The story of a grandmother I know. Communication between grandmothers and grandchildren: generational conflict or inexhaustible life experience Grandmothers and grandchildren life stories

Yuri Kuvaldin

PLEASURE

story

On a June evening in a summer cafe under the crowns of old trees in Izmailovsky Park, Mikhail Ivanovich was congratulated on his seventieth birthday, and his thirteen-year-old grandson, Boris, dedicated his poem to him, which began with the line:

Estimate, grandpa, seventy is not age ...

He composed this and wrote it down on his mobile phone while walking from Partizanskaya to the park. Boris was seated between his mother and grandmother, the wife of the hero of the day, Tamara Vasilievna, a young woman with a magnificent dyed hairdo.
After the first toast, Tamara Vasilievna, looking around the table, called the waiter who was standing at her table and said:
- I want chu trout grilled on coals!
Mom's father, grandmother's husband, grandfather Mikhail Ivanovich looked at her with concern, said only:
- Tamara...
But she immediately blurted out:
- And no talking. Understood? I don't want n-no talk!
- Mommy, I want too, - Boris's mother said to her mother, Boris's grandmother.
Apparently, Tamara Vasilievna belonged to the number of those older women who know how to command with sweet arrogance, if they obediently obey, but who themselves, at the same time, are easily shy.
After several toasts, Tamara Vasilievna, drunk, began to examine Boris with keen interest, until, finally, she smacked him with thick red lipstick on the cheek and breathed out:
- How beautiful you are, Borenka!
She could be understood, since she had not seen her grandson for five years, because she lived with her grandfather in Kyiv. Now they have managed to exchange Kyiv for Moscow, for 9th Parkovaya.
Boris even blushed in surprise, and during the dance, to which his grandmother pulled him out, she pressed him tightly to her large breasts and dared to stroke his cheek with her palm.
She said:
- Well, tell me, tell me how things are going at school, what do you think to do after school ... I really want to listen to you, Borya ... I really want to talk with you, granddaughters ...
- I also want to, grandmother, - said Boris for decency.
- Well, that's good. It's stuffy here, let's get some air... You get up and go out to breathe. I'll be out in five minutes too...
Boris himself wanted to go out for a smoke so that his mother would not see him. The fact is that he started smoking a month ago, and he was strongly drawn to it. Behind the cafe began thickets of bushes and trees. Boris lit a cigarette, turned away and secretly took a few deep puffs, feeling his soul getting even better than from a drunk glass of champagne. In general, Izmailovo Park looked like a dense forest. Soon Tamara Vasilievna appeared.
“What an adult you are,” she said. - Let's take a walk, breathe ...
She took Boris by the arm, and they walked along the path into the thicket. Having moved a certain distance, Tamara Vasilievna sank down on a wide stump and turned to Boris, who sat down on a nearby log. Grandmother's light dress was not long and ended at her knees. Boris listened attentively to what Tamara Vasilievna spoke about her studies, about choosing a path, about Kyiv and Moscow, but her knees were in front of him and involuntarily attracted attention. They were very beautiful, not angular, but smoothly passed into the hips, a piece of which was visible from the side. Everything else was hidden from his sight.
Then Tamara Vasilievna started talking about the fact that Borya was already an adult, that he needed to know how to behave with women, and he looked at her full knees with curiosity, probably for the first time thinking about his grandmother as a woman. Indeed, she was attractive, with a fashionable hairstyle, with long eyelashes, with a manicure, with rings and bracelets.
Grandmother was short, broad at the hips, and in general was a plump woman with fairly large breasts. But the figure, despite the fullness, was quite slender with a noticeable waist. Continuing to admire his grandmother's round knees, Boris began, as it were, to crawl from the log onto the grass, leaning on the log with his elbows laid back. Grandmother did not seem to notice this, only slightly spread her legs. Afraid to believe in his luck, Boris timidly lowered his eyes and saw from the inside almost completely her full, smooth hips and a small part of her stomach, which hung down in a rather large fold and lay on her hips. This picture took Boris's breath away, and even what she said about Boris's growing up ceased to interest him at all. Afraid to move, he admired the opened picture, and his imagination painted what was hidden from his eyes. Here Tamara Vasilievna herself spread her legs wider.
Now he could not see her belly, but her legs were fully visible. As she sat with them wide apart, he saw her wide thick thighs spread out over the stump, and, following his gaze further, he saw how they gradually converged together. The farther between the legs, the darker it became, and at the point of their connection it was almost impossible to see anything.
Boris's throat was dry, a blush appeared on his cheeks, and an incomprehensible and very pleasant stir in his pants began, his boy from a small faucet began to turn into something rather large and relatively thick, sticking up.
