What can you tell about your grandmother? Touching story "Grandma"

To my grandchildren

A terrible desire

As a child, I slept in the same room with my grandmother. Grandma used to scream at night, and I was told to wake her up so that she wouldn’t get sick with her heart. One day she began to cry so thinly, and I began to bother her and ask:

Why are you screaming?

Aunt came.

So what about auntie? Why are you crying?

She came and wants to sing.

I achieved nothing more. Maybe Auntie is not good and she shouldn’t be allowed to sing, or maybe she sings out of tune.

Composer's daughter

My grandmother herself had excellent hearing, and she considered herself to come from a musical family. Her father, in her words, the “famous composer” Gideon Fidman, wrote a march in honor of the tsar, for which he was awarded a safe conduct from the emperor, which could have saved (but did not save) from pogroms.

Do you go to music stores? - my grandmother demandedly asked the music teachers who came to our house to teach the children to play the piano.

Yes, of course,” the teachers answered with bewilderment.

Have you ever come across the sheet music of Gideon Fidman?

No. Who is this?

What, you don’t know Gideon Fidman? This is a famous composer. It was he who wrote padespan. Do you know? – And she hummed a well-known tune: “Padespanets is a nice dance, it’s very easy to dance.”

Are you saying that this is Gideon's music... uh...

Well, yes, Gideon Fidman... - and, modestly looking down, she added: - This is my father.

Deadly rivalry

Grandmother took after her father in modesty. He was so shy that he did not know how to defend his rights. For example, in Odessa two composers competed - Fidman and Chernetsky. Chernetsky wrote all the marches and was very successful, because these marches were immediately performed by all military bands. But his musical gift began to dry up, and then he committed - Vitenka, what is this word? - yes, plagiarism. He wanted to be considered the author of the march, which was written by Gideon Fidman. He went crazy and ended his days in a mental hospital. In the ward, he cut his wrists and wrote the notes of that very march on the wall with blood. There was nothing that could be done. It was written in blood, and you can’t argue with that, although the author was Fidman. This music is often played. Grandmother sat down at the piano (she played by ear) and performed a well-known melody with bravura. In my opinion, I can’t remember exactly, it was “Farewell of the Slav”.

I, of course, was proud of my great-great-grandfather and subsequently often told this story to guests or at a party. One day, when I was once again singing “Farewell of the Slavic Woman,” I noticed that the handsome Zhenya Arenzon, sitting at the table opposite me, was filled with blood.

Did I sing out of tune? – I got worried.

The fact is,” Arenzon said indignantly, “that my great-grandfather, the composer Chernetsky, never went crazy and certainly didn’t steal tunes.

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” I answered coldly.

We met more than once later, but never mentioned our great-grandfathers again. (And I mentioned my other relative much more successfully when talking with the artist, who turned out to be in the same degree of kinship with the lawyer Gruzenberg, who defended Mendel Beilis, as I am with the hero of this trial).

Odessa relatives

I never learned anything about the aunt who came to sing at night to scare my grandmother, because during the day my grandmother no longer remembered what she was crying about in her sleep. Was it really one of her many aunts, or did her grandmother call some Odessa lady that she remembered as a child? Odessa, in my opinion, was literally flooded with my grandmother’s, and therefore my, relatives. I later met some relatives - Aunt Fanya, Aunt Bluma, Uncle Mosey. But I never found out about them, to whom, in fact, they are aunts and uncles.

“We were fourteen (or sixteen?) souls of children,” my grandmother said, and the doubt about the number of souls lived precisely in her, not my memory. – How many more died during childbirth.

She bent her fingers, counting something, and moved her lips, from which I sometimes read some Jewish names. She never remembered her mother, but I saw an old photograph depicting my mother at the age of two on a stool, and next to her the famous composer with a curled mustache and his wife in a long, heavy dress. I asked my mother about my great-grandfather and great-grandmother, but she, too, was inclined to remember Gideon Fidman, and all she knew about his wife was that she was lazy and indifferent. And what, I ask, could there be a woman who continuously gave birth all her life - after all, she carried sixteen souls (stillborns do not count)?! The composer must have made good money from his marches and padespanas if he could support this whole horde of emphatically noisy souls.

Lviv. All photos - Galina Zelenina

Tall, slender, blue-eyed

However, my grandmother contributed to the family budget from an early age.

Having learned to play fashionable dances on the piano, my grandmother began to earn extra money as a tapper at parties, and it so happened that she even played in the houses of members of the State Duma. And one day a handsome cornet took her home in a cab. I didn’t know what a cornet was, but what kind of handsome men there were, I guessed from my grandmother’s coined formulation: “Tall - slender - blue-eyed.” These three words, which made up the formula for male beauty, the grandmother recited with great enthusiasm, like poetry. I, in essence, have become such a handsome man over the years: tall - slender (hmm, hmm) - blue-eyed. I, however, was born immediately beautiful - with blond curls on my head (other children are most often born bald). Even Madame Vinokur (I don’t remember her), who was usually very demanding and picky, was forced to admit:

Is this a boy? It's Apollo!

About confidence of speech

Madame Vinokur, a neighbor in the Odessa apartment, often appeared in grandmothers' stories. The neighbors must have often competed, and Madame Vinokur alone won over the shy Madame Weisberg (my grandmother) with her skillfully delivered winning intonation. For some reason, in Odessa, everyone called their grandmother not Evgenia Gedeonovna, but Madame Weisberg, and she herself called her Odessa acquaintances by their last name and madams. At the same time, men were most often mentioned by name and without any “monsieur”. In Lvov, where I spent my childhood, my grandmother was called “Mrs. Vaisbergova,” and she responded by saying “Ms. Stefa” or “Ms. Yana.” In the same way, however, we all called the indigenous inhabitants of Lvov - Ukrainians and Poles: “Pan Bronislav”, “Pan Stefan” (this is if they are young and well-known, but for older people and those we saw for the first time - by their last name: “Pan Nedbailo”, “Pani Kropyvnytska"). So, Madame Vinokur, apparently, defeated her grandmother in verbal duels, even when it came to cooking, where her grandmother was always a recognized master. If the competition did not take place at the table, when guests could compare the fruits of the labors of two competing housewives, but, for example, when asking: “Madame Vinokur, Madame Weisberg, what do you have for lunch today?” - Grandma answered bashfully:

Fish soup, stew, compote.

