her life. The family of Aurora – Travini De Corneli Irenek had a centuries-old glorious history, the first mentions of it were in documents dating from the tenth century AD, and even then this surname was already famous and thundered. In the fifteenth century, Rethof Travini was king in one of the many kingdoms in what was then Europe, by the way, his kingdom was not the smallest.A hundred years later, his descendants reasonably agreed to join the banner of King Venn V, recognizing his power over themselves. However, nothing is eternal, the wealth of the Travini family ran out. The heirs of the family were bad financiers and good spenders, by the end of the eighteenth century the Travin family was ruined, while Aurora inherited from her father only a dilapidated castle on the seashore, and debts. But the castle is not a country house, a lot of money is needed to maintain it, and the girl did not have it, so the castle was boarded up, and the last representative of the Travini family, De Corneli Irnek, was no different from her less noble peers.She, like everyone else, graduated from an ordinary school, then an ordinary local university and now worked as a small clerk in a large company with a resounding world name. Her salary was enough to rent a small apartment and little girlish joys like new shoes, going out with her friends to have fun and books.
The Istin family could not boast of such a centuries-old history, but Sebastian’s ancestors were more perspicacious and grasping, today the thirty-year-old Seb Istin was the heir of a considerable fortune and a very enviable fiancé, though few people knew that this fiancé from the age of five was intended for the unfortunate Aurora …Probably, Aurora was the only one who didn’t like Sebastian. The girl simply hated him, and since childhood, long before she found out that she would have to marry him. The news of the marriage did not add warm feelings, but only intensified hostility, driving her to hatred. But that was the will of her father. Though what the hell. ”Aurora shook her head.
– Why do you need this, Sebastian? She asked the man, looking him straight in the eye. Seb looked at his mother in confusion.
“This is the will of your father,” Filicia answered for her son.
“I’m addressing Sebastian,” Aurora smiled as charmingly as possible. – Or can he not answer himself?
– Of course he can.
“Thank you.” Aurora smiled again. – So tell me, Seb, why do you, the heir of a large fortune, need me as a wife? I have nothing but a name. And what do you care about my ancestors, I’m not a man, I will change my surname and that’s it, the Travini family will end its existence. Why do you need it? – the girl uttered the last phrase slowly and clearly pronouncing the words.
– But there was an agreement, – Sebastian answered not very confidently, casting a confused look at his mother, she nodded in satisfaction.
– Is it just that?
“Aurora, I am surprised at your unwillingness to fulfill your father’s will,” Filicia Istin intervened in the conversation. Sebastian sighed quietly, he absolutely did not understand where Aurora was driving, let his mother understand better.
“And I am surprised by your persistence in doing his will,” the girl smiled. – Let’s be honest, where is the dog buried?
– You insult us, Aurora, – Filicia was a good actress and if Aurora hadn’t known her since childhood, she would have believed that the woman was really insulted.But Aurora did not believe either the sudden surging pallor or the trembling cheekbones of the woman sitting opposite. She remembered well how Madame Filicia had taught her mother twenty years ago to control her emotions and to induce pallor and blush at will. Filicia did not then pay attention to little Aurora, sitting with dolls in the big master’s chair, but the girl, frozen, listened attentively to the instructions, listened and memorized. – But I forgive you, in memory of your unfortunate parents.
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Rhine.- How history is written. – Boring buildings. – An interesting scene. – Conductor of the German railway. – His passion for tickets. – We spread joy and gaiety, encouraging the suffering and wiping away the tears of the crying. – “May I have your tickets?” – A kind of hunting. – A natural mistake. – Acrobatic exercises of the conductor. – A joke of the railway authorities. – Why should we have compassion for others
Finally got confused in days; I ask you not to pretend if this continues further.
Sightseeing in Cologne delayed us so long that we barely had time to stock up on passable seats on the train, and at 5.10 in the afternoon we rushed full speed towards Munich.The journey there was to take fifteen hours.
From Bonn to Mainz, the line runs along the Rhine almost all the time. Before our admiring gazes, beautiful views of the river with its banks dotted with ancient cities and villages constantly opened up; with mountains shrouded in fog; with proud castles and cliffs cut by deep abysses, towering in majestic sullenness to the blue skies; with wooded rocks hanging over ominously gaping abysses; with picturesque ruins of ancient knights’ nests and churches, marking almost every inch of the coastal strips of the old “grandfather” of the Rhine, and with emerald islets scattered over its wide surface.
