The story is told about the Russian Emperor Alexander I.  Once he was travelling somewhere in Russia, maybe to visit a relative or a nobleman, or on business. That is irrelevant anyway. They stopped at a station to change horses. While the servants were busy, Alexander I entered the station to keep himself warm. On the table in the room he saw an open Bible. The Tsar asked the stationmaster: “Do you read it?” The stationmaster answered promptly:”Certainly, Your Majesty! Every day!” When the man left the room to attend to his business, Alexander I took five hundred -ruble banknotes (a large sum of money in those times!) and put them between the pages of the Bible, turning over just one two pages.

On his way back Alexander I stopped at the same station again. He went into the station, saw an open Bible where he had seen it before. He asked the stationmaster if he had read the Bible. The man assured the tsar that he had read the Bible as usual. The Tsar turned over the page and saw the banknotes. The stationmaster froze with gaping mouth and Alexander I took the money saying reproachfully “Seek the Kingdom of God and you will get everything!” He then ordered to give the money to charity.

The story has an obvious moral against being a hypocrite. But I see here one more aspect. People often want to present themselves at their best before their seniors and try to behave as it is expected from them. I wonder if you agree with me?

My dear friends, let me bore you once again with one of my country tales.

Indeed, I feel that the country life ought to be described more as it is disappearing fast. We already know that more people live in the cities than in villages.  But that is not all. The very lifestyle and traits of character typical for people from rural areas are becoming extinct. Generations of people used to live in the same places , taking up the same occupations. Living in a village makes it difficult to disguise oneself, and you will always be judged depending on what family background you come from, all your ancestors contributing to your good or not so good reputation by their life stories. Nobody is going to take you at your face value as they might do in the city when a young person introduces his or her  fiancée to the parents and expects them to okey right there on the spot. The skeletons would start falling out of the cupboard quite soon…but that’s not our concern at the moment.

So, let us commence to the story. The family that I’m going to speak about belonged to the top  of the village hierarchy. Stepan, the head of the family, was the chief mechanic of the big farm and his wife Olga worked as an accountant. Stepan was one of the best in his profession and there wasn’t a problem with the farm machinery that he couldn’t solve. His word was hard as rock and always to the point. You could see him drink but never drunk. That is what a true man should be, and so Stepan was both respected and respectable.

Olga was ten years his junior and now in her early forties. It seemed as if she was always dressed up, so well did any dress fitted her. She was that lucky type of women who can effortlessly keep her girlish figure and Stepan’s eyes filled with quiet pride whenever he was watching his wife walk along the wide village streets.

There was one not very common thing about them: they had an only child. Most families in villages still maintain an opinion that one child is never enough. But Olga and Stepan were so overjoyed with the birth of their son that they didn’t feel the urge to love any other human being until it was too late to have more kids. Sergey, their son, got the best of everything  they could provide. Olga doted on her son, her darling, the apple of her eye. He was the prince, the angel, et cetera, et cetera. Only mothers can be so ardent in their love. You’d think Sergey grew a spoiled brat but no, he was a happy and easy-going boy of nineteen, free from any worries, kind and popular with his peers. So are lots of young people from happy families.

So, at the time of our story  nineteen-year-old Sergey was spending his summer vacations at his home. In a year he was to graduate from the college and go to the army or to a university. He was living the summer to the full: hiking in the woods, swimming, playing sports with his school friends, never missing the disco or a new movie at the club and still finding time to help his parents. He came home late and there was always some supper waiting for him on the table.

Very soon  Olga learnt that her son got a girl-friend. It is impossible to keep a secret in a village as there are some “omnipresent” people who see and hear every thing happening around and serve as local radio station that tells people the news mindless of whether they wish to hear it.  The news  upset Olga – Sergey was too young to marry and, which mattered most, she knew the girl.

