She lost her leg in the war. It was a vivid refutation of the sign that the projectilely does not hit the same wreck twice. It was in the wreck, where they and the wounded soldier were waiting for an artillery, they were covered.
But history is not about that.
One day, many years after the war, a postman brought a strange letter to his grandmother. It was strange that there was no address on the envelope. Only the name of the district and the name of the grandmother. But the back of the envelope was written with a chemical pencil, a hard male handwriting.
It was an appeal to the postman. And it started like this: “Dear Postman! Do not throw this letter. I don’t know the address, but I really need to find someone.” And then there were some details, according to which the letter found its address without error. Such were times.
The grandmother read the letter and told her that one of the wounded she pulled out of the battlefield was writing to her, and that she could not remember, because there were so many. And they were all on one face, in blood, dirt, pain, and fear. Better not to remember it at all.
In short, the letter went somewhere over time, and the envelope with the stamp of some ITU was still long rolled in the box of the commodity.
Then the grandmother did not.
And a year later, or maybe a little more, a strong, cheerful man knocked on our chest and cried out.
The owner, and not the respectable resident.
He named Babi’s name.
The father went out, greeted him, and replied that he said yes, lived here, but had moved for a year. He shrugged his hand towards the village guest.
It was as if the man had released the air. He sits on the bench, drops his hands in blue tattoos between his knees, and confusedly asks:
And what should I do now?
It was the same man whose envelope was long rolled in the box. Unlike his grandmother, he remembered everything very well. How she dragged him, the wounded, how they lay in the wreath for several hours waiting for the arthnalet, and how she stopped him all the time so that he didn’t lose consciousness. She spoke, she spoke, she spoke. She told about her life, about the village, about the remaining houses of two daughters, and about the fact that there is a roof in the house, which was just in the summer, when the war began, they were going to repair, so they didn't have time.
And this soldier, whether in a joke or seriously, or in a nonsense or in a word, swore to her that if they escape alive from this cursed wreck, then after the war he must come to her in the village, and repair the roof. Because there is no better master in repair roofs in the world than him.
But life turned in its own way. After the war, the man sat down once, then another, and went and went. But how strange his promise, given once to the nurse, remembered. Finally, he chose the time and came to repair her roof.
Here the man and his father looked at the roof at the same time, which was in perfect order, and the man asked again.
And what should I do now?
His father took him to the cemetery, where they drank, then returned home, and drank again, sitting in the garden under the old apple tree. They sang songs, argued about something, talked, and the man was constantly returning to his question – how could he now be? He made a promise. This thought sat with a nail in his head and did not let go.
Then the father laid him, already quite drunk, on the senoval, and in the morning he woke up, and said:
Let us go!
Where to?! to
Repair the roof. Are you going to repair the roof? Here is go.
He took him to our neighbor, grandmother Nastasia, a lonely old lady, whose husband did not return from the war, and the children they did not have. My grandmother’s roof has been repaired for a long time. Her father sometimes helped her in the neighborhood, but on the roof he had neither time nor strength. The roof is not a fence, a pair of nails will not cost.
The father brought the man to his grandmother Nastasia in the yard, pointed to the roof, and said.
Here is the roof. If you want, do, if you don’t want, go with the goddess. If anything, the tool there, what else needs, you will take everything from me.
And went away. The man remained.
For a month he probably lived with his grandmother Nastasia. He cleaned the roof, cleaned the well, fixed the fence, and already some of the neighbors, looking at the results of his work, came about something to negotiate with him.
But their plans were not meant to come true. Because a month later, a Canary woman came to the house of grandmother Nastasia with a local and a couple of operas from the city, and the local amusedly asked:
Did your grandmother repair the roof?
He acted. The man answered.
And a good guy! Then we went.
They put on the man handcuffs, placed him in a wreath, and took him in a known unknown direction. Probably somewhere he still had unpaid debts, or unfulfilled promises.

I had a dream: as if in the court summer of 2021, the world is bursting a pandemic of a new intestinal virus, and we all walk in diapers and discuss that in 2020 in masks was much better.

Xxx: When I became a tester, I was advised by my senior colleagues not to say "I can't", but to agree to the task and get rid of it. I still do that, the method works like a clock.

Yyy: Okay, I’ve been reworking this skill for 5 years.

Zzzz: Great, both at work.

Yyy: “One bad programmer creates two jobs.”

On the wave of posts about rural disco.

During his studies at the institute, after passing the summer session, he went to his grandmother in the village to help with the farm. The next night I decided to go to the club. At the approach meet local and the interrogation begins:

Who is? from where?

My grandmother, my grandmother, lives there.

And I am getting closer to the ring, the thing begins to smell fried. And here one says:

Let us bring him our own. And he poured me a glass to the edges of the stinking sameon.