The sight of Tamara Vasilievna's knees and legs was so seductive, they were so alluring that, forgetting everything, at first Boris gently touched them with one finger and began to move them back and forth along the knee, as if drawing or writing something.
Tamara Vasilievna did not pay any attention to this, and inspired by Boris, he continued his work with a few fingers. Seeing that this was also normal, he put his whole hand on her knee. It turned out to be very pleasant to the touch, tender, soft, with a slightly rough skin and a little cold.
At first, Boris' hand just lay there, but then he began to move it a little, at first by one or two centimeters. Gradually, he stroked more boldly, running his hand all over the knee. Grandmother still did not pay attention to her grandson's occupation, or pretended not to.
Then he completely slid off the log onto the grass, and from this his hand involuntarily slipped from his knee and darted into the space between his thighs. At first, Boris was very frightened, but he did not remove his hand, but simply moved it away from his leg and began to touch the surface of the thigh only a little, with several fingers.
Afraid to look his grandmother in the face and that she would notice from him what was happening to her grandson, Boris listened and was surprised to find that she continued to talk about his future. True, it seemed to him that Tamara Vasilyevna's voice had changed a little, become a little hoarse, as if her throat had gone dry and she was thirsty. Having convinced himself that since his grandmother continues to educate him, then everything is fine, Boris pressed his palm to the entire inner surface of the thigh. This surface turned out to be softer and much warmer than the knee, it was very pleasant to the touch, and I just wanted to stroke it. And, as in the case of the knee, at first cautiously, and then more and more boldly, Boris began to move his palm back and forth. He liked this activity so much that he no longer noticed anything around him. Stroking and feeling a pleasant warmth, Boris gradually moved his hand farther and farther. He longed to touch her hair and move his fingers there. Gradually he succeeded. His hand stumbled first on the lonely hairs, stroking and sorting through which, he gradually got to the thicker ones, in the very upper part of the thigh.
At this time, Boris noticed that something had changed around him. Looking up from his work for a second, he realized that his grandmother was silent, and it was this silence that alerted him.
Without raising his eyes or removing his hand, Boris saw with his peripheral vision that his grandmother had closed her eyes, and on the contrary, her lips were slightly parted, as if she had cut off her speech in mid-sentence. Here, noticing this, Boris froze, even got scared. But the grandmother did not utter a word, but only threw her hands back, on the edges of a wide stump, and leaned on them. And Boris realized that Tamara Vasilievna also wanted him to continue stroking.
This cheered up Boris, gave courage, and he carefully began to stroke her hair, expecting to stumble upon panties, but they were not there.
“It’s very hot,” Grandmother said in a trembling and quiet voice, noticing his surprise.
Boris was sorting through the hairs, his hand was already moving in the very groin, it was even warmer and a little damp there. There was much more hair, his whole hand sank into them. Then Boris noticed that the grandmother was trembling a little, some cramps were running through her legs, and they were a little divorced and brought together. Lowering his hand lower, Boris finally felt what he so wanted to touch. Under his arm was Grandma's lily! It was incredible, even in his dreams Boris could not imagine it. Her thick secret lips were clearly felt, they were very large, swollen and barely fit under his palm. Boris began stroking them more vigorously with his hand, and touching them with his fingers, trying to embrace and examine them.
Tamara Vasilievna's breathing became more frequent, deeper, and it seemed to Boris that he even heard it. And immediately after this, the grandmother began to move herself under his hand, fidgeting with her magnificent ass along the stump. For a moment she stopped, pushing Boris back, slid down onto the grass. Her hairy bosom pressed tightly against Boris's hand and moved in all directions. It suddenly became very wet under his hand, but from this movement they became lighter and gliding, Boris felt her large lips part and immediately his fingers fell inside, into a wet, warm and very tender cave, slid there, which made grandmother scream. Both grandmother and grandson began to move together in time, he with his fingers, and his grandmother with her hips, shaking her huge buttocks.
During all this time they did not say a word to each other, as if they were afraid to frighten away and violate with careless words what was happening between them. But gradually Boris became completely uncomfortable, his hand became numb, and, probably, his grandmother was also tired of sitting in one position. Without saying a word to Boris, she lay on her back, her legs spread wide and bent at the knees, like the letter "M", her dress was approximately at the level of her stomach, exposing all her charms. Boris also rolled over a little, lay down more comfortably, and moved closer. Her legs in beautiful high-heeled shoes lay in plain sight in all their glory - slightly hairy calves, knees, thick thighs that were parted and her wet, swollen lips were right in front of him. But now Boris's attention was drawn to what was higher, he wanted to see his grandmother naked in its entirety.