The girl, Nastya, was the daughter of some insignificant local woman. You’d even fail to describe her as there was nothing remarkable either in her appearance or character. Just plain common nothingness. Though Nastya did manage to grow  both smart and good-looking,  lively and somewhat cheeky, Olga knew that wasn’t the kind of a daughter-in-law she wanted to have. Seeing her son walking on air and being wise enough to know that “action is equal to counteraction”, she constrained herself from talking to her son. Instead, she decided to wait till the summer was over and Sergey went back to studies. Out of sight, out of mind – people say so for a reason, don’t they? Meanwhile Olga made a stern face whenever she met Nastya and hardly ever replied with a slight nod to the girl’s greeting.

  Sergey’s happy days went on. One August evening he was at the disco without Nastya  , she stayed home for some reason, so Sergey joined his friends. There was quite a crowd at the disco, boys from the neighbouring villages came, too. Some were drunk, others just looked for a reason to fight. The fight started as if by itself, guys from different villages were hitting each other and in the midst of the brawl some mean wretch stabbed Sergey with a knife. In just a few minutes he was dead.

The grief of his parents was immense. The father seemed to turn into stone. He didn’t cry which might have been better. He didn’t talk, didn’t  hear people talking, the life around him stopped to exist for him. Olga’s grief was loud and active, if I may say so. She cried till she had voice and tears. She hit her head on the wall, walked aimlessly around the rooms, took hold of some thing that belonged to her son and started crying and hitting and tearing her hair again. There was a bleeding wound in her heart that wouldn’t leave her.

Three weeks after Sergey’s death  the “radio” aka the postwoman brought the news to Olga that Nastya was pregnant with Sergey’s child, and that she opted for an abortion. Apparently, she wasn’t going to be a single mother. This was told by Nastya’s mother herself. Village people know that it is impossible to conceal anything, so they don’t even try…  The news deprived Olga of the little sleep she could get in her depressed state.

The next morning saw Olga on her knees before Nastya. “Don’t! Don’t do it! Please!”  After some hours of persuasion, promises of assistance of every kind, and just talking and crying Nastya agreed to keep the baby.

In the evening Olga conveyed the information to Stepan and that was the first time he cried after his son’s death.

Yesterday I was sorting out my papers and came across a sheet of paper with those notes that I had copied  from somewhere I don't remember. I even forgot that I had that list. I thought it was worth sharing . I wonder if you'd object to any of those rules:

1 Forgive
2 Always do your share and a little more.
3 A person never looks so tall as when he stoops to help another.
4 Smile when introducing yourself.
5 Have a firm handshake.
6 Be the first person to say "hello".
7 Always buy whan little kids are selling.
8 Give people more than they expect and do it cheerfully.
9 Memorize your favourite poem.
10 Watch at least one sunrise and one sunset a year.
11 Remember people's birthdays. Not just your own.
12 Don't believe all you hear, spend all you have or sleep all you want.
13 When you say "I love you", mean it.
14 When you say "I'm sorry", look the person in the eyes.
15 Be engaged at least six months before you get married.
16 Believe in love at first sight.
17 Use fresh herbs when cooking.
18 Never laugh at anyone's dreams.
19 Ask questions.It's not always about what you know, rather what you can find out.
20 Love deeply and passionately! You might get hurt but it's the only way to live life completely.
21 In disagreements, fight fairly. No name calling.
22 Don't judge people by their relatives.
23 Talk slow but think quick.
24 When someone asks you a question you don't want to answer, smile and ask "Why do you want to know?"
25 Remember that great love and great achievements involve great risk.
26 Call your mom! NOW!
27 Laugh...A lot!
28 Say "Bless you" when you hear someone sneeze, especially a stranger.
29 Take a plate of cookies to a new neighbour.
30 When you lose, don't lose the lesson.
31 Remember the three R's: Respect for self, Respect for others, Responsibility for all your actions.
32 Don't let a little dispute injure a great friendship.
33 When you realize you'made a mistake, take immediate steps to correct it.
34 Smile when picking up the phone. The caller will hear it in your voice.
35 Marry someone you love to talk to.As you get older, conversational skills will be as important as any other.
36 Spend some time alone.
37 Open your arms to change.
38 Remember that silence is sometimes the best answer.
39 Read more books and watch more TV.
40 Live a good , honourable life. then when you get older and think back, you'll get to enjoy it a second time.
41 A loving atmosphere in your home is so important. Do all you can to create a tranquill harmonious home.
42 Trust in God but lock your car.
43 In disagreement with loved ones, deal with the current situation. Don't bring up the past.
44 Read between the lines.
45 Share your knowledge. It's a way to achieve immortality.
46 Don't litter.
47 Pray. There's immeasurable power in it.
48 Never interrupt when you are flattered.
49 Always respond to a compliment with a sicere and heartfelt "Thank you!".
50 Mind your own business!
51 Don't trust a person who doesn't close their eyes when you kiss them.
52 Once a year, go some place you've never been before.
53 If you make a lot of money, put it to use helping others while you are living. That is wealth's greatest satisfaction.
54 Remember that not getting what you want is sometimes a stroke of luck.
55 Learn the rules then break some.
56 Remember that the best relationship is one where your love for each other is greater than your need for each other.