Many of our expectations are usually not met, especially when they are overstretched. Knowing this and going over in my memory the many enthusiastic reviews I had heard and read about the Rhine, I had already prepared in advance to see only the most commonplace on its shores. However, a sense of justice makes me admit that if my expectations this time did not come true, not in the direction of annoying disappointment, but vice versa.
Indeed, the panorama that unfolded before us in the approaching mysterious twilight, and then under the star-studded night sky, was enchantingly beautiful, poetic and charming.
But I will not describe this marvelous panorama either; this requires a more brilliant and stronger nib than the one I own. If I dared to undertake such an overwhelming work for me, then it would only be a useless waste of time both for the readers, and – what is even more important – for me personally.
I confess that at the beginning of our journey I intended to give at least a brief, but as vivid as possible overview of the Rhine Valley between Cologne and Mainz. As a background for this review, I wanted to select historical and legendary legends related to these areas, and against this background to depict the modern appearance of the Rhine coast in living colors, providing it with appropriate comments and explanations.
Perhaps I will even share with the readers the outline of the review I have suggested. This is the plan.
(Notes for the chapter on the Rhine). “Constantine the Great was here, as well as Agrippa. (Note: find details about Agrippa). The names of Julius Caesar and Nero’s mother are connected with the Rhine, and very closely. ”
(To the reader). “The brevity of these notes makes them rather obscure. They must mean that both Julius Caesar and Nero’s mother – each, of course, in his own time – had an affair with the Rhine, and not at all that Julius Caesar had an affair with Nero’s mother.I find it necessary to give this explanation, so as not to be an involuntary cause of the confusion that could arise from the rapprochement between Caesar and Lady Agrippina, Nero’s mother. I hate scandalous insinuations! ”
(Continuation of notes). “In the initial period of the history of the Rhine, its right bank was inhabited by murders, which then somehow ended up on the left bank. (It is assumed that the Ubi were an independent tribe, but it is better to check and trace whether they belonged to the nomads of the antediluvian era).Cologne was the cradle of German art. (Talk about art and the old masters. You should write about them in a spirit of gentleness and compassion; after all, they have long since passed into eternity). In Cologne, Saint Ursula was martyred with eleven thousand of her virgin followers. She must have had even more. The picture of this massacre should be described as touchingly as possible (Find out who cut such a mass of girls.). – Don’t forget to say something about Emperor Maximilian. Call him Maximilian the Mighty.Mention Charlemagne (a lot could be written about him) and the Franks. – Collect details about francs; where they lived and what happened to them. Outline all the points of contact between the Romans and the Goths (for this read Gibbon, if there is not enough information in the “Questions” by Mangneil). – Give picturesque descriptions of the battles between the citizens of Cologne and their arrogant bishops.). – Introduce the minnesingers into the essay, especially Walter von der Vogelweide; let him sing under the walls of a gloomy castle in which some beauty dies. Talk about the artist Albrecht Durer. To criticize his manner. Call it flat (but first check if Dürer’s manner is really flat). Describe the “Mouse Tower” on the Rhine, near Bingen, and the place itself and give a complete retelling of the legend associated with this tower; but not really smear the legend, as it is known to everyone. Do not forget the story of the Borigofen brothers connected with the twin castles, Sternberberg and Liebenstein.These brothers, Konrad and Heinrich, both loved the beautiful Hildegard. The magnanimous Heinrich concedes to his brother his beloved girl and goes on a crusade. Konrad ponders his brother’s actions for two years, then decides that it is also better not to marry Hildegard, but to leave her to his brother when he returns, and also goes on a crusade, from where he returns five years later with a Greek bride. The beautiful X., who remained in girls, thanks to such chivalrous nobility of her admirers, falls into despair (this is not surprising), locks herself in the most deserted part of the castle and stays there for several years, stubbornly refusing to see anyone.The magnanimous Heinrich finally also returns from the campaign and is very upset when he learns that his brother did not take advantage of his huge sacrifice and did not marry X. Nevertheless, even now it does not occur to him to marry her himself.
