The Last Romantic

During three hours of sitting still on the bench, my arms and legs got stuck. Why didn’t I put a soft pillow under me?
You move a little and the grandfather cries right through the closed door of the country house:
Do not move! Sit as you sit.

And the most spicy thing was that I was dressed in my grandmother’s shirt and coat. On the head of grandmother Panama, in the hands of a cutting rod and a large bouquet of flowers.
And all this mess was organized by my grandfather Vasya – an absolute technician and pragmatist, deprived of all kinds of romance and unnecessary nonsense.
When I grew up, I realized how romantic my grandfather was.
I am as far away from him as I am from the organ of the Berlin Cathedral.
In general, he was a rather strange person – had two higher education (matematician and aircraft builder) lived in different cities, headed the department in the universe, but at the same time until his death, not once (!) I have not been outside of Ukraine. I have not even seen the sea.
He almost didn’t watch TV, he was kidding with strawberries in the country, and in his sleep, as a novelist, he read thick books on algebra, while listening to the old discs of Mario Lanza and Caruso at 78th speed.

Most of all, Grandpa loved Grandma Shura and without any reason, made her sweet surprises.
Here, I cut out the oak stick with patterns and the inscription "Shura", scattered the reader for reading books, wrote poems on self-made cards (although without a claim to rhythm, but regularly). Is it little...

When the grandmother was going to the country, she could be seen from a distance, while she was slowly descending from the mountain for forty minutes.
The grandfather hanged a large bronze stick on the doorstep and beat it so that the grandmother, there on the mountain, knew that Vasya had already seen her and was waiting for her.
And on the way, the grandfather on the columns and fencing made rear seats so that the grandmother could rest on the road.

Sometimes he was too fascinated and as Robinson Crusoe built such huge "boats" that it is impossible to pull from the depths of the island to the ocean...
Once my grandmother noted that it would be good to have a huge basin for cooking strawberries, having the same huge cover.
My grandfather immediately took the job.
At the landfill he found a sheet of steel and went to it every day with a small blade, but weeks after weeks, he still drank a circle of the desired diameter. He polished to the mirror glow, spinning the holes, deliberately glued the wooden door pen and solemnly presented it to Grandma Shura. The grandmother was very happy, but could not accept such a expensive gift. Not because of cocktail, but simply couldn’t take off the cover from the floor. This Spartan shield weighed slightly less than the sewer.
The sad Grandfather proposed a simple system of blocks on the ceiling to raise the lid from the floor to the pelvis with a strawberry, but the grandmother for some reason gently rejected this idea.
But her birthday was approaching and grandfather, as always, decided to jump above his head, creating something like that.
He got the idea of painting a large painting meter by one and a half, and this is despite the fact that the artist from him is the same as from Kisa Vorobyaninova.

Grandfather was able to draw only graphics of functions, and I was only the Indians shooting from machine guns.
But let's not forget that the grandfather has two higher and he has never been afraid of the difficult path to the goals set.

The intense work on the painting lasted for a week, three hours a day, no longer, because we depended on the right lighting even more than all the great Renaissance artists combined.
On the last day, four taburets were installed in front of the house, and on them a garden bench was crowded on which I was sitting in my grandmother’s clothes, hanging my legs.
Now the neighbors would call the police and accuse my grandfather of pedophilia, even if he himself shut himself in a house, dressed a ten-year-old grandson in female clothes, sat on a tall bench and screamed at him from the door...
Definitely a pervert.
Every day after the exhausting writing of the painting, the grandfather came out all sweaty, but happy. A vampire walked into the sunlight and said:
Well, the moves are up. Is it nice to go out?
I was looking forward to breaking into the house where a huge canvas hanged on the wall up my feet and tried to make a stand on my head to evaluate - what has added for today.

The picture turned out to be so chic that even Repin would probably slow down the step by passing by it. At least a little...
Grandma was just happy.
It’s a pity that this painting hasn’t been around for a long time, but for many years I remembered it until the last grass. The composition, however, is none: a fence, a piece of garden and a couple of shrines spinning out of green, and in the foreground a tired “grandmother” with a rod and flowers covering the face...
Every piece of paper, every pixel. And it is not surprising, because it was still rather not a painting, but a photograph taken with the help of our country house, for a week turned into a perfectly darkened camera of survey.
The windows were hanging, all the gaps were laid and through the hole made in the door, the light of the already ready reversed painting, lay on the canvas. It only remains to paint and paint.

In 86 suddenly died grandmother Shura and grandfather Vase, no one started to knock the self-made bell.
A month later, he quietly followed her.