Feel free to make additions!

“I started doing it at the tender age of six. Once having tried it, I couldn’t quit. All my thoughts were about it, I spent my each spare minute doing it. I felt ashamed of myself. Other boys were playing football in the yard but I was in my room engaged in my favourite pastime. I just couldn’t stop doing it! Soon it became my mania: I started doing it at night, under the blanket, so that my parents wouldn’t catch me doing it. But my father noticed it. He said that he had the same addiction and it was quite natural and actually harmless but it would be better if I learned to manage my habits, besides the weather was so warm and sunny and there were so pretty girls walking . However, it was impossible for me to overcome  my addiction. It took such a strong hold of me that I started doing it at school, right there, under the desk, if the lesson was boring. My addiction replaced me friends and society, it taught me to be self-sufficient and find pleasure in solitude. As I grew older, I realized that there are other people, though not many, with the same addiction. If any of you had the same addiction, could you give me advice how can I stop being constantly reading?”

I read this story in Russian and thought it is worth sharing. Waiting for your adviceJ)))))))

Some words are like hammers ,

Blunt and heavy like lead.

They fall on your soul

Making all senses go dead.

Some words are like daggers -

Sharp and ruthless without restraint.

They leave the soul in ugly scars

To endure an unbearable pain.

Some words are like raindrops –

Tiny things that do not weigh.

But their healing softness

Washes your sorrows away.

Whence did this wound appear?

Harsh words nobody did tell.

The tragic mystery of life –

Untold words can hurt like hell.

The grayish sky is bleak and low,

Merging with horizon and wiping out that line.

I’m toiling my way through the snow

Knee deep in silvery glistening  shrine.

A warming thought assists my tour:

I know that there is waiting for me

My goal, my dream of the hour-

A cup of strong and sweetened tea.

Afar from me among the trees

Grey beasts of prey, a team of four,

Tread lightly in each other’s steps

With gaze intent on gleaming snow.

They know not pity in the least.

Their goal – a deer with timid eyes-

Will soon become their bloody feast.

Each bite their hunger justifies.

And there, amongst the bliss and care,

A tiny toddler is starting his way.

A journey of his life from the wall to the chair

Those tiny feet will perform today.

The thickness of the carpet will soften the fall.

Oh, how to pass that enormous gap?

His goal, though the nearest, is the sweetest of all-

The warmth of dear mummy’s lap.

My love is my anchor

That I carry inside.

It is the thing that never lets me

Into the utter darkness glide.

In busy streets I go,

My steps are quick and light.

I know you quietly follow

Invisible to anyone's sight.

Without moving lips I talk.

You silently answer, too.

Around the corner I'll finish my walk

And gift my smile to real you.

“Where are you from?” is the most frequently asked question on EC. Though I have never asked it, I always take the trouble to go to the member’s page and look for the info there.:))))

We tend to form our opinions of people based on popular stereotypes. Are you from China? Brazil?  Oops, I know what you are like.