Boris put his hand on the very bottom of his stomach. It was very soft to the touch, flexing easily under his hand. He began to stroke it, knead it, gradually move his hands up, lifting up the dress. First he saw her deep navel, then her whole belly. It was large, soft, sluggish, some incomprehensible streaks ran along it, it was quite ugly and not at all like his. But it was precisely such a belly - of a full, adult woman that riveted his gaze, exciting Boris even more.
Having seen enough of him and seeing that his grandmother does not mind and allows all his actions, he jerked up the dress around his neck, finished with the bra and saw her breasts. Boris was struck that she was much smaller than he expected. It seemed to him that it should be big and stick up. After all, this is exactly how she was when her grandmother walked, and her chest swayed as she walked. Her big tits somehow spread all over her body, and blue veins of veins ran through them in thin streams. The nipples were brown, large, shriveled up and stuck up. Boris carefully touched one boob, then the other, and they swayed following the movement of his hand. He put his hands on them, began to knead and feel. They turned out to be very soft and lethargic, but, nevertheless, it was very pleasant to caress them. Sometimes his hands bumped into her hard big nipple, further increasing the arousal. Boris was already lying almost next to his grandmother, and she was all naked in front of him. That was incredible!
Then her hand moved, and Boris froze, but the grandmother carefully unzipped his jeans and stuck her hand in there. Boris caught his breath, it seemed that now something would break inside him. Grandmother's fingers gently stroked his testicles and hip, which was very tense and sticking up. Boris experienced incredible pleasure from her movements, the whole world was now focused only on the movements of her hands. Boris even stopped caressing her and just admired her body.
Then the grandmother opened her lips, and said something barely audible, and he guessed rather than heard her words and, bending down, kissed her breasts. At first, carefully, then more and more boldly, he kissed her soft and warm boobs, slightly salty in taste, like a baby enjoying grandmother's breasts, taking her in his mouth and sucking, biting her nipples. At the same time, he convulsively crushed and squeezed her sides with his hands, running his hands over the folds of fat on her thighs and sorting them out.
Tamara Vasilyevna was already moaning louder and louder, desires were growing. Boris put his hands down and began to knead and squeeze her little baby, no longer carefully, but strongly and maybe even rudely. The gates of God were all wet, and Boris's hand literally squelched in this swamp. Then grandmother's hands gently hugged Boris and pressed him to her, then she lifted him up and laid him on top of herself. Boris was very comfortable and well, the grandmother was big, warm and soft. Boris felt her all under him, her body close to him, which now belonged to Boris, her large breasts, stomach, hips, on which his legs lay. It was delicious.
But between his legs he had a real fire and itching, and instinctively he began to move, trying to calm this burning sensation, moving back and forth over the naked body of his grandmother. But instead of relief, the itching only got worse. Grandmother also moved under her grandson, her movements were stronger. She unbuckled the belt on his jeans and pulled them down along with his underpants, then pulled up his shirt to see his belly and chest. Her ass swayed from side to side and his legs finally fell from her hips to between her legs, ben pressed tightly against her lower abdomen. Grandmother still hugged Boris with her arms, but suddenly she began to move his body down, and he already thought that everything, the games were over, but as soon as Yasha fell off her stomach, she stopped moving Boris and just hugged.
Their movements continued, but the grandmother was no longer moving from side to side, but raising her ass, ran into Boris, while his van rested between her legs, feeling moisture and warmth. Grandmother's groans intensified, and it seemed she was losing control of herself, her cheeks turned pink, her eyes were half closed, her lips sometimes uttered something, but what exactly, Boris could not understand.
Suddenly, after one of the movements towards, Boris realized that he had hit just between her big thick lips. Considering the small size of his teenage Adam and the large, adult Eve of his grandmother, this was not surprising. Boris's sensations intensified, the vanya became very pleased, it was warm, humid, and he wanted this warmth and moisture to always envelop him from all sides. At this time, the grandmother also felt him in herself and for a moment stopped moving. Perhaps she did not want to let him go, or some doubt suddenly seized her. But after a momentary lull, instead of moving back, she lifted her buttocks, and his red-hot phallus completely entered her. It was an indescribable feeling. The grandson's wand was in the grandmother's vase.
Boris lay on her large body, wrapping his arms around it. Grandmother put her hands on his hips, and began to move Boris, now pressing, then slightly moving away from herself, as if showing what he should do, and gradually it came to Boris.
