We bought a house in the village. A young couple was selling it, saying that their parents did not need a dacha, and their grandmother died a year ago After the old woman’s death, no one visited the house, only they came to sell it. We ask, will you take things?
They replied — why do we need this stuff, we took the icons, and you can throw the rest away. My husband looked at the walls, where the squares from the icons were brightening.- And why didn’t you take the photos?Women, men, and children watched from the walls of the village hut. We used to like to decorate the walls with photos.I remember when you come to grandma, and she has a new framed photo, mine and my sisters. — I, — says grandma, — I’ll wake up in the morning, bow to my parents, kiss my husband, smile to the children, wink at you- that’s the day has begun.
When grandma was gone, we added her photo to the wall and now, when we come to the village (which became known as the dacha), we always blow a kiss to grandma in the morning. And it seems that the house immediately smells of pies and fresh milk. And the grandmother’s presence is felt.We never saw Grandpa, he died during the war, but his picture hangs in the center, grandma told a lot about him, and at that time we looked at the picture and it seemed to us that grandpa was sitting with us, only it was strange that he was young, and grandma was already old. And now her photo is hanging next to it for me, these faded pictures are so valuable that if there was a choice what to take, then I would undoubtedly take the photos. And here they were not just left alone on the wall and in albums, but also cynically recorded in trash.After the purchase, we took up cleaning and you know, the hand did not rise to throw away the things of this woman who lived for her children and grandchildren, and they just abandoned her how do I know this? She wrote letters to them. At first I wrote and sent, without response.
And then I stopped sending and three neat stacks of love and tenderness were still resting in the dresser. I confess, they read it and I understood why she didn’t send them. She was afraid that they would get lost, and here they are safe, she thought that after her smerti they would still read And in the letters there is a whole story about the years of life during the war, about her parents, grandparents, grandfathers — she retold what her grandmother told her so that family values would not die, so that they remembered. How to throw this out?- Let’s take her to the kids? — I tearfully offered my husband. — You can’t throw that away- do you think they’re better than grandchildren? The man drawled doubtfully. — They have never appeared — maybe they are old, sick, you never know..- I’ll call them, ask them.Through the grandchildren, they recognized the phone and heard a cheerful female voice:- Oh, throw it all away! She sent us these letters in bundles, we haven’t even read them lately! There was nothing for her to do there -so she was having fun, without even listening to the rest, she threw the phone. He says that if she were standing next to him now, he would strangle her!
— You know what? You’re a writer, so put these letters on stories — They’ll show you later — Yes, I’m sure they don’t even read books like that! the man chuckled. — But I will go to these people for you, I will get their written permission.And he really went and notarized everything. Meanwhile, I got to the underground. You know, in country houses, you go straight down from the hut under the floor and it’s cool there, as if in a cellar. And there are jars of pickles, Varennyama on each jar a piece of paper is glued with a faded inscription: «Vanya’s favorite grapes» — Vanya died ten years ago, the jar was never useful; «Sunny chanterelles»; «Pickles for Anatoly»; «Raspberries for Sashenka»P.S. Anna Lukyanovna had 6 in total children. All of them died before her (mostly accidents), except for the last, late daughter, who wrote everything down in the trash And her mother was waiting for the children to come with their grandchildren, carefully rolled the cans, lovingly signed the last cans of mushrooms dated last year, she was 93 years old at that time. 93 years old! And she went to the forest to collect mushrooms and berries for her grandchildren! And they… continue soon