The competition of both brothers in the noble desire to yield to each other the beautiful X. is very touching. In the end, Heinrich draws his sword and attacks Konrad, intending to kill him for neglecting the beautiful maiden. The latter rushes between the brothers, reconciles them with each other, then, obviously bored with all this too “knightly” story, goes to the monastery.At the same time, Konrad’s fiancée, a Greek woman, wishes to marry another; Konrad throws himself on his brother’s chest and they both swear to each other in perpetual agreement. (To make this scene more pathetic; to describe it as if he had heard this story on a clear moonlit night under the ruins of twin castles, from the lips of the shadows themselves, the actors). Rolandseck near Bonn. Tell the story of Roland and Hildegunda. No need to stretch: it looks like the previous legend. Is it possible to describe the burial? – Watchtower on the Rhine, near Andernach.Look for a ballad about this, if there is one, insert it into the description. – Koblenz and Ehrenbreitenstein are former fortified places. Call them the “formidable sentinels of the state.” Give some reflections on the German army and on the war in general. Chat about Frederick the Great (read Carlyle’s story about him, take the most interesting places from it), – Drachenfels. Quote from Byron and add some moralizing reasoning about destroyed castles in general. Describe the Middle Ages from your own point of view “…
Notes have been compiled by me many more, but enough reproduced here to give readers some idea of my cherished plan of describing the Rhine! By the way, I did not develop this plan, and therefore, while discussing it, the thought flashed through my mind that if I did it, then not a simple chapter from a traveler’s diary would come out, but the whole history of Europe.That is why I took advantage of this plan, I decided to postpone my intention until that time, when from the public there will be a demand for a new history of Europe, which is currently not noticed.
“Besides,” I said to myself, “such work is quite convenient in order to fill the boredom of a long night of confinement. Perhaps it will fall to my lot someday. So I’ll start writing a new history of Europe, but for now, I’d better continue my diary. ” An evening trip along the Rhine banks would have been still delightful if I had not been besieged by the annoying thought that I would have to give at least a brief account of it in my diary the next day.I felt the same as, in all likelihood, a person who enjoys a fine dinner, but who knows that he is obliged to pay for this enjoyment with an ornate speech in honor of the owners, feels; or a theater critic looking at the actors’ play and constantly tormented by the consciousness of the boring work ahead of him at the end of the performance.
Small villages and towns crowded here and there between the river bank and the railway line. Houses were almost entirely adjacent to one another; there seemed to be not the slightest gap between them, and I imagined that the townsfolk could go from one house to another right on the roofs, like cats; and if some mother-in-law living nearby decides to visit her son-in-law, then she can freely go down to his house from the roof through the chimney, if for some reason she does not want to enter the door from the street.When a person gets drunk at a good neighbor’s in the evening, it is also very convenient for him to lie down on the roof and, instead of being reprimanded by his wife, wait until he is sober under the influence of the fresh night air. All these conveniences exist here due to the fact that people decided to sculpt their homes, as bees sculpt wax cells in their hive.
While our train was at the station near one of these villages, we had to observe an interesting scene. The characters in this scene were: a nimble kid, a little boy, an old man, an old woman and a dog.This performance was played out in the following way.