For the first course - bouillabaisse, for the second - veal in sweet and sour sauce with wine and prunes, for dessert - fruit in lemon syrup.

Madame Vinokur even pronounced the words “boiled potatoes” as if it were an exquisite French dish, and yet the menu she recited corresponded to an ordinary (and not very tasty) fish soup, goulash with a disgusting over-sweetened gravy and the same dried fruit compote.

You understand, Vitenka, how important it is to speak confidently and value yourself as you deserve,” my grandmother summed up Madame Vinokur’s lesson.

I remembered the lesson, but, alas, did not master it: genes are still stronger than science. But all the same - thank you, Madame Vinokur, thank you, grandmother.

As for cooking, my grandmother had no equal among her contemporaries. She was surpassed, in my opinion, not even by my mother, but by my sister, who, however, with the shyness characteristic of my grandmother, claims that all her skill comes from her memory not so much of recipes, but of how her grandmother’s hands moved in the kitchen when making something. or other dish. It is necessary, she says, only to reproduce these movements.

About food

True, in my childhood I was not always able to appreciate my grandmother’s dishes. So, I absolutely couldn’t stand roast duck, which became almost more famous among our friends than Peking duck. Grandmother, knowing my dislike for this bird, still could not resist delighting her family with her delicacy from time to time.

As always, I was well aware of what should be for lunch today, and was ready to move on to dessert immediately after soup, and this suited me quite well, as did my parents.

Grandmother, of course, also guessed that I would refuse the duck and that she shouldn’t even offer it to me. But it was still difficult for her to come to terms with the fact that such a delicious meal prepared by Madame Weisberg would not even be tasted by her beloved grandson.

With a completely innocent look, she took out the most appetizing piece from the cauldron and, bringing it right to my nose, humbly asked:

Vitenka, do you want such a chicken?

Such The question could certainly only be asked once. Grandma was a fiasco - in my indignation I almost knocked the meat out of her hands. But the duck in the house on Zhovtneva Street in Lviv was forever renamed "such a chicken".

How many people in this world can boast that they not only gave something a name, but renamed something that has a very stable name?

Even now, when visiting a Chinese restaurant, it is only at the very last moment that I refrain from naming the duck when ordering. such a chicken.

About feeling
(Mit hartz un gefil)

I know that my grandmother attached great importance to feeling, at least in two things - in food and in music. For example, she asked me to play Kozlovsky’s record, and no matter what he sang, she burst into tears and said:

My God, with what feeling he sings.

With which one? – I tried to clarify.

Oh, mommy, you can hear it yourself! - the grandmother waved her off.

She claimed that I, having learned to play Tchaikovsky’s “Sentimental Waltz,” performed it with great feeling. Meanwhile, I confirmed this piece for mercantile reasons: my parents believed that I could not master this waltz, which even professional musicians play as an encore at a concert, but I proposed a bet, winning which I would become the owner of a “Victory” watch - my old dream. I loved music very much, but it was precisely this love that discouraged me from studying it - I understood that nothing worthwhile would come of me, and asked me to stop useless activities. This upset my grandmother terribly, and she complained for a long time. Having heard the winner of the First Tchaikovsky Competition play on the radio, she told me:

My mom, if you played at least fifteen minutes a day, you would play better than Vanya Cleaverman (that’s what she called Van Cliburn, whose name, however, was already distorted in Moscow). Do you remember how you played "Sentimental Waltz"? With what feeling!

Candies

Her own feelings for her grandchildren knew no bounds. She hid the candies that they treated her to, and at the right moment, when one of the grandchildren asked: “Are there no more candies left?” - and the parents answered that no more, the grandmother disappeared for a minute, then suddenly appeared and, dancing, twirled a small fist with sweets clutched in it in front of the children’s noses and at the same time sang to the tune of the folk song “From under the oak, from under elm" such words:

My dear mother, you dear mother!

The children figured out what was what, quickly unwrapped the candy wrappers and crunched the candy under the disapproving glances of their parents. At that moment the grandmother turned into a fiery pillar of happiness and sang another song:

Wow, my children, wow, my children!

Evgenia Gedeonovna, - dad called her that, - don’t feed your children candy.

She just waved it off, continuing to beam.

Pedagogical principles

But it happened that because of the children she quarreled with her parents, unable to agree with their “cruel” methods of education. The earth has not produced anyone kinder and more tolerant than my parents. However, my father had principles that he could not compromise. For example, he, who generally did not recognize swear words, could not stand it if someone allowed himself to speak “indecently” in front of women.

I remember this episode. I, six years old, walked in the yard and looked at the third-floor balcony, where tenth-grader Lucy was teaching her lessons. All the children knew that I was in love with this adult schoolgirl. My twelve-year-old friend-enemy Mikola, prone to hooliganism and foul language, began to secretly egg me on. He spoke in a whisper, so that only I could hear him, but when I answered, I became more and more irritated and raised my tone, so that everyone heard my words.

“Oh, Lyuska is a beauty,” Mikola hissed, “I love her.”

No, it's I I love her,” I was indignant.

But Lyuska loves me,” my friend quietly continued to be mischievous.

No, she loves me, - I was offended.