I smelled his sleeve, his sleeve. He gives me an apple, and I say:

We don’t eat after the first glass.

Just look at the local.

The guys were great, but I never went to the club.

Decided to go to the mountains to ride, when calling a taxi left a comment in the appendix: "With me snowboard in a 170 cm blanket." I drove, came back and I needed a taxi for my grandmother somewhere in a week. I called, the grandmother came, laughed and told me: I sat in a taxi, the driver looked at me strangely and said: - A snowboard where?, I ask him: - What snowboard?, he shows: - Here in the appendix commentary that you will be with the snowboard. And since when I left called a taxi with her, together they were still discussing what to leave a comment, she understood that it was left from my order, and since she loves to joke, she said to the driver: - A, enter the bag! They and the driver laughed, then she explained to him that the mistake came out, and I never understood how the comment from one order went to another.

I try not to play games because it is very lengthy. One day I barely had a session in the universe because of CSS. At the beginning of the year, he updated the iron, his brother gave a video card and a joystick. We were driven out to self-isolation in the spring. And then it happened: I bought a full pack of the legendary Witch 3, got up early in the morning and played until late at night. The wife did not play, but sat next to, worried, googled the passage, if something could not find, distracted only for cooking, controlling the passage from the kitchen (we have a studio). In some locations, a violin played in the background, the wife got her and played.

We were one team. It was a very cool time. From the game, the plot and our shared time only positive emotions remained. They promise an update soon (improved schedule). I will have to go again and it will be, I am sure, very nice!

All of you, live peacefully and rejoice in the little things!

Nevertheless, the icebreaker was more efficient than the "Novič".

At one time in the hairdressers, restaurants, baths of the USSR hanged ads: "Tea insults the dignity of the Soviet man." Remarkable actor Rostislav Yanovych Platt, paying off with the barber, always condemned, cutting on the poster: "I love to insult the dignity of the Soviet man." After paying off and giving a generous cup, he asked, "Have I insulted your dignity enough?“”

What can be good at a funeral?! to
How what? As long as I can hear it, it’s all.

Xxx: I’m trying to collect money. But her wife does not like this collection and she is constantly getting rid of it.

I stand on the shelf and watch a picture of 2 women and 2 children 10 years old, a boy and a girl, with bags.  One of the women cries, “Daughter, give your bag to Andrew, he’s a boy and you’re a princess.”

The second woman replied-Marine, we are not from your kingdom.

The border tile went out of control and subordinated the mayor of the capital.

The Syndrome of Our Family

In the autumn of 2011, my father was about to die. Because I am tired of suffering. Eight months before this, one doctor took an inattentive look at the X-ray, the other also made an inattentive diagnosis. In the end...

As a result, after a couple of operations in Baranovich and Brest, it only got worse.
"By November I will die, the earth is soft, it is not difficult to dig the grave," the father reassured.
“Warm up,” I agreed, “I’ll hire the miners tomorrow.

And he put on the ears of all whom he knew and whom he did not know.
In the end, I was accepted by the God of thoracic surgery, Doctor of Medical Sciences, Professor of the 1st Department of Surgical Diseases of the Belarusian State Medical University, Honored Doctor of the Republic of Belarus Leonovich Sergey Ivanovich.

Very friendly, friendly and absolutely easy to communicate:
“Don’t worry, Andrew, I’ll cure my father. There is no treatment for this disease, but we will deal with it. I give the word.
*** by
A year passed.
The year (!) With weeks of breaks, my father failed in the hospital. Five operations, hundreds of inspections and bandages.

During this time, I met all the doctors, nurses and healthcare workers. Even the guards passed by without asking. They knew I was going to the thoracic department.

And in November 2012, he personally threw shoes into the urn:
Father, we went home. You will not return here anymore. The doctors promised.

So it went. Father lives and lives, often remembering those who saved his life. We regret only one thing – I didn’t have time to thank Sergei Ivanovich again. He died shortly after his father’s release. He kept his word and left. The bright memory.

But his successor, not once operated his father, also a doctor of science and professor, I call at least once a year:
Anatoly Antonovich, Happy Birthday to you!
Hi dear, thank you very much. As a father?
He lives and lives, greetings to you.

By the way, say that he is a celebrity in the department. We have the term “Avey syndrome” for cases where there is no method of treatment.
“I’t want to be so famous, but once you decided so, I shuddered.
- They decided, they decided, - laughed the professor, - go to visit, I have not seen you for a long time.

I will definitely ride. To say thank you again.
All employees of the 1st department of surgical diseases of the Belarusian State Medical University, doctors, nurses and healthcare providers of the thoracic and purulent thoracic departments of the 10th city clinical hospital of Minsk.