It works the other way round, too. When we meet  nice people, our hearts warm towards their country of origin. So, the whole populace takes credit for one person being pleasant and agreeable. Likewise, an entire nation can be condemned if we encounter a “black sheep” and it will caution us forever against that country.

Moreover, we perceive people depending on their country’s policy though we do know that governments don’t hold plebiscite on all their bills. Even here I witnessed the change in people treating each other according to the changes in relations between their countries.

The hardest thing to digest is when a person happens to contradict the common stereotypes and the image his or her  country presents. The mind says “What?!  How could such a nice person come from such bad country?”

After spending more than two years on EC I’ve started to form my own stereotypes.  I’m reluctant to share them though , the reason being I know they aren’t universal truth but my own view.

I often wonder what stereotypes of my country do I confirm?

The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,

It isn’t just one of your holiday games;

You may think at first I’m as mad as a hatter

When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.

I love this poem by T. S. Eliot, and I've learnt to love cats. The poem is made into a song and is part of the musical "Cats" which is really superb. It proves that great people like T.S.Eliot or A. L. Webber can make a masterpiece of any light thing. I saw the video of the musical and was so impressed by the performance of the actors.

But back to the cats. You know, I have a cat and almost all my relatives and friends have cats, too. I would ask you to give to those cats that you see here the names that would suit them . It is so interesting to learn how people name cats in different languages.

Here we go:

1.This is Dima. It isn't a typical name for a cat, it's just a whim of his owner.2. Meet Belka. The word "belka" in Russian means squirrel but the "bel" part means white so that name is often given to white cats

3.This is Moorka. It is a popular Russian name for a female cat which is derived from "moorr". "Moorr" is what Russian cats do instead of "purr'.4. Last but not least - my cat Pixel. In fact, he's the biggest of all those cats because he is a tom-cat. He got his name because of me spending much time on the net and the first part of the word "pix" is similar to the Russian word meaning "squeak". So I broke the tradition of naming red cats. Most red cats in Russia are named Chubayss after that red-haired politician.Now, I'm waiting for the names for those cats!

I don't know about other countries but here in Russia each town and city has a special day, it is called the City's Day or the Town's Day. It is a kind of a birthday. Most cities were founded ages ago, so it is impossible to say on which day the foundation took place. That is why local authorities are somewhat free to choose any day.

Our small city has its birthday on the last Saturday in June.This year (just like the previous) there was a grand celebration. The list of events included exhibitions, various sports competitions, concerts, lots of attractions for kids, discos and fireworks. It was impossible to see everything so each person could choose according to his or her taste.

First I went to see the dog show because I am fond of those smart animals. You could see there which breeds are the most popular nowadays. There were a lot of hounds, especially Russian piebald hounds.Lots of peole have a crush on tiny dogs like toy-terriers or Pekinese.Some people prefer huge dogs and those dogs look so scary that I could look at them from a distance only. Not only I, for that matter. Just imagine, that dog weighs more than 90 kilos! Such dogs are difficult to handle.After that I went to see the running competitions and then had a walk around the city. In the streets you could see small exhibitions of local artists, you could buy the things that you liked.Those pictures are made from coloured straw, I admire people having the patience for working with such tiny bits.

I bought a tiny glass figure of a rooster to add to my collection of tiny figures. In the evening I watched a concert of local singers and then  fireworks.

I really enjoyed the day!

It was a regular commuters train. People rushed to their seats because it stopped for three minutes only and after some time the tumult died down. The passengers started to look around. As most of them took that trip quite often, it was of little interest to look out of the window. They knew the sight of every tree there. So they started to cast sideway glances at other passengers. There was a couple that drew everybody's attention. Though nobody stared but most of the passengers watched them from the corner of their eyes.

They were a man and a woman in their early thirties. The woman was shapely with a round pretty face. Her companion looked handsome and athletic. They were holding hands like teenagers on their first date and looking at each other with gleaming eyes. It was that expression of fond happiness that made them look so attractive and special. They didn't seem to notice anybody around and were talking animatedly.