And Boris began to make movements back and forth on his own, rising above his grandmother's body. And at that time she began to move her ass towards him, rotating them from side to side, her pubis pressed tightly against him and rubbed violently and strongly. The grandson flopped on her large and flaccid belly, but he was very soft and pleasant. Tamara Vasilievna moved more and more furiously under him, her body did not remain in place for a second, hugging and stroking her grandson, she moaned loudly. His halyard seemed to fall into some kind of hole, rubbing against the wavy walls of her vagina. Both of them had already forgotten about everything and with force entered into each other. Her full body arched and fell off, forming fat folds, which the grandson squeezed like crazy.
Suddenly, the tension in the phallus grew to a maximum, Boris felt dizzy, he tensed up, and something abruptly came out of him, devastating everything, his strength left him. Delight, extraordinary pleasure, relief he felt. Grandmother, noticing the tension of his ball, twitched furiously, her hips squeezed him very tightly and painfully, she made some incredible moan, sound, wheeze, and gradually her movements began to subside. Boris, on the other hand, was simply lying on it, exhausted, and maybe already unconscious from everything that was happening.
After some time, straightening her dress, Tamara Vasilievna said:
You should know that it didn't happen. To never tell anyone...
- Well, sho, - calming down, murmured Boris.
They were silent. A crow called high above them.
Literally a second later, abruptly looking away, the grandmother exclaimed:
- Squirrel!
And then the cell phone rang. Boris, not without respect, asked his grandmother whether to answer - maybe it would be unpleasant for her? Tamara Vasilievna turned to him and looked as if from afar, tightly closing one eye from the light; the other eye remained in shadow, wide open but not at all naive, and so brown that it seemed dark blue.
The cloudless sky was visible in the gaps between the crowns of the motionless venerable birches and lindens.
The fluffy-tailed red creature sat on its hind legs on the path, and made begging movements with its front legs.
Boris asked to hurry up with the answer, and Tamara Vasilievna left the squirrel alone.
- Well, you must! - she exclaimed. - It's him, for sure!?
Boris replied that, in his opinion, whether to speak or not, one hell, he sat on a stump next to Tamara Vasilievena, and hugged her with his left arm. The right one raised the phone to his ear. The sun shone down on the forest. And when Boris brought the phone to his ear, his blond hair was illuminated especially favorably, although perhaps too brightly, so that it seemed red.
- Yes? - Boris said in a sonorous voice into the phone.
Tamara Vasilievna, feeling pleasure in the embrace, followed him. Her wide-open eyes did not reflect any anxiety or thought, only it was clear how big and black they were.
A man's voice was heard in the receiver - lifeless and at the same time strangely assertive, almost obscenely agitated:
- Boris? It's you?
Boris cast a quick glance to the left, at Tamara Vasilievna.
- Who is it? - he asked. - You, grandpa?
- Yes I. Borya, am I distracting you?
- No no. Something happened?
"Really, I'm not bothering you?" Honestly?
“No, no,” said Boris, turning pink.
- That's why I'm calling, Borya: did you happen to see where your grandmother went?
Boris again looked to the left, but this time not at Tamara Vasilievna, but over her head, at a squirrel running along the branches.
“No, grandfather, I didn’t see it,” Boris said, continuing to look at the squirrel. - And where are you?
- As where? I'm in a cafe. The party is in full swing! I thought she was around here somewhere... Maybe she was dancing... I just searched for Tamara...
- I don't know, grandpa...
"So you haven't seen her, have you?"
- No, I didn't see it. You see, grandpa, I had a headache for some reason, and I went out to breathe ... But what? What happened? Grandma lost?
- Oh my God! She sat next to me all the time and suddenly...
“Maybe she just went out to get some air?” Boris asked with a delay, as if thinking aloud.
- I would have returned, she has been gone for twenty minutes.
“So quickly it all happened?!” Boris thought.
“Listen, grandpa, you don’t have to be so nervous,” Boris said calmly, like a psychotherapist. - Where can she go? She will take a walk, freshen up and return ... Now she will come.
- So you haven't seen her, Borya? Mikhail Ivanovich repeated the question importunately.
“Listen, grandpa,” interrupted Boris, taking his hand away from his face, “suddenly my head ached again. God knows what it's from. Will you excuse us if we end now? Let's talk later, okay?
Boris listened for another minute, then turned off the phone and slipped it into his pocket. And Tamara Vasilievna said:
- Borenka, pleasure is everything, everything that is contained in the world, love is implanted in every person by an unrelenting need, desire. Every person pursues pleasure and happiness and eventually finds his own happiness...
Tamara Vasilievna fell silent, looked at him without blinking, with admiration, and opened her mouth, and Boris leaned towards her, put one hand under the hem to the black bush, put the other on the back of her head, pressed her wet lips tightly to himself, and kissed her passionately.