“And she and I will get married soon,” Mikola threatened.

No, it's I“I’ll marry her,” I was already yelling at the whole yard.

And I ate her, - my now definitely enemy put an unfamiliar word in my ear.

The answer was, of course, predictable and loud:

No, it's I her f...l!

Lucy stood up. She put down the textbook and, going down the stairs, knocked on our door... When she left our apartment, dad appeared on the threshold, who gloomily said one word to me:

I didn’t understand anything, and soon I stopped thinking anything at all.

Dad took me into the bedroom and said:

Take off your pants!

“They’re still clean,” I objected.

Shoot! - the father shouted and began to remove the belt from their pants

I resisted and my father had to work hard to get to my ass. Then he laid me out on his lap and lightly but offensively slapped me several times on my bare bottom. He wanted to insult me! It was unbearable, and I finally began to cry, also because I didn’t understand why? It’s clear that this has something to do with Lyusya, but I was just defending my love! (This was not the first time I had loved and I knew what it was).

My father let me go, confused, and I left the bedroom, sobbing. When I stopped sobbing, greeted by my grandmother’s hugs and kisses, I announced that I was leaving this house. Father held mother's hand and remained silent. Grandmother said:

That's right, mommy. I'll go with you. Wait, I'll put on my boots now.

I waited obediently.

We walked in silence for some time, but I knew that my grandmother was thinking the same thing as me: “Dad is a monster.”

Then the grandmother said:

Vitenka, we still need to buy bread for dinner.

We went into a store, where, in addition to the buns, we also bought lollipops in a round tin box, which was difficult to open and was so sharp at the edges that it could hurt your hand, but then, when the lollipops disappeared, it could serve as a piggy bank or storage of a small treasure.

You are already big, Vitenka, and you know that a man should take away the burdens of women. You'll help me bring bread home, won't you?

Could I not take the string bag from my grandmother’s hands? I even raised it high above my head so that everyone could see that I didn’t care about such weights. So we got home, and I, of course, was unable to refuse my grandmother’s invitation to come in for lunch. Moreover, everyone should know that it was I who brought bread for dinner.

About firmness and forgiveness

I immediately forgave my father. (When I, already forty years old, shared these memoirs with him, he not only remembered the episode itself, but also could not believe in its veracity). Things turned out more complicated for dad with his grandmother. She stopped talking to him and answering his questions. Or rather, it would be impolite not to answer at all; intelligent people don’t behave like that, but the answer did not go directly to the dad who asked it, but to the one who was nearby. For example, dad asked:

Evgenia Gedeonovna, there was a newspaper here. Where did you hide it?

Let him look at his desk,” my grandmother instructed, well, let’s say, my three-year-old sister.

Or, when no one else was at home, and grandma had to feed her son-in-law, she would enter dad’s office and, looking at the ceiling, neutrally and unknown to whom, would ask:

What He wants to eat?

That's all, so am I.

But He doesn’t he like stuffed neck? - Grandmother doubted.

Then he will eat a chicken wing,” Dad laughed and walked to the table, one hundred percent sure that the wing was already on his plate.

They didn’t talk like that for two years - until dad fell and hurt himself, and grandma, rushing to him, screamed instead of the usual one. "He"- Sashenka!

About beauty

In fact, she loved her brother-in-law very much and respected him greatly. It’s no joke: her Sashenka was first an associate professor and then a professor at the university, and, talking about his friends at home, his father’s colleagues, one could say:

One of our acquaintances is a professor... well, he is not a professor, but everyone calls him that (grandmother, of course, was just ahead of the curve, because I remember a banquet given by this one of our acquaintances, a professor, just between you and me, a decent bastard, when he - finally defended his doctoral dissertation).

Grandma loved my dad’s friends very much, and I watched in amazement as she smoked with them (in fact, no one in our family smoked, including grandma). She gracefully moved her small hand with the cigarette and blew out a thin stream of smoke, following it with her narrowed eyes, while my father’s friend, who was smoking with her, winked at me and blew smoke rings out of his mouth.

Grandma, to my amazement, not only smoked with the guests, she also flirted and minced with them; low notes appeared in her voice, and the sound e in general, was repressed from all the words that were pronounced: “meeting,” “serce,” “restlessness,” etc. She later spoke approvingly of those who smoked with her as “tall, slender, blue-eyed.”

According to my observations, some of them did not quite correspond to these characteristics - some were brown-eyed, others were short or overweight. But this did not matter, the essential thing was that they deserved praise, and the praise of a male individual was forever enshrined in a minted three-syllable formula.

Dad, by the way, didn’t have blue eyes either, but he, of course, was beyond all praise, especially since he had advantages that the beauty formula shyly did not mention. I remember that my grandmother always expected her son-in-law to pass through our room to the restroom in the morning. Dad walked by in his shorts, and grandma looked at him with all her eyes, even when they were quarreling.

God, what beautiful legs he has! “- Grandma always exclaimed, “It’s him who comes out like that in just his shorts for me,” she told me happily and slightly embarrassed, never looking for any other words.

Now that I am already a grandfather myself, I look at my legs and find that their shape resembles my father’s, and I think what a pity that I cannot walk past my grandmother to the restroom in my underpants. How much pleasure it would be for both of us! I am sure that my grandmother would admire my legs just as much as she did my father’s (and maybe even more – well, they are really beautiful!).

About love

It’s clear what role they played in grandmother’s life feeling and beauty. How, then, did things stand with love, which should unite both concepts? To be honest, I don’t really know this - I didn’t have time to discuss it with my grandmother. Apparently, she didn’t like her grandfather: she even fed him without feeling- so, he’ll put it on the table and won’t even ask if you liked it.

Grandfather was a portly, fat, although very active, strong and kind man. After eating, he liked to lie down on the floor, call his grandchildren (my sister and me) over to him, and let us crawl along his belly.