Very soon almost all the passengers were listening to their conversation volens nolens. There was no need to strain the ears because the happy couple was speaking in clear loud voices. The talk went on like that:"-Oh, mine used to get up with such a greasy face, it was a shock to see! -Mine made such squelching when he drank beer that it made me sick!" As everybody guessed, the happy couple were discussing their ex'es. They shared with each other about every fart and every blunder their ex'es had made, described in detail their little habits while the passengers of the carriage were listening silently and thoughtfully....

I wonder what you would think in such situation?

Witchcraft is different from magic. It has the word "craft" in it. That means it can be learnt and understood.While all magicians have to do is to wave a magic wand. So here we have one piece of witchcratf - the Dreams Catcher. It is used to catch beautiful dreams. You see that it is quite a simple object, you don't need specials skills to make it but what makes it work? Of course, a spell. Now don't expect to read the spell here, it is the witch's secret....

The war was nearing its climax. The greatest battle of tanks would soon be shaking the earth and the enemy soldiers no longer thought themselves to be supermen, and their opponents to be Untermenschen. The front was dozens of times closer than their homeland and it made  the soldiers look sullen and grave.

They committed no atrocities in the village, only one person was shot for some unknown cause, maybe just to keep the locals in fear. When they came, the first thing they did was to throw the owners of the largest and best houses out and drive away the cattle. So the homeless had to seek shelter from their relatives or neighbours, or huddle together in barns, or make dugouts. The villagers did their best to avoid encountering the fascist soldiers. There was no visiting each other, no playing in the street for kids. Getting wood for cooking and something to eat were the reasons for going outside.

Katerina was occupying  a shed together with her cousin’s family. There were eleven of them crowding in the little space: Katerina’s two daughters, her nephew and her little grandson,  her cousin’s mother and her fours kids, and the two women. Their sons and husbands were in the army, and the only man was that nephew, a big lad of twenty-five. Nobody took him for a man, though, for he had a brain of a five-year-old boy, and that is why wasn’t recruited to the army. Katerina had a hard time looking after him , keeping him inside for fear that he would catch the eye of some soldier. She used to talk to him while cooking or cleaning, answering his endless questions.

That day Katerina was busy making dough for flat cakes when she heard a loud man’s voice speaking in broken Russian. She looked out of the tiny window and almost fainted: a tall soldier was saying to the elder of her two daughters , Natasha, : “Komm, malenka, komm!” using his gun as a pointer. He pushed her slightly ahead of him and they moved up the street. Katerina  fell on the bench sobbing silently.

About three weeks ago two fascists came to them on their usual route around the village in search for eggs or any other victuals. Natasha happened to be outside and one of the men shouted something and ran after her with a bayonet. The girl slipped into the dog’s house, luckily, it was a big one. The soldier obviously meant to kill her and was stopped by his companion, an older man. After some talking and gesticulating he took his murderous friend by the arm and led him away.

What could it be now? Natasha was thirteen but she didn’t look  it. She was skinny and pale, due to the typhoid fever that she had in winter. Because of that fever she walked in a strange way, raising her knees  high as if there was some obstacle on the ground. Her soft black curly hair was the only attractive thing that remained in her.

Natasha was walking like a robot. Fear had killed all her thoughts and made her face a stone mask of terror. They  came inside a house that was full of tobacco smoke and those foreign voices . There were ten, or maybe fifteen men in the room and at seeing the girl they seemed to brighten up.

The soldier that came with Natasha pushed her to the right wall and pointed to the bench saying something. She looked down and saw a tub full of used handkerchiefs: dirty, slimy, with yellowish and green snots on them. One of the men added some water and handed to the girl a piece of dark soap. More handkerchiefs were thrown into the tub. So she was to wash them all! Natasha clenched her teeth and started washing. It took all her strength not to vomit right into that tub.