At first we heard a loud barking, then a kid jumped out from the yard of one of the small houses and with brisk jumps rushed along the line. A rope was tied around the kid’s neck, the free end of which dragged along the ground after him. A boy ran after the kid, trying to grab the end of the rope and stop the fugitive. But instead, he himself got entangled in a long rope on the run, flopped and screamed at the top of his lungs. This cry caused the old woman, who also began to catch the kid.She quickly managed to step on the end of the dragging rope. But as soon as she wanted to grab this end with her hand, as the kid pulled the rope violently, the old woman also flopped no worse than her granddaughter and also screamed shrilly. The goat turned abruptly and galloped back along the previous path. When he wanted to gallop past his house, an old man jumped out of the door and, in turn, made an attempt to catch the four-legged fugitive. Not wanting to share the fate of the boy and the old woman, whom he watched from the window, the old man avoided stepping on the rope, but tried to grab it with his hands when she quickly crawled past him on the ground, like a sliding and writhing snake.But the old man was destined to experience the very thing that he avoided. True, he managed to grab the rope with both hands, but at the same moment the nimble kid did such a somersault-mortale that the rope slipped out of the shaking hands of the old man, and he himself poked his nose into the road dust. Trying in vain to get to his feet at once, and rubbing his flabby nose with his hand, the old man groaned and loudly scolded the kid. Meanwhile, a dog jumped out of the gate of the house and, with a furious bark, set off after the kid running away from all his legs, very deftly grabbed the end of the rope with his teeth and held it so tightly that the kid, no matter how spinning, jumping, or rearing up, could not free himself.However, the small stubborn and freedom-loving animal did not want to admit that it was defeated and came up with new tactics. It suddenly rushed to the opposite side of the village. Thus, on a rope stretched out into a string, two were now jumping: at one end, on the right side – a kid, and on the other, on the left – a dog. The rope held between them at a level of six inches above the ground and touched everything on the way of the four-legged athletes running. The village, which was peaceful until that moment, was filled with shouts and confusion.Within a minute we counted fourteen people overturned by a rope that was rapidly moving between the kid and the dog. Some of the victims, lying in the most picturesque poses on earth, scolded the goat, others cursed the dog, and the third – one of them also belonged to the old woman – for what it was worth reproaching the old man because he decided to have such a tomboy – a goat. New people appeared at the scene. Apparently, frightened by the usual noise, they asked what had happened, gasped, groaned, shook their heads, waved their arms …
Then the chief-conductor’s whistle sounded – a signal to leave the train.We were so interested in the scene that was playing out that we really wanted to watch it to the end, so we asked the chief conductor to delay the train a little. But, to our general annoyance, we received a categorical refusal: the train was too late, and it was impossible to delay for a single minute.
Leaning out of the windows, we watched the interesting scene as long as we could. When the scene had already disappeared from our sight, our tense hearing for a long time still caught echoes, screams, screeching and swearing of people, the barking of a dog and the bleating of a kid.
At about eleven o’clock in the evening we drank a glass of beer (on the German railways you can always get through the train service what you need from the buffet: coffee with rolls and without them, beer, soft drinks, etc.) and got ready to go to bed. We took off our boots, lay down quite comfortably and closed our eyes. However, we did not have to sleep.
The fact is that every five minutes (however, maybe there were more intervals, but they seemed very small to us asleep) a ghostly face appeared at the carriage windows and asked us to show tickets in a grave voice.
I drew from my own experiments such a conclusion that when the German railway conductor has nothing else to do, he goes around outside, near the carriage windows, and checks the tickets, after which, with a relieved conscience, he returns for a short time to his service carriage.
There are such eccentrics in the world who are obsessed with sunrises or sunsets, pictures of old masters or something like that; the soul of a German conductor can take wings and ascend into the world of sweet dreams at the sight of only travel tickets.
Almost all railway officials in Germany obviously suffer from ticket addiction, so to speak. One kind of passenger ticket gives them a sense of bliss. Since their mania is, in essence, quite harmless, my companion and I decided to do our best to contribute to its satisfaction. Therefore, when we saw some railroad officer looking dejectedly, we immediately approached him and showed him our tickets. It was touching to see how joyfully the stern and sullen face of a railway officer lit up at the sight of these rectangular cardboard boxes.If we forgot our tickets in the carriage when we left the station, we would deliberately take new ones at the next station, just to please the railway officer; if we could not console him with the sight of third-class tickets, then we was in a hurry to exchange them for second-class ones, and this always worked.
In Cologne, we have stocked up with a dozen first-class intermediate tickets all the way to Ober Ammergau, so that we can get off at any station and get on any passenger train from there without unnecessary hassle and worries.During a stop in Munich – about noon on the second day of the trip from Cologne – we noticed an old railway employee in the buffet, looking especially sad and dead. After asking the buffet servant about what happened to the old man, we learned that his beloved mother-in-law had recently died. With all my heart I sympathized with the old man’s grief, I suggested that B. take him aside and show him the whole series of our tickets, even let him hold these treasures in his hands and let his fill of admiring them.
B.objected to this proposal. He said that if the old man was not stunned by the sight of such a mass of first-class tickets (and this could very well have happened), then all the same his whole life would be poisoned: colleagues throughout Germany would be so jealous of his great happiness that they would not give him, as they say , passage and, in the end, completely exhaust him.
