You know, when you are twenty-three years old, you just got out of the institute, you get money at work, which is barely enough (late nineties, the prospects are bright, but the present is very dim) to feed yourself and your wife, who is still in the third grade, you work out where it got and how it got, so there is something to shoe (I would go and unload the cars, but health really does not allow), and polently explain to relatives that the best gift for you will be a new sweater and socks... In such conditions, a gift that will allow for a week not to think about how to stretch for more than a kilogram of potatoes, a half-kilogram pack of marshmallow and oats, is perceived as a darva. And sharp sensations at this time just enough for the eye, the benefit of the cultural program by the student habit includes apartments, and walks in the remote corners of the city, and dawn / sunset on the roof, and trips into the forest with a tent, and a lot of other that in adulthood seems like a romance.

But then, when everything is so good with the finances that you can not shuffle, gain weight just a joint trip around the city to see the stars, a night bathing on a lonely lake in the Karelia debris or a hot glitter from a thermos after jointly overcoming the ski slope.

Everything has its time, and the time of every thing under heaven.