Years afterwards, Natasha could hardly bring herself to touching a used handkerchief. Her landlady  called her ironically “princess from the village” when she saw the expression on Natasha’s face.

Spring has come!! Right now, when our eyes are so tired of seeing black and white everywhere, and our ears are craving to hear not the dismal howling of the wind but friendly sound of rustling leaves and cheerful twittering of birds(not of haughty Internet addicts who think each their idea is so precious that the world needs to know it).

    In my country people love spring. In this season especially nature  is so inspiring. It give fresh hopes and energy to see everything around awakening after hibernating. The river is audible now though not yet completely free from its coat of ice."Spring - sprang - sprung". It seems to me that the name of the season is related to that verb. Just see how these bold green blades of grass are springing from the earth not caring to wait till the snow is gone!I am happy to see them, this new life coming up amidst the last years' dead leaves. It doesn't matter now that those are the worst weeds strangling the weak and tender sprouts of cultivated plants in the summer season.

Such is the miracle of spring that it makes me, the gardener, love my worst enemy!

I love music but music doesn't love me back.

When our music lessons started at school, our teacher asked us in twos or threes to sing the songs that we knew. After listening to us he knew who had an ear for music, and I was amongst those whom he never asked to sing again. So I understood that I wouldn't make a singer. It didn't upset me much at that time. Music lessons were still great fun. Our class had seventeen boys and seventeen girls and was rather difficult to run. We used to sing in chorus mostly, with our teacher playing his bayan and walking between the rows of desks. Those students the teacher happened to look at were singing diligently but the ones his stern gaze didn't reach were howling shamelessly "Oooooooaaaaaaa". That was our way to have fun .

Then we grew older, our teacher changed. This time it was a woman who was very enthusiastic about the school choir. Most of my friends joined in, and so did I. While we were singing our first song, she came up to each of us and listened. After that she divided us into two groups - one group singing "the first voice" and the other singing "the second voice". She had some trouble deciding which voice I was singing and then finally let me be "the second " adding "Just don't sing too loudly". I understand now that she was a kind woman and anyway she knew from the music lessons that I was the first to memorize the lyrics.

So I stayed in the choir. Once my then good memory  turned out to my disadvantage. Our group of girls was to sing at a school event. Some important guests were invited.  Unfortunately we had little time to prepare. And it happened that when we were performing my friends forgot the words of the song. We sang one couplet in full chorus and then there was only my tuneless voice singing. I was the only one who remembered the words! Oh my God! The audience started giggling and even the important guests couldn't keep smiling. My friends at hearing me sing solo beagan laughing, too. The music teacher stopped the fun by stopping the music.

But I still love music. And singing! My poor neighbours can confirm it because they have to listen to my concerts from time to time ( Viva Karaoke!).

It was too late to do it legally. No doctor would take it up at this stage. So going to Petrovna was Luda’s only chance.

Petrovna was a necessary evil that the local people bore with. She wasn’t very old though she did look rather aged with her network of tiny wrinkles on a pale round face. Her small eyes had a piercing and knowing look. She used to work as a nurse in the city hospital. After her retirement she settled in her native village . Doing abortions and telling fortunes were the source of getting a surplus to her pension and it made Petrovna feel above the rest of the villagers which was not unpleasant.

Luda had been to talk to Petrovna on Thursday after work and now was slowly walking towards her house in dim twilight. She was carrying a bag with about three dozen eggs and a jar of cream. Together with  money that was to be Petrovna’s payment.

Luda  didn’t feel any frustration. Maybe because she  had a practical mind. Or because she didn’t have any illusions about herself.

At twenty-seven, her chances of getting married were scarce. Not only because of her age which was considered as too old  by prospective mothers-in-law.  Luda was a plain, ordinary girl with a freckled face and scanty colourless hair. After school she went to work on the farm and lived a quiet life with her mother. She had neither means nor ambitions to leave the village. The few relatives they had, lived in the next street. It is true that a distant cousin of her father was living in St.Petersburg but that was so far and they hadn’t heard from him for the last ten years and what she would do in a great city without her cows and hens anyway! So she came to be the oldest unmarried girl in the village and there was not a single “marriageable” man for her.