After a long meeting, we decided to buy a first-class return ticket to the next station and presented them to the old man, dejected by the loss of his mother-in-law.And so we did. The success exceeded our expectations: at the sight of these tickets, the wrinkled features of an old sad face stretched into a blissful smile and dull eyes flashed with a ray of happiness.
However, with the passage of time, the ticket-busting of German railway officials and lower employees begins to get bored with the order, and there is a desire that they at least somewhat curb their passion for tickets. Even the most kind-hearted and patient person ends up annoyed by the almost minute-by-minute demand for tickets, not only during the day, but even at night.Therefore, in the second half of a long crossing on German railways, the appearance of the conductor at the window and his stereotypical “let your tickets!” makes a downright depressing impression on passengers.
You are tired and sleepy. You don’t remember where you put your ticket. You are not even quite sure if you have a ticket at all or, if you did, if someone else used it. Of course, you have your ticket intact, but you, assuming that it will not be required for a long time after the last control, hid it so carefully that you cannot now remember where exactly.
The clothes you are wearing have eleven pockets, and your coat hanging on a hook has at least five. Perhaps the ticket is in one of these many pockets, but it may also happen that you put it in one of your bags or in your wallet, which you also don’t know where you touched it, or, finally, it’s in your wallet.
You start looking. First of all, you search all the pockets on yourself, then jump up impulsively and vigorously dust yourself off, hoping that during this procedure the ticket, perhaps catching somewhere in your clothes, will fall to the floor, you will pick it up and hand it to the ardent ticket lover languishing outside the window.You automatically look around and notice with what intense curiosity the eyes of the other passengers are glaring at you and with what merciless sternness the face of the conductor looks at you from behind the window; in your half-asleep brain, the idea arises that you are on trial, where you were dragged for misappropriating someone else’s ticket, and that if you have the ticket with you, you will be sentenced to at least five years in prison. In view of this, you fervently deny your guilt and shout in a trembling voice:
– I tell you that I didn’t take … I didn’t even see this gentleman’s ticket … I didn’t take it, I didn’t take it, you understand !…. Let me go! ..
But the comments of the public, appropriate to the occasion, bring you to your senses and you start looking again for the ill-fated ticket. With feverish haste you turn all your pockets inside out, rummage through your luggage, half of which falls from the top of the net onto the seat and on the floor, and silently curse the entire German railway network with all its orders and all its employees. You raise all the neighbors to their feet to see if your ticket has somehow fallen under them, and finally, in despair, you begin to crawl all over the carriage, crawling under the seats and rummaging around with your hands.
– Did you throw it out of the window just now, along with the paper from under the sandwiches? – asks you your friend, who assiduously helps you in your search and, of course, is imbued with sincere participation in you.
– Well, here’s another invented! – you answer irritably. – Am I out of my mind? Why on earth would I do such nonsense? .. Do you really think that I cannot distinguish a ticket from a greasy piece of paper? ..
Your grumbling at the friend’s address continues for a long time. At the same time, you feel yourself for the twentieth time and, finally, find your ticket tucked into the waistcoat pocket for the watch, where he was peacefully resting all the time, hand it to the conductor and wonder how you could not immediately guess to look for him there.
During this painful procedure, the conductor outside the window did everything in his power to increase your nervous excitement: shifting from foot to foot on a narrow step along the carriages, he always assumed the most risky positions; the awareness of their danger falls on your soul as an unnecessary burden, and you are more and more worried and irritated.
The train runs at the maximum express speed in Germany – 30 miles per hour. The bridge is approaching. The conductor, still protruding outside the window, holding onto the car brackets with both hands, leans back as far as possible with the whole body.You look at him and at the fast-moving bridge and wonder with horror where the body of this fearless man will fall when it is shattered by the arch of the bridge: whether directly on the railway track or over the railing of the bridge into the river.
Three inches from the first bridge arch, however, the conductor is pressed tightly against the carriage, and the brickwork of the arch kills only a fly that has crouched on the edge of the conductor’s shoulder. Rumbling across the bridge, the train rushes to the very edge of a bottomless abyss.
Taking advantage of this opportunity to demonstrate to the public his purely acrobatic dexterity, the conductor lets go of the brackets, which he still held outside the window, then, hanging over the abyss and waving his arms to maintain balance, begins to perform on a narrow step something like a dance of primitive Germans, their “bestialness” so frightened cultured Romans.