Grandmother did not interfere with this: she was sure that they would not offend us. Meanwhile, grandfather told us political jokes, which we did not understand, but had fun just like that - from fussing around; Grandfather, again and again, savored some word and laughed so that his belly swayed - to the joy of the children who settled on him. I remember, however, once my grandmother heard an anecdote about Kaganovich, unknown to us, and was indignant:

Oh, you will raise my grandchildren to be anti-Semites!

Oh, leave it alone, Zhenichka, they’re smart, look, it’s gold.

Grandfather was a great lover of life, he loved women, the circus and operetta. The grandchildren knew about the circus and operetta: we had to pretend to be lovers of these genres in order to give grandfather the opportunity to take us to the daytime performance (grandfather had already attended the evening performance without us - “interesting with whom?” asked the grandmother).

We then began to guess about women and over time, even from various scraps of domestic conversations, we reconstructed the story of how grandfather met his son, Bobka, a famous walker, in a woman’s house. We didn’t really understand what exactly was the piquancy of the meeting between grandfather and uncle, but we whispered about it mysteriously.

Grandfather died early - at the age of 59, at work, from a heart attack. The parents were informed by phone, they went by taxi to the hospital, returned gloomy, and did not tell the grandmother anything. Grandma was setting the table and suddenly hit the tablecloth with her palm so that the dishes rattled:

Are they hiding something from me here?!

In response, my mother began to cry.

“Well, okay,” said the grandmother.

She never left the apartment again, the last time only for her grandfather’s funeral. Neither in cinema, nor, especially, in operetta - never, and she still had eighteen years to go.

Sometimes she let something courtly into her stories: someone threatened to pour sulfuric acid on himself, her, or an opponent; it seems that grandfather threatened and, apparently, got her, because grandmother was scared - either for herself, or for the handsome young man (I remember the word "Vileoncellist"), or for my grandfather.

In general, my grandmother did not marry of her own free will, but I don’t know whether she loved anyone at that time, whether she was ever in love, or whether she knew other men besides her grandfather.

About erotica

Some erotic dissatisfaction was sometimes visible in her. She could tell me, still quite unintelligent, obscene anecdotes from the life of Peter the Great (how did she know them herself?). At the time I couldn’t understand what it meant: he got hard. Who stood up, who got him up? I thought that my grandmother was simply speaking with a Jewish accent, an accent, and not a joke, and I laughed.

Mom, what are you talking about? - Mom asked quietly and meekly.

But the grandmother answered firmly:

Let him know already.

This is how an early acquaintance with the Jewish accent prevented my early maturity: after all, if I had not been ashamed of my grandmother’s accent, who would have prevented me from clarifying the features of male physiology and the functions of organs, as I later found out, that I also had and acted in exact accordance with those as described in a true story from the life of the Russian emperor?

About the ability to conduct a conversation

She told jokes not only to me. In general, conversations occupied a significant part of her life. She did not leave the house, but she often lay on the windowsill, or rather on two windowsills - in turn. One of the windows she chose looked out onto the courtyard, and the other onto the street. We lived, as they used to call it, in the “mezzanine”, and, sitting on a wide window sill, we could lean over the window opening and freely, without straining our vocal cords, talk for a long time with neighbors in the yard or with acquaintances or strangers passing along the street.

It was even possible to talk across the road - cars passed by infrequently and did not interfere with conversations. And just in the house opposite there was a butcher shop, and from there, when there were no customers, the cheerful butcher, already aged, went out into the street to bask in the sun. The butcher willingly joined in the conversation and after a while, having learned about the grandmother’s status as a widow, he began to make eyes at the grandmother and show how he would hug Madame Weisberg if she visited his shop. Grandma got angry - however, only when she saw how he really hugged Mrs. Yana right on the threshold of his store, and then Mrs. Yana took meat out of the shop completely without a single bone or fat.

Angrily, the grandmother picked up the phone and settled into the rocking chair for another long conversation. She ignored her family’s instructions on the duration of her conversations, answering with a maxim that is convincing for any intelligent person:

He says to me - don’t spit in a man’s face!

Photos

Grandma loved looking at photographs and was very picky about her images. If she was alone on a card and this card did not suit her in some way, the photograph could disappear without a trace. If the photo was a group one and she didn’t like it, then the scissors were used, cutting an exquisitely bizarre curve in the photo so that not a single extra millimeter of the remaining usable space was wasted.

I always tried to understand what exactly did not suit my grandmother, but even if the reasons were given to me, I still did not understand them. “Double chin” - so what, double chin. Often I would look for the fruits of my grandmother’s destruction in the trash can and rescue them from there - secretly, so that after a while I could triumphantly show everyone the neatly cut out portrait along the contour. This always upset my grandmother.

About a year after her death, I laid out photographs from the family archive on the table (now this archive is very poor: when I left Moscow, it was forbidden to take photographs out). Here is a dark, yellowed photograph: a young grandmother in a boa and with a Siberian cat in her arms in front of a mirror, here she is looking out of the window into the yard (I photographed this), here she is with her grandchildren (a photographer was specially invited). But... my sister and I are in the sea... and nearby... a winding gap... (it seems that my grandmother didn’t like her swimsuit)...

Once again about the beauty of feet

During her grandmother’s conversations with the street, she lay down on the windowsill on her stomach because she was short, and she wanted to better observe the facial expressions of her interlocutor. To climb onto the window in this way, the grandmother had to stand on tiptoe, which caused her robe to ride up slightly and her wonderful tiny (Cinderella’s) legs became visible, the beauty of which she, of course, knew and which, in my opinion, she was deservedly proud of. When she rose on her tiptoes, her calves tensed and became completely round and elastic. The skin was smooth and silky and seemed to be devoid of hair.