Oh, my grandmother was a classic sociopath, just like "Bury me behind the plinth" was written from her. And there could be no talk of any heart-to-heart talk, the main thing is that she does not exhaust her soul. And when she died (I was 9) it was an indescribable relief. Although it’s a pity that she didn’t leave earlier, she still managed to spoil a lot, and without her my life would be different.

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

I haven’t seen my grandmother on my father’s side, emm, almost all my life, since the age of 3, as soon as my parents divorced. I only saw her a year ago, when I was 19 years old. She invited me to visit them through her dad. So far, no call, nothing. On her birthday, she could pass something on the little things through her father. Once upon a time, this really hurt me, as well as the fact that my father saw me and called me only 2 times a year. It's been the same for a long time now. But ironically, outwardly I am just a copy of this grandmother in her youth. After the meeting, by the way, they no longer talked.
And on my mother's side, my grandmother is a person of a purely Soviet temper. Twice widow. Very hardworking, favorite phrase "there is no word" do not want ", there is the word" need ". As a child, I often visited my grandparents, and she was always an evil policeman, and grandfather was kind. But she never scolded much. Now we have very good relationship... Well, she also performs stereotypical grandmotherly duties - helping to sit with her younger brother, bringing food and pickles.
My mother told me that she wants to be a young grandmother. Well, you have to disappoint her.

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

Both of my grandmothers passed away, one before I was born, the other recently, and the one I grew up with was just that for me: kind, understanding; she and her grandfather loved each other very much, until the very end. I do not agree with the author.

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

I have two grandmothers and they don't look alike at all. I can’t say anything good about my dad’s grandmother - but she had a very difficult childhood and youth, her father is a terrible abuser and tyrant, and her first husband doesn’t hurt much better. According to her mother, she is very progressive, even feminist to some extent, she raised two daughters alone. There are, of course, their shortcomings, but she helped us a lot! Thank the Goddess, my grandmother is almost never sick and, I hope, will live for many more years, she is now 76 years old.