If you want to keep your peace of mind as much as possible when moving on the German railways, then first try to set yourself up in such a way so that you can completely indifferently watch the conductor break his head during his acrobatic exercises outside the carriage.If you are not able to tune in this way, then, I warn you, traveling along the tracks of the German Empire will be a continuous moral torture for you.
Oh, how beautiful, how fresh and poetic the land is at five o’clock in the morning of a spring day! Sloths lying in their beds almost until noon, and have no idea about this charm. Only we, who get up early (due to bitter necessity, however), can quite enjoy the beauty of nature.
At this early hour, I gave up further attempts to sleep and went to the other end of the carriage to the lavatory to wash myself and generally put myself in order.
It is rather tricky to wash in the tiny carriage latrines, because the carriages are swaying a lot. As soon as you put your hands and half your head into the wash basin, the walls of the carriage and everything that is in them around you, using your helplessness, are approaching you; you hurriedly lean back in the opposite direction, but then the door opens with a bang and hits your back.
Under these conditions, I only managed to splash myself with water. Wanting to dry off, I began to look for a towel with my eyes, but it was not in the toilet.This is a very cleverly thought-out joke. The railway administration arranges latrines at the carriages, in which there is a washbasin, water and even a soap dish with a piece of scented soap. The passenger trustingly goes to such a restroom, washes there, but when he wants to wipe himself off, he notices that there is no towel there. I repeat – a very ingeniously invented joke.
I had towels in my bag, but in order to get them, I had to walk in the most unrepresentative way all over the car, past the ladies. It is good that need is inventive.I remembered that I had a newspaper in my pocket, took it out and wiped it off somehow, and I made the discovery that it is very bad to wipe it off with newsprint, especially if the ink had not yet dried sufficiently.
Returning to my seat, I suggested that my friend B. also go to the lavatory and wash up. He went. Imagining his position when he made the discovery that there was no towel in the bathroom, I drove away my own annoyance at this unpleasant circumstance.
How true, however, is the observation of old people who say that when we rejoice in the troubles of others, we forget our own!
Fifty miles from Munich, there is nothing on either side of the train but a flat, almost barren and poorly populated plain, so there is nothing to see.The passenger can only look sadly at the horizon ahead, in despair to see at least some sign that would indicate the proximity of a big city.
Unfortunately, Munich lies in a deep lowland, so that from afar it is almost invisible; you only notice it when the train enters the outskirts of the city and approaches the landing stage.
90,000 Eva Mendes spoke about her husband
The famous actress is happily married to Ryan Gosling.
Eva Mendes Photo: GlobalLookPress
The popular Hollywood actress spoke about the father of her children. Eva Mendes (“The Fast and the Furious”, “Once Upon a Time in Mexico: Desperate 2”, “Last Night in New York”, “The Place Beyond the Pines”) shared with her Instagram followers her opinion about Ryan Gosling’s role in their family ( “Half-Nelson”, “Fanatic”, “United States of Leland”, “Notebook”). Until recently, the actress kept her personal life under lock and key, but after convincing requests from fans, she decided to share a few moments with subscribers, Glamor reported.
“It looks as if he put all the responsibility for raising children on you and does not help you at all,” wrote the disgruntled fans.
Eva Mendes Photo: GlobalLookPress
This was followed by the revelation of Mendes about his beloved and the father of her children.
“If I’m not talking about Ryan and all the wonderful things he does as a father, it’s only because I protect my privacy,” Eve replied.
Eva Mendes and Ryan Gosling.Photo: GlobalLookPress
The actress does not consider it necessary to expose her relationships and details of family life to the public. She noted that she runs a page to communicate with married women like her, and share opinions and advice, but no more.
“When I say how tired I am, I just want to appeal to moms like me who are also tired. But this does not mean that I devalue the role of the father in the family. If I’m not talking about Ryan and all the wonderful things that he does as a father, it’s only because I protect my privacy, my family, ”explained Mendes.
Ryan Gosling and Eva Mendes are preparing to become parents of twins Foreign media reported that the star couple is going to become parents for the third time. Ryan Gosling and Eva Mendes are reportedly expecting twins.
Recall that Eva Mendes and Ryan Gosling began dating in 2011. Even before the wedding, the star couple had two daughters: five-year-old Esmeralda and four-year-old Amada.