I’m describing this now from memory, but honestly, in my childhood, in some way I noted the merits of her legs (the diminutive suffix in this word is from childhood, not current speculation), and, in any case, I would I couldn’t remember it now if it weren’t for my glances, either furtively or point-blank, at that time.

The validity of my observations was unexpectedly confirmed one day on the day of our new local doctor’s visit to my grandmother. He was very attentive, examined and listened to the grandmother from all sides for a long time, then asked her to raise the hem. Grandma lifted him up chastely. The doctor was not satisfied with this, and he himself rolled up the hem to the very top. And suddenly he (the doctor) just burst out:

“Look,” he exulted, “what kind of skin, what kind of shape!” After all, she is no more than twenty-five! What does the heart have to do with it! Look at those legs!

The grandmother, pulling down her hem, looked at the doctor in fear, and he, having quickly prescribed the necessary medicine and having already taken his leave, was still muttering to himself: “What kind of legs!” - and shook his head.

When the door slammed behind him, the grandmother said thoughtfully:

Good doctor!

But what tramp!

About tramps

Grandmother called them tramps shameless and depraved. Although sometimes from her stories it turned out that these were quite nice and extremely charming people. The tramp, for example, was her own son, Bobka, my beloved uncle Bob, whom my grandmother condemned not so much for being a womanizer (he often got married and even more often Not got married), but because he is addicted to alcohol.

Some of my grandmother's secretly beloved writers were also tramps (among them - Maupassant, Maupassant!). When reading any of these writers, my grandmother tried to hide it and during the day hid the book she read at night under her pillow - but I saw it!

Sometimes the grandmother complained that she had nothing to read, and the guest to whom she complained looked around in bewilderment at the numerous shelves with books and asked:

How, Evgenia Gedeonovna, did you read all this?

All! - Grandmother answered decisively.

Well, here is a thirty-volume volume of Maxim Gorky - have you devoured all thirty volumes?

Oh, how grandma was cunning! She deliberately mixed up the meaning of the word tramp. She knew from Peshkov’s biography that in his youth he wrote “trag stories,” which she, like the novel “Mother,” found boring. She didn’t read Gorky precisely because he wasn’t a tramp in her sense, he wasn’t libertine and shameless. Then she would read it (maybe in secret).

When I grew up, my grandmother carefully watched what I read and wanted to read the same thing (“The Pit” by Kuprin, she liked, unlike me).

My mom, what kind of book do you have?

- “Decameron” by Boccaccio.

Good?

Bosyatskaya, grandmother.

A few days later I see him carefully looking for something on the bookshelves.

Vitenka, where? this book?

I already guess what she is looking for, but I pretend that I don’t understand:

Which one, grandma?

She (shyly):

Well, the one you said is a tramp.

Other family stories:

Svetlana Grusha
A story about a grandmother.

Dear colleagues, I would like to bring to your attention story which I wrote while participating in a municipal competition "I remember! I'm proud! and took 2nd place in it.

Youth scorched by war.

We will remember the veterans

We will never forget

Their sacrifices, exploits and wounds

Victory! Remember the whole country!

Great Patriotic War. How much grief, suffering, deprivation, fear, pain it brought to our people! How many people died, how many became disabled, how many people lost everything!

During this difficult time my youth passed grandmothers, Mironova Valentina Grigorievna. My story will be about a simple girl who did not perform any heroic feat, but who endured all the hardships of this wartime. In my opinion, every person who lived, endured all the difficulties, fears, pain deserves respect and honor.

She was 15 years old when the war started, so the memories remain.

(She spent her childhood and youth in the Tarasovsky district of the Rostov region, the rest of the years she sewed in Gukovo.)

They heard the terrible news about the beginning of the war on the radio. She didn’t yet understand the seriousness of the consequences, but she saw what was happening. Mom cried often. Dad and older brother went to the front. My mother and three sisters remained at home. It was very difficult because everyone had to work hard. Mom worked in the fields all day long and was very tired. Grandma I had to look after my sisters and go to school. The teachers were only women. It was difficult to study in those distant years. There was one textbook for every five to six children. There were no notebooks, paper for drawing or drawing. They wrote on newspapers and wrapping paper. After school, she helped adults do various jobs. In the summer they harvested herbs - quinoa seeds, nettles, linden leaves. They were dried, ground and added to real flour and baked into bread, since food was hard to come by. They were given on cards. Half-starved grandmother She even helped dig trenches for the soldiers.

For two years they lived in constant fear, as they were occupied by the Germans.

For a long time she experienced an eerie feeling of fear when something buzzed loudly. This remained in my memory after the bombings, during which I had to sit in the basement for long periods of time.

Everyone: It was very difficult for both adults and children. But still, everyone believed in our victory. They lived, worked, enduring all the hardships.

For life grandmother I remembered the news about the end of the war. Her mother cried and laughed, hugging the children and saying one thing: phrase: "All!", "All!"

I would like to repeat what is heroic in my life Grandma is gone. But the fact that she lived during that wartime, endured the burden of those years with everyone, experienced fear, pain, and made her small, childish contribution to the victory is worthy of honor. And I'm proud of mine grandmother. And the younger generation needs talk about such people, giving an example of patience, fortitude and service to one’s homeland. Your own small story I want to end with words of gratitude to the older generation.

Today I bow to you,

Native veterans.

Thank you for the peace, tranquility,

For tears, blood and wounds.

Because we are in our native country,

We laugh without looking back.

Because our days are bright,

Cloudless and sweet.

Publications on the topic:

Almost 10 years have passed since I became a grandmother. These were years of happiness, boundless love and care, anxiety and excitement, joy, etc.