When a mechanic came from the city to help with the new machines, Luda got her chance, it seemed. The man was well after thirty, divorced (at least that’s what he told her). He took Luda to the cinema, bought her sweets and behaved like a true admirer.After his work had been completed he returned to the city and left Luda waiting. Some time passed, and no news came.

Luda wasn’t afraid of sharp tongues, she could snap back, that’s certain. She didn’t discuss her situation with her mother, what was there to discuss? It was like an abortion was the kind of decision which everybody expected from her.

So now Luda approached Petrovna’s house.

 She knocked on the door and was instantly let in. Petrovna didn’t keep her visitors on the doorstep. She led the girl into a small room with only a bare couch and an old table and told her to wait a little. Luda took off her woolen cardigan, folded it , lay on the coach and put the cardigan under her head.

“Ouch!” She felt like something started to beat inside her belly and felt a sudden sickness in her throat. Luda jumped up right at the moment when Petrovna was coming in. “Scared? Calm down, dear”, Petrovna took Luda outdoors through the back door. Pacing under an old apple-tree, Luda felt the pulsation in the belly grow weaker.

In two minutes it stopped and Luda returned to the coach trying not to look at the things that Petrovna was arranging on the table.

As soon as Luda  lay on the coach, the beating resumed. It was irregular and this time stronger. The girl sat straight. “I’ll go out for a while”, she said. Outside she took a deep breath and put her hand on the belly. Immediately her palm felt a bump from inside and Luda got it at last. It wasn’t the pulsation, it was the baby!!

Her pacing under the tree took a little longer  but Petrovna didn’t urge her. She wasn’t going to have trouble with someone’s nerves. So when Luda was back on the couch the woman said “Just lie down and relax. I can wait”.

Luda was lying with her eyes fixed on the ceiling. Bump. Bump.Was it anger or fright coming from inside her? How could it know what was going to happen? More frantic bumps. All of a sudden Luda remembered her visit to one of her more successful friends. That friend had just returned from the baptismal ceremony. Her baby son was lying on the bed and turning his head and mouth to the left  and then to the right in a funny way, searching for the mother’s breast. His cries sounded both helpless and demanding. Bump. Bump.

Luda slowly got up , put on her cardigan and left the room by the front door. “There. You won. We go home.”

The following evening Petrovna returned the bag with  cream and eggs.

What especially fascinates me in English, it is those short phrases of rhyming words, like "from zero to hero". I have decided to make a collection of them with the help of EC members. Here are the ones that I know:

1. Rumour with humour

2. As you sow you shall mow

3.Zip your lip

My dear friends, you are welcome with your contributions!!

I dedicate this blog to one of the EC members and my friends who has recently become a father.

So the miracle happened at last. The baby is born!!
Isn’t it wonderful that with all the modern technology we still can’t choose what it will look like and be like?
It is a girl, a tiny girl with such tiny gentle fingers that it makes you afraid to touch them. She’s made all around realize how big they are, and the happy girl of school age, till this moment the youngest and the smallest in the family, all of a sudden seems grown-up even to herself. She’s proudly preparing herself for the role of a “nanny”, asking her mum:”Did I look like this when I was born?”
There she is, the little princess, lying in her cot. How I love that “know-all” look in newborn babies’ eyes! She’s gazing calmly at her family who are standing around, searching for familiar features in the baby’s face. A faint smile appears sometimes on her face. Very soon she’ll learn to give a real, flashing smile which will warm the hearts of those who see it.
How much she has done by just being born – giving new titles to a lot of people: Father, Mother, Grandfather, Grandmother.
So let us welcome this new life to our world! May she grow in peace and happiness!

I often heard this fable from old people.