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

As I understand you. My mother is already 41, and she is still trying to "rule" her life and climbs into our fate with her brother.

I can understand the author's position about grandmothers. I have two grandmothers - also two opposites. She led a very reclusive life along her father's side - she didn’t go out for no particular reason, didn’t go for walks, she was reluctant to go to family events and did not particularly welcome guests. She was strict and reserved with us. She never told stories about her life. So my sister and I got the role of "unloved granddaughters"

My great-grandmother was like that: sunny, with a bunch of interesting stories at the ready, she baked the most delicious buns. I regret that I never had time to grow up and ask what kind of person she was before her grandfather beat her to death.

Your heart skips a beat when you read stories like this. How much these women had to endure. And after that, women still dare to be called the "weaker sex."

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

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

And my grandparents told me a lot about the war. Enough to make me fear her more than anything and have great sympathy for those now unwittingly stranded in the war zone. I try to remember everything, life is an interesting thing. And my great-grandmothers also told a lot, you can write books about them, as an example of a woman's life in a patriarchal society, a complex and ambiguous fate. I miss my great-grandmother - grandmother Katya, she taught me to read at the age of one and a half, while she was sitting with me. She herself did not have time to finish school, so she read slowly and clearly for me, and I learned that way. I can still very clearly imagine her voice, "You're running too fast, sparks are flying from under your heels!" - and I tried to see these sparks all the time.

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

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

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

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

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

Ask a question in a blatantly respectful way, telling her she doesn't have to answer if she doesn't want to. "Grandma, I understand that you had a hard life that you may not want to remember, but could you tell me something?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Very good topic! I no longer distinguish who I love more - my mother or my adored grandmother. My grandmother is Lezghin by nationality, and all my childhood she took care of me, still affectionately calls me a swallow and sang songs in our native language (which I learned thanks to her). She is a very interesting person, cheerful, optimistic and often likes to joke.
And what is most wonderful, she supports the feminist direction of my thoughts.

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

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

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

There is such a stereotype about older women, as well as about women of any other age, and although I am still far from the age of "grandmother", I sometimes think with horror about what kind of old age awaits me, because I will never become such an old woman in a dress in peas, with grandchildren, with signature dishes and the habit of persuading everyone to taste my goodies. It is terrible that we spend our whole lives trapped in public opinion, and a step to the left, a step to the right - we will be condemned, excluded from society. "Abnormal" old women are also shamed - they say, she was a fool in her youth, now die alone! Or: what do you think, old fool, you are not supposed to be old! Or (if there are children-grandchildren): you didn’t raise them the way they grew up with you!
The grandmother on the father's line lived like this all her life, trying to show herself "correct" in society, and demanded the same from others. She was ashamed of her son, my uncle, when he fell in love with a representative of an ethnic minority, because "what will people say," then she chose a wife for him, and was ashamed when he and his wife divorced, and the wife took her granddaughter - such an impression that several because of parting with my cousin, she was worried, so much for her reputation - after all, she does not have an exemplary family! People will gossip! She disliked my mother all her life because she was from an extremely poor family, and then also because she suddenly turned from a correct patriarchal woman into a self-confident careerist (yes, my mother is cool!). Then the suffering began that I, they say, “at that age” do not get married, do not give birth to children, it’s wrong, it’s a mess.
And the worst thing is that I observe myself, albeit not so nightmarish, but still dependent on public opinion. The example of my grandmother shows how pathetic and useless it looks, after all, she didn’t really live, but as if she was making a show out of her life that people should have liked.

My great-grandmother passed away 3 years ago. Great-grandfather fell ill from a stroke, the doctors said - a maximum of a year, and even then he would not even get up. She wore it every day, exercised, washed it. And he stood up! Went and played sports with her. After that, he lived for another 10 years. Grandma was very happy to have him around. True, after her grandfather died, she lived only a couple of years. She said she didn't want anything else. There was great love, pure, bright. They loved each other very much. She was a very kind woman. Now I regret that I had so little time with her.