Mushrooms The children were relaxing at the dacha. The nanny, Aunt Sveta, went to the station to get milk. Petya and Grishka were left at home alone. The nanny gave a strict punishment.

Portrait of a beloved grandmother. Story My granddaughter urgently needed to take a portrait from life test at art school, and for an hour and a half the grandmother had been sitting patiently in a chair.

Story - conversation about orders and medals A few days before the conversation, the teacher invites the children to bring orders and medals that their family members have, having previously agreed.

Story about the war in kindergarten Video Tribute to Victory Day! Relevance of the problem: Before preparing the matinee for Victory Day, I talked with the children about their great-grandfathers.

The story "Bird's Dining Room""Bird's Dining Room" story. The winter this year was snowy and cold. And as soon as it got colder, our old friend, the titmouse, flew in.

There are people in every person's life who have a huge influence on his development in childhood. Of course, these include the older generation: the parents of our fathers and mothers. In many families, especially in the summer (and not only), the grandmother plays the main educational role. If he lives in a village, then the kids are brought there to relax and improve their health, drink fresh village milk, eat natural cottage cheese for breakfast and, of course, grandma’s pies, so fluffy and very tasty: with fruits or berries. And if the grandmother lives with the family, then she is entrusted with the role of caring for the baby in the absence of parents, which she handles with pleasure and with all care. In general, writing a home essay about grandma is not so difficult for almost any child of primary and secondary school age, using the help of their mothers and fathers. For example, on the topic: how good it is that there is my grandmother in the world! Or describe your summer in the village in her small cozy house.

Where to start?

You can start an essay about your grandmother by describing her appearance. What a kind face she has, what soft and hard-working hands, nose, forehead, hair, and so on. What does she usually wear, what kind of gait and speech does she have? Then we continue the short essay about grandma with a description of her habits and what she likes to do most. We can end with a story about why every child likes to spend the summer in the village.

Short essay about grandmother. Example 1

My sister and I have a beloved grandmother. Her name is Baba Nastya. Although, of course, strangers call her Anastasia Ivanovna, but in a simple way, that’s what we, our grandchildren, call her. She is not very tall, a little hunched over from her years, but still cheerful and very cheerful. Moderately well-fed, but not fat. Oddly enough, she has a rather thin waist, since Baba Nastya practiced folk dancing and sang in her youth.

Her face is covered in small and large wrinkles, because our grandmother is many, many years old. The nose is straight and the forehead is high, it is immediately clear that she is very smart and was very charming in her youth. One day she showed us her old photographs, where she was photographed with her friends immediately after the war - well, very beautiful. And even now Grandma Nastya looks better than many of the old people in the village where we came for the summer. But her hair turned completely gray and became gray-white. She hides them under a scarf all the time, so neat and well-groomed.

Grandma is never strict with us. She spoils us, her grandchildren: she buys sweets, brings milk (she also has a cow, Duska, which grandma Nastya milks every day). And when my mother leaves for the city to work, my grandmother puts us to bed and tells us magical fairy tales, each time a new one, which make us sleep so well and soundly: sweet dreams!

Example 2

A short essay on the topic “My grandmother” can be written a little differently.

Our grandmother lives with me, mom and dad in our large city apartment. Her name is Lyuba. She used to have a house in the village, but then it became difficult for her to do housework, and she had to sell it. Since then, my grandmother moved in with us. But she didn’t stop housekeeping, and every day she cooks something tasty.

Our grandmother loves to bake pies. She makes them fluffy, soft, with various fillings: cottage cheese, meat, potatoes. With apricot jam - my favorite. I think I could eat a whole plate of them! It’s especially delicious with cocoa in the morning, but it’s also good with tea in the evening. And Grandma Lyuba never tires of working all day long to ensure that our whole family is well-fed and healthy.

And my grandmother cleans the apartment every day, and everything is sparkling clean. Of course, she also teaches me to clean my room, but we’re not very good at it yet. There's still something lying around somewhere. But the grandmother is not angry, she just looks attentively and makes a remark.

Example 3. “Letter to Grandma” (essay on a given topic)

If the topic for work is this, then you can start with a description of city life. How we live, go to school, and what grades we received recently in what subjects. You can congratulate your grandmother on the upcoming holidays, promise in a letter that we will definitely come to visit her during the holidays.

Many of us have grandmothers. They are very different: some are younger, some are older, some have a cheerful disposition, some are reserved and silent. But we all love our grandmothers very much.

My grandmother is the best! I love her because she is kind, affectionate, because she has golden hands, and most importantly, because she is just my grandmother. She always tries to understand me and support me in good endeavors. I tell her about everything that happens in my life. She never interrupts. And if I need advice, he will suggest an option that I hadn’t even thought about.

My grandmother loves to study. She tries to keep up with the times. Grandma reads scientific and educational magazines, watches films about our land, goes to the library, and sometimes learns English with me. Grandmother tells me that a person is young as long as he has the desire to learn.

My grandmother loves to feed me delicious borscht. When lunch time approaches, I always look out for that saucepan in which my grandmother cooks borscht. It's always full. And when does my grandmother have time to cook delicious soup? It seemed like she had been knitting and cleaning the house all morning. Granny probably cooks delicious borscht at night when I’m sleeping...

Dear grandma! I wish you good health, I am so glad that I have you. You know how to support me, you know how to create an atmosphere of warmth and comfort in the house.

Essay on the topic My grandmother

My grandmother's name is Anna. She is very good and kind. I always call her grandma because she deserves that word. Grandma always played with me, bought me a lot of goodies, taught me how to bake pies. She always read me different fairy tales at night, and sometimes she even fell asleep next to me. The two of us spend a lot of time together, walking and playing. Sometimes on holidays we organize various competitions, everyone was surprised at how it worked out for us. Then, over time, it became difficult for grandma to do all this. And I began to support her as best I could. I entertained her and, seeing how she smiled at me, it felt so good that I couldn’t even express it in words. I love my grandma very much and am proud of her.