Thank you and a low gift.
PS, diagnosis, if briefly and simply - a huge tumor in the lung area. The description in the excerpt is two paragraphs, I don't think anyone is interested in it

Author: Andrey Avdey

Moscovites are so wealthy that they throw away the one-time masks after the fifth wash.

I had a friend when I was a child, studied in the same class. So any of his enthusiasm was perceived negatively by his parents.

Like all the children of the 90s, we played the console, the parents’ reaction: you ruin your eyes, you get dull, you stop playing. I loved to read fantasy, fantasy, reaction: that you read for a mud, from such a maculature you just get dumb. Walking a long time with friends: why can you do so much on the street? Sit at home. Enchanted with role-playing games (Gusars, keep silent! Do you run there with sticks in the woods?

Two things were encouraged: sitting behind textbooks and doing homework. The ideal day: went to school, returned, washed all the dishes after lunch, cleaned up the house before the arrival of parents from work (there is nothing to noise with the vacuum cleaner), did lessons, did extra work, went to bed.

After school, the boy broke up with his parents and went with the girl to another region. He does not communicate with my family as far as I know. But the bad work did not ruin his childhood.

The Star in Peter. From the country I was driving past, a couple of years ago, dirty, tired of the forest, the trunk of mushrooms, I am in a sweater old. I went to buy a pair of shirts. A dialogue with my grandmother:

What about T-shirts?

So much so much.

Is it so expensive?

- so good shirts, from Turkey, everyone takes no one complains. How many years ago did you buy this? You still wear it.

And I remember that I bought this coff in 2000 here on the star...

I have a companion who has been subjected to a strong educational influence from his parents throughout his life. Since childhood, he has been on a short leash and under sensitive supervision, hence hyperresponsibility, light infantilism and consequently problems with the opposite sex.



With the girls, a friend builds a relationship strictly remotely, sitting on a chair, with tea in his hands and a plate of pasta. In general, a real guru of dating sites.



Once, everything went so far that the lady agreed to a date.

Naturally, I was terribly curious about how they went, and the next day, after that date, I couldn’t stand and called.



To my surprise, he started his story without interest.

We met at the other end of the city. We go, we talk, we laugh. The weather is good, warm. She is a nice and kind girl, I wasn’t even ashamed. It was 20 minutes and my phone ringed.



The father almost screams at the phone: “Come home quickly! »

I naturally break up. I tell the girl that something happened and I need to go urgently. I say goodbye, I catch a taxi and go home, praying all gods that “nothing terrible.” Without waiting for the elevator, I run to the ninth floor, open the door and see my father. He has a trash bag in his hand. He tells me, “Why don’t you throw away your rubbish? »

Sometimes I envy people who can tell something wild, but at the same time in detail and still interesting.

I was driving with a man from the guard, he tells me.

I am a simple swindler. Once worked on the ISS (International Space Station), they call it, you need to make a crack. In terms of money, of course, it closed very well.

I live in a closed city, there is a secret object. At the entrance, military passes are checked, cars are inspected. In the city, in every house, the door with a secret code is checked by voice. If you do not live in this house, everyone will not let go.

Everyone is sitting and listening like small children with their mouths open, and the man tells them about the home phone.

The world is not without good people.

In the kitchen near the house some time ago began to sell cakes not entirely, but in pieces, in the eye - 1/6-1/8 of the whole cake.

And I decided I just had to try all the cakes in the range! And they, cockroaches, cakes make very delicious and the range is very large. There is not much left until evening, but if you go for lunch, your eyes run out.

In short, a couple of months I bought from them cakes by piece and, in the end, noticed that the jeans started to fit badly on me. By the way, are there lawyers to judge the cooker for getting fat? Only not those who work for money, but normal people, who will go to court without money? I think we need to judge for this case a million moral damages, then we will drink half.

So I realized it was time to go on a diet again.

I went to the same cooking today, already for dietary food - oatmeal, pearl and chicken. They also have a delicious snack! He has also been on her lately.

He went in, approached the window with the baking and the internal struggle began. I want a delicious cake, but so soon I will return to 106 kg again. It is not the matter! before the cakes.

Probably the look was so hungry that the woman next to me said:

Take a cake and I’ll pay.

I had a colleague who got everyone with different bikes. One of them was something like "to break a human skull, it takes a force of 24 kg per cm²". The wording is not accurate, but the essence is that in the process of discussion he settled and it turned out to be "24 cm". So came the nickname “Vlad 24cm”. That’s how it was recorded on my phone. I have changed my job, I sit in the kitchen, I eat lunch with new colleagues, the phone is in front of me and here this Vlad calls me. The faces of people who had time to see the name of the contact should have seen.)