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

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

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

I think it all depends on the character. I, for example, am a terribly unsociable person. I can not communicate for days without experiencing discomfort. Empty talk about nothing tires me, and I don’t like family feasts at all just because of empty talk during the forced 3-4 hours. But there are people who like it, I do not argue.
We are all different. Sociable grandmothers who with great pleasure communicate with their grandchildren, other elderly women, in lines, etc., and those women who prefer to keep to themselves and go about their own business - this is all fine. Both options are normal. We are all just different.
In any case, I think so.

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

- I want to go for a walk! Volodya said. But Grandma was already taking off her coat.
- No, dear, we walked, and that's enough. Dad and mom will be home from work soon, but I don't have lunch ready.
- Well, at least a little more! I didn't walk up! Grandmother!
- I have no time. I can not. Get dressed, play at home.
But Volodya did not want to undress, he rushed to the door. Grandmother took the spatula from him and tugged at the white pompom of her hat. Volodya clutched his head with both hands, trying to hold on to his hat. Didn't hold back. I wanted the coat not to unbutton, but it seemed to unbutton itself - and now it is already swinging on a hanger, next to my grandmother's.
I don't want to play at home! I want to play!
“Look, dear,” said Grandmother, “if you don’t listen to me, I’ll go away from you to my house, that’s all.” Then Volodya shouted in an angry voice:
- Well, go away! I have a mom!
Grandmother did not answer and went to the kitchen.
Behind the wide window is a wide street. Young trees are carefully tied to pegs. They rejoiced at the sun and turned green somehow all of a sudden. Behind them are buses and trolleybuses, beneath them is bright spring grass.
And in the grandmother's garden, under the windows of a small country wooden house, spring also probably came. Daffodils and tulips have hatched in the flowerbeds... Or maybe not yet? In the city, spring always comes a little earlier.
Grandmother came in the autumn to help Volodya's mother - mother began to work this year. Feed Volodya, take a walk with Volodya, put Volodya to bed... Yes, even breakfast, lunch, and dinner... Grandmother was sad. And it’s not sad because I remembered my garden with tulips and daffodils, where I could bask in the sun and do nothing - just relax ... For myself, for myself alone, how many things to do? Grandmother felt sad because Volodya said: “Leave!”
And Volodya was sitting on the floor, in the middle of the room. All around - cars of different brands: a clockwork little Pobeda, a large wooden dump truck, a truck with bricks, on top of the bricks - a red Bear and a white hare with long ears. Ride a Bear and a hare? Building a house? Get a blue "Victory"?
Started with a key. So what? The "Victory" crackled across the room, stuck in the door. Started it up again. Now it's gone in circles. Stopped. Let it stand.
Volodya began to build a bridge of bricks. Didn't finish it. He opened the door and went out into the corridor. I cautiously looked into the kitchen. Grandmother sat at the table and quickly peeled potatoes. Thin curls of peel fell onto the tray. Volodya took a step ... two steps ... Grandmother did not turn around. Volodya approached her quietly and stood next to her. Potatoes are uneven, large and small. Some are very smooth, but one...
- Grandma, what's this? Like birds in a nest?
- What kind of birds?
But the truth is, it looks a little like chicks with long, white, slightly yellowish necks. They sit in a potato hole, as in a nest.
“These are potato eyes,” Grandma said.
Volodya stuck his head under his grandmother's right elbow:
Why does she have eyes?
It was not very convenient for my grandmother to peel potatoes with Volodya's head under her right elbow, but grandmother did not complain about the inconvenience.
It's spring now, the potatoes are starting to sprout. This is a sprout. If you plant potatoes in the ground, new potatoes will grow.
- Grandma, how are you?
Volodya climbed onto his grandmother's knees to get a better look at the strange sprouts with white necks. Now peeling potatoes has become even more inconvenient. Grandma put down the knife.
- But like this. Look here. You see, a very tiny sprout, but this one is already bigger. If you plant potatoes in the ground, the sprouts will stretch towards the light, towards the sun, turn green, leaves will grow on them.
“Grandma, what’s with them?” Legs?
- No, these are not legs, these are the roots that have begun to grow. The roots stretch down into the ground, they will drink water from the ground.
- And the sprouts reach for the sun?
- To the sun.
- And the roots stretch into the ground?
- Roots - in the ground.
- Grandmother, where are people drawn to?
- People?
Grandmother put an unpeeled potato on the table and pressed her cheek against the back of Volodya's head:
“People are attracted to each other.