My granny essay for grades 2, 3

I have a grandma. She usually lives in the village. But sometimes he comes to stay with us for a couple of weeks. Her name is Tamara. She is a brown-eyed and kind grandmother. I enjoy spending time with her. I love her very much. She is a good, friendly person. Granny will always help in times of trouble and sorrow. I owe her a lot: for kindness, affection, courage and strength. She, like her mother, is a very kind person.

Essay My grandmother (description of appearance) 5th, 6th, 7th grade

Everyone calls my grandmother Dusya, but in fact her name is Evdokia Ivanovna. She lives near the railway. My grandmother worked on the railroad all her life and knows how to drive a train. And my grandmother also has her own trolley, it’s a cart with wheels like a train. My parents and my grandmother and I used this cart to go into the forest.

I don't remember my grandfather. Mom said that grandfather was big and strong. Grandma is also very strong. She can lift a huge railroad hammer. When grandma has a lot of guests she performs a magic trick. Lifts this huge hammer with one hand and hammers a special nail into the sleeper the first time. Grandma never misses.

Grandmother has a small house near the forest. She loves to go for mushrooms and berries. She also fries delicious pies. And with apples, and with mushrooms, and also with different berries. My favorite is the pies with cabbage and mushrooms. My grandmother has the most delicious pies in the world!

Grandma loves flowers very much. When we visit my grandmother, she teaches me how to care for flowers and water them. Grandma's flowers grow very beautiful. There are always a lot of bees on the flowers. Grandma says that these are domestic bees and they don’t bite. There is an apiary not far from my grandmother's house. Bees live there and make honey. The grandmother is friends with the beekeeper's wife. Grandmother is treated to honey from domestic bees. Everyone likes this honey, it is very healthy and tasty.

Grandma also has a lot of chickens and several roosters. One rooster crows very loudly early in the morning. Grandma says that the rooster wakes everyone up on purpose, even during the holidays. Chickens need to be fed millet. Chickens are also given special vitamins. That's why hens produce good eggs. Grandma adds these eggs to the dough for pies, so it turns out very tasty.

In my grandmother’s yard there is a small dog house. But there is no dog. Grandmother said that the dog was grandfather's. But she doesn’t want to get a dog without her grandfather.

It’s a shame that we only visit grandma during the holidays. We asked our grandmother to move in with us, but she couldn’t leave the chickens and flowers.

I love my grandmother very much. I miss her and want to see her soon.

Grandmother's description

Zinaida Pavlovna stood silently at the window and stroked through the slightly open sash the old ginger cat, who was basking in the gentle, last this year, autumn sun.

This woman, despite her far from young age, looked beautiful. Her dark and rough skin was dotted with brownish freckles, and her wrinkles looked like kitten whiskers. When she smiled, her eyes were practically hidden among the wrinkles, but they still sparkled. Everyone saw the radiance and sparkle of her eyes. But her eyes were green-yellow, beautiful and bright, like ripe gooseberries, and also big and kind.

Her hands were “tired”: these hands were not smeared with aromatic creams every day, but it was with these hands that the most delicious cabbage and mushroom pies in the world were prepared. The skin on her hands was slightly cracked and rough from work. After all, Zinaida Pavlovna was never afraid of hard work in the house, in the field or in the garden, and she is not afraid now, although she probably should have.

This woman is very petite, short and thin. If it weren't for the stoop of age, from the back she could be mistaken for a girl. But this fragile woman gave birth to and raised 3 children and raised 5 grandchildren. The sixth is waiting and will definitely wait. And how fervently she laughs! Anyone will be jealous.

A lilac scarf with small flowers and a fringe hides her short, ashy hair, which was once jet black and curly. I love watching her take off her headscarf, turn on the radio on the wall, and comb her sleek hair with a large wooden comb in front of the mirror. At such moments, it is as if she becomes young again. She still has to live and live. How else?

Zinaida Pavlovna turns to me and speaks in her quiet and incredibly kind and calm voice. He talks about the good weather today, that the cat is probably sick, and that the pies in the oven have been cooling for a long time. And I sincerely smile and hug her tightly. Because this sweet woman is the best and most beautiful in the whole world. Zinaida Pavlova is my beloved grandmother.

Every person has grandparents. These are the closest and dearest people. Only grandma's pies are the most delicious and the fairy tales are the most interesting. Only grandfather will teach you how to make things and tell you a lot of fables and jokes. The guys dedicated their essays to their grandparents as part of a competition dedicated to the Day of the Elderly. All the children in our class coped with the task with dignity.
Congratulations to the winners of the school tour: Semyon Znamov, Alexandra Dmitrieva, Dmitry Tsyganov, Svetlana Egorova, Alexander Alekseev, Eva Valieva, Maxim Servier, Ekaterina Glushkova and Egor Yudin.
23 works of 4th grade students from our school were sent to the city competition. A total of 7 people became winners. Among them are Eva Valieva, Ekaterina Glushkova, Svetlana Egorova, Maxim Servier and Dmitry Tsyganov. CONGRATULATIONS!!!
Today we begin publishing the best works.

MAXIM SERVICE

My beloved grandmother's name is Evdokia Alexandrovna. She's my mom's mom. Grandmother is 65 years old, and grandfather Volodya died three years ago. They worked at DOK for forty years: grandmother as a foreman, and grandfather as a mechanic. They lived together for forty-three years. I loved and respected my grandfather very much. He was constantly making something and helping his grandmother at the dacha. I often remember him and regret that he is not with me now. Only good memories remain. Now my grandmother replaces my grandfather.My grandmother is smart, she checks my homework. In the summer we worked with her a lot. Grandmother lives in a private house. She has a big garden. Lots of berry bushes, strawberries, vegetables. She cooks well. Bakes pies, belyashi, cakes. Our grandmother likes to work hard. She started working at the age of 16.I'm proud of my grandmother. I wish her health, happiness and to live to be a hundred years old.