 It tells of a pretty young girl who lived with her parents in a village. She possessed all the merits one could think of: she had a cheerful disposition, was always polite and respectful to elders. Her parents had a great helper in her because she did the chores quickly and properly without waiting to be reminded. After a day’s work she went to the usual gatherings of the local youth and was as fresh as a daisy and first in singing and dancing.

Angels in the sky looked at her lovingly. One of the angels asked the God:”Tell us, Almighty, who will be the husband for this worthy maiden?” The God looked down and said :”Do you see there in the garden a lad sleeping under a tree? He is meant for that girl.”

The angel looked down and shuddered. There in the shadow, with his mouth open and saliva dropping, the laziest man from that village was sleeping in the middle of the day while his fellow villagers were all busy working in their fields. Flies were buzzing around him attracted by the smell of alcohol from his breath. His old parents were working in the field, this time they failed again to make him go to work.

The angel cried:” Oh, my God! Why such injustice? Doesn’t she deserve a better match?” The God replied:” The balance between good and bad should be kept, so it has to be this way.”

It was that story that people kept in mind when they looked at Olga and Valery. It was hard to think of any other explanation to what had brought these two young people together except the trivial “Love is blind”.

Olga was the youngest daughter of the manager of the biggest shop in the neighbourhood. She was a quiet, well-bred girl, slim and beautiful. A typical girl from a good family, you’d say.

Though Valery’s family wasn’t poor, they weren’t respected for they all were ill-tempered. He wasn’t a popular guy despite his good looks because he was quarrelsome, his talk was empty babbling mixed with swearing.

Nobody knew  how they got attracted to each other but the fact remained: they were in love. They were an exemplary couple- walking along the streets with absent looks and noticing none but each other. Holding  each other’s hands was the only thing that they allowed themselves. Indeed, Olga was a credit to her parents. Valery seemed to become more quiet and his manners changed for the better. Maybe seeing this and being indulgent parents that could refuse nothing to their daughter made Olga’s parents agree to their getting married.

The wedding was a grand one according to the village standards. All relatives from far and near came, and each neighbor and numerous villagers were invited. There is a Russian superstition that it is lucky to break a dish or a glass at an event, so at wedding people often throw down their glasses to bring more luck for the newly-weds. Well, at this wedding the guests broke dozens of costly crystal wine glasses in their wish to ensure happiness for Olga and Valery. The wedding was really grand.

The more shocking was the next day’s news which quickly fled through the village. Olga, who had been the happy bride on the previous day, fled home to her parents at dawn to never come near Valery again.

Some two or three years later Olga married a man and had two kids by him. They didn't have a wedding party, just got a marriage certificate.

Valery  didn't get married. His father shot him one day after they had quarrelled over a light woman.He said in the court that he had no remorse after having committed it.

    Last Friday I went on a trip to Voronez. It is a big city (nearly 1,000,000 of population) in the centre of Russia.I would like to share my impressions. Actually, the aim of the trip was to visit the oceanarium. It is the third largest oceanarium in Russia. It was really great! I saw a live shark so close, first time in my life!The shark wasn't very big, about two meters and a half. Then my attention was caught by this wonderful fish.But best of all I liked corals section. I felt I could watch them for hours. Indeed, Mother Nature is so inventive and so beautiful.There were not only fishes but a section with animals, too. The surroundings for the animals are made so realistic, you forget that it is all glass and plastic. Here you can see the place where an otter lives.Only the water is real there.

The city of Voronez is famous for being the "cradle of the Russian fleet". It is here that the Russian tzar Peter the Great ordered the first Russian ships to be built. To commemorate it, a life-size model of a sailing ship was set at the embankment.

 Like many Russian cities, Voronez has an open air exhibition of military machines. There were the legendary "Katyushas" of World War II.There is a small monument in Voronez which is very popular though. It is the monument to a dog, "Bely Bim Chornoye Ukho". More than forty years ago the touching story of the dog's adventures was told by Gavriil Troepolsky and became well-known through the country. Now people , especially kids, believe that if they scratch Bim's neck, their wishes will come true...