Hello! As a child, when I was 8 years old, my parents left for another city to earn money, and they left me to be raised by my grandmother. So I lived with my grandmother and great-grandmother, when I was 13, my parents divorced and my mother moved to us. Here it all started ..... Grandma could stop talking at any moment, for no reason. We didn’t quarrel, let’s say everything was fine in the evening, in the morning she could swear at you and shut up. I remember how many times I tried with her how then talk to find out the reason why she stopped talking to us, maybe we really offended her somehow. Everything ended with one thing, she yelled at me to leave her room. it never happened. Because of the constant change in my grandmother’s mood. my great-grandmother had a stroke, then a second one, as a result, 4 years ago she died because of the experience. Because she constantly yelled at her while my mother and I were not at home, she collected whatever .After death pr she seemed to have changed a little, I was already 16 years old at that time. We lived normally for a year, my mother herself completely repaired the apartment with her own money and on her own, helped her in the country. After that, my mother had serious problems with her back, since she laid out the tiles herself. After they helped her to take everything out of the garden, made repairs, she stopped talking again. and doesn’t talk to us. How many times they helped to take everything out of the garden in the fall, she stopped talking and hid all the vegetables so that we wouldn’t eat it. So for several years ... we helped with my mother in the garden, we took everything out and we even If we didn’t eat, she gave everything to her son, who never even appeared in the garden. Also 1 share of the apartment of the grandmother, 2-uncle, 3-mom) Constantly yells that my son and I have 2 shares, and you have one apartment, we’ll sell us enough money for an apartment, but you don’t. A year ago, my mother left to work , I was left alone with her. And at the same time, my uncle brought his son, and he and his wife went to rest. pick up from school. Grandma dumped at the dacha and I was left alone with him. Diploma defense, you need to feed him, do lessons with him, take him to school, pick him up. Neither uncle nor grandma left any money. before him, I sat at night doing a diploma, thank God I defended it perfectly. When my mother returned, my grandmother told my mother that I didn’t help her in the garden, SHE TIRED OF FUCKING WITH THE CHILD, I DID NOT DO ANYTHING AT ALL! I hung around with the guys, the prostitute grew up. I also went to another city to work, it will turn out to move, in about a year, after 1.5. The same situation repeats again, the month of June I have a session (I am a student at the institute) dacha. I need a computer to do the work, he’s bored, he wants to play. Again, he plays enough during the day, I sit at night getting ready. please, otherwise he’s bored with his grandmother asking you. I refused. He called impudently several times .... what’s difficult for you, but who are you doing ... I called my grandmother and said that my uncle got me, I have a session, I can’t sit with his son, he bothers me. I’ll rent a session and pick him up. Now I don’t have time, I want to pass without 3 so that there would be a scholarship. Then my grandmother again freaked out and said I don’t do good to people at all, and I’m bad and stuff like that. Now she doesn’t talk to me. She hid all the products, pasta, rice, butter, etc. Although I bought butter, rice, I took bread with my own money. One morning I woke up and the kitchen was empty. Now I bought food, no matter how funny it sounds, but now I also keep everything in my room. I’m angry, I won’t need anyone like that, I’ll stay alone (by the way, my grandfather ran away from her, couldn’t stand her character and divorced her when my mother was still 10 years old). I call my mother, she says a lot, it can’t be so much, let her show receipts. She asked for receipts, she didn’t want to give them. with her ... before, somehow I tried not to pay attention to her tantrums, now I myself am already breaking down, oh I’m glad, I’m shaking after that, she walks happy and full of strength like an energy vampire ... there’s nowhere to go away from her, at least my mother was there before, now I’m completely alone ... thanks to everyone who read, there is no one to speak out ...