KATYA GLUSHKOVA

Everyone in our family is good and loved. And I will write about my grandmother Tasya, in general, Anastasia. But we call her Grandma Tasya.Granny was born in our city and has lived in it for sixty years. She is very beautiful and young. And everyone says that she doesn’t look her age. Everyone around her thinks she is very rich because she has nine grandchildren! We all adore her. She is fashionable and modern. Grandma reads a lot and even sometimes writes poetry. She has beautiful green eyes, curly hair and gentle hands. My grandmother is very smart and kind - she’s everything. Everyone loves it. Grandma Tasya cooks deliciously. She tells tales that no one knows. She has a beautiful and calm voice. Grandma doesn't know how to scream or swear. Even if grandma wants to do it, we start laughing because she can’t do it. It's easy and simple with grandma! Granny is the best conversationalist. She rides cheesecakes with us in the winter and sculpts snow women with us. Grandma rides a bicycle, plays badminton and jumps rope, plays crocodile and forfeits. Grandma is very cool!We have a huge family. We are very friendly! It seems to me that this is the merit of my grandmother Tasya. She raised wonderful children. I want to become like my grandma. I love my grandma!

SASHA DMITRIEVA

Every person on earth has a grandmother. They are all very different, but each is unique in its own way and the best for its grandchildren.I want to talk about my grandmother, the best grandmother in the world, Tatyana Nikolaevna Samsonenko. We live in the same city, Lodeynoye Pole, so we see each other very often.It's impossible to get bored next to my grandmother. In winter we go skiing, and in summer we swim and sunbathe, pick flowers, mushrooms and berries. From her I learned a lot of interesting things about nature and the history of our region.And how my grandmother cooks! You'll lick your fingers! Her home is always warm, clean and cozy. She is kind and affectionate and always helps me! Bgrandma, I love you!Thank you for having me!

EVA VALIEVA

Today I want to talk about my grandmother. Actually, I have two grandmothers. I thought for a long time about who to write about, but without deciding, I cast lots.So, I’ll tell you about Grandma Ira, Dad’s mom. Her full name is Valieva Irina Rushanovna. She is fifty-three years old. She works as a labor protection engineer. My grandmother is of average height and strong build. She has dark hair and brown eyes. My grandmother is very kind and cheerful, it’s very interesting to be with her. She teaches me how to do different things around the house, and together we cook different delicacies. And when we’ve done everything, we sit down to drink tea and talk. My grandmother knows so many interesting things! My grandmother has many hobbies. One of which is handicrafts. She sews me beautiful dresses, knits sweaters and socks. And she also has her own garden. whom she takes care of, and I help her with this. There are many beautiful flowers growing in the garden, as well as an apple tree, a cherry tree, a cedar tree and a small Christmas tree. There is also a beautiful swing in the garden, on which my grandmother and I swing in the evenings.I know that I can completely trust my grandmother and count on her. I am very proud of her and hope to become a good person like her!

SEMYON ZNAMOV

I want to talk about my grandmother - Galina Fedorovna Oleshko.She was born on March 29, 1951 in the village of Pchevzha, Kirishi district. My grandmother studied in this village until the tenth grade, and then entered a technical school in Leningrad.My grandmother has been with me since birth. She was caring and smart. She loved animals very much and knew how to cook delicious dishes. Grandma was the best at baking bagels! She was also good at housekeeping. Grandma planted our garden with strawberries, blackberries and raspberries. She loved us with all her heart!Unfortunately, my grandmother has already passed away and will not be able to return to us. But her memory is in my heart forever. I'm proud of my grandmother. I love her.

DMITRY TSYGANOV

My grandfather’s name is Anatoly Ivanovich Tsyganov, but for me he is just a grandfather.My grandfather is very good, he has golden hands. He knows how to do absolutely everything: wood, iron, plumbing, and electrics. My grandfather is a welder by profession, but after retiring, he continues to do what he loves.I love my grandfather. He and I go fishing, dive into the pool after a bath, and on New Year’s we go to the forest to pick up Christmas trees. I want my grandfather to live long!

SVETA EGOROVA

My grandfather, Yuri Leonidovich Egorov, was born immediately after the war. It was a hungry time. Together with his dad, he collected mushrooms and berries in the forest, which helped them survive. He still retains his love and respect for nature. All the boys of that time dreamed of becoming soldiers. Grandfather also became an officer. He defended the air borders of our Motherland. Grandfather Yura told me about his places of service (Sakhalin, Uzbekistan, Arctic, etc.) Now he is a retired officer. In his free time from service, grandfather composes poems, poems, and songs about the Motherland for a collection of poems by the Lodeynopol poetic association "Contact".Grandfather's favorite pastime is fishing. Together we bring a rich catch. From his stories I know a lot about the life of forest animals, about edible and inedible mushrooms and berries. I like communicating with him because I learn a lot of new things from him.I am proud of my grandfather and want to be a worthy granddaughter and successor to family traditions!

SASHA ALEXEEV

There is one wonderful person in the world - this is my grandmother, Romanenko Zinaida Aleksandrovna. She worked as an elementary school teacher for many years. She taught children to write, read, count, and love nature.My grandmother is very kind. She is a good housewife, cooks deliciously, bakes pies. At the dacha she grows vegetables and fruits. She especially has delicious strawberries. When I visit my grandmother’s dacha, we go with her to the forest to pick mushrooms and berries.I love my grandmother very much, and she loves me. She helps me do my homework, and I try not to upset her!