We live in a world of inventions, old and new, simple and complex. Each of them has its own fascinating story. It is hard to even imagine how much useful, necessary our distant and close ancestors came up with. Let's talk about the things that surround us. How they were invented. We look in the mirror, eat with a spoon and fork, use a needle, scissors. We are used to these simple things. And we do not think about how people could do without them. But really, how? How did much of what has long become familiar, but once seemed outlandish, come into being?
holey awl
Which came first, the needle or the clothes? This question will probably surprise many: is it possible to sew clothes without a needle? It turns out you can.
Primitive man stitched animal skins, piercing them with fish bones or pointed animal bones. This is what ancient awls looked like. When the ears were drilled into the awls with fragments of flint (a very hard stone), needles were obtained.
After many millennia, bone needles were replaced by bronze ones, then iron ones. In Russia, it happened that silver needles were also forged. About six hundred years ago, Arab merchants brought the first steel needles to Europe. The threads were threaded into their ends bent by ringlets.
By the way, where is the eye of the needle? Looking at which one. The usual one has a blunt end, the machine one has a sharp one. However, some new sewing machines do just fine without needles and threads - they glue and weld the fabric.
Treasure of Roman soldiers
Ancient Roman soldiers - legionnaires - received an order to hastily leave the fortress. Before they left, they dug a deep hole and put heavy boxes in it.
The secret treasure was found by chance in our days. What was in the boxes? Seven tons of nails! The soldiers could not take them with them and buried them so that the enemy would not get a single one.
Why was it necessary to hide ordinary nails? These nails seem ordinary to us. And for people who lived thousands of years ago, they were a treasure. Metal nails were very expensive. It is not surprising that, even having learned how to process metal, our distant ancestors for a long time used the most ancient, albeit not so strong, but cheap “nails” - plant thorns, pointed slivers, bones of fish and animals.
How the bucks were beaten
Roman slaves stirred and served food in the kitchen with huge metal spoons, which we now probably would call ladles. And while eating in ancient times, they took food with their hands! This went on for many centuries. And only about two hundred years ago they realized that one cannot do without a spoon.
The first tablespoons were decorated with carvings and precious stones. They were made, of course, for the nobility and the rich. And those who were poorer ate soup and porridge with cheap wooden spoons.
Wooden spoons were used in different countries, including Russia. They made them like this. First, a log was split into pieces of suitable size - baklush. “Beat the buckets” was considered an easy task: after all, cutting and painting spoons is much more difficult. Now they say this about those who shirk hard work or do things somehow.
Fork and fork
The fork was invented later than the spoon. Why? It's easy to guess. You can’t scoop soup with your palm, but you can grab a piece of meat with your hands. It is said that the rich were the first to break this habit. Lush lace collars came into fashion. They prevented me from tilting my head. It became difficult to eat with your hands - so the fork appeared.
The fork, like the spoon, was not immediately recognized. First, breaking habits is not easy. Secondly, at first it was very uncomfortable: only two long teeth on a tiny handle. The meat strove to jump off the teeth, the handle slipped out of the fingers ... And what does the pitchfork have to do with it? Yes, despite the fact that, looking at them, our ancestors thought of the fork. So the similarity between them is not at all accidental. Both externally and in the title.
Why are buttons needed?
In the old days, clothes were laced up like shoes, or tied with ribbons. Sometimes clothes were fastened with cufflinks made of wooden sticks. Buttons were used as decoration.
Jewelers made them from precious stones, silver and gold, covered with intricate patterns.
When precious buttons began to be used as fasteners, some people considered this an unaffordable luxury.
The nobility and wealth of a person was judged by the number of buttons. That is why on rich old clothes there are often more of them than loops. So, the King of France, Francis I, ordered to decorate his black camisole with 13,600 gold buttons.
How many buttons are on your suit?
Are they all there?
If any of them come off, it doesn’t matter - after all, you probably already learned how to sew them on without your mother’s help ...
From bead to window
If you sprinkle earthenware with sand and ash, and then burn it, a beautiful shiny crust forms on it - glaze. This secret was known even by primitive potters.
One ancient master decided to mold something from glaze, that is, from sand and ash, without clay. He poured the mixture into a pot, melted it on the fire and snatched out a hot viscous drop with a stick.
The drop fell on the stone and froze. Got a bead. And it was made of real glass - only opaque. People liked glass so much that it became more valuable than gold and precious stones.
Glass that transmits light was invented many years later. Even later it was inserted into the windows. And this is where it came in very handy. After all, when there was no glass, the windows were covered with a bull's bladder, a canvas soaked in wax, or oiled paper. But mica was considered the most suitable. Navy sailors used it even when glass spread: mica did not shatter into smithereens from cannon shots.
Mica, which was mined in Russia, has long been famous. Foreigners spoke with admiration of "stone crystal", which is flexible like paper, and does not break.
Mirror or life
In one old fairy tale, the hero accidentally ate magic berries and wanted to drink them with water from a spring. He looked at his reflection in the water and gasped - he grew donkey ears!
Since ancient times, the calm surface of the water has indeed often served as a mirror for a person.
But you can’t take a quiet river backwater and even a puddle into your house.
I had to come up with solid mirrors made of polished stone or smooth metal plates.
These plates were sometimes covered with glass so that they would not darken in the air. And then vice versa - they learned to cover the glass with a thin metal film. It happened in the Italian city of Venice.
Venetian merchants sold glass mirrors at exorbitant prices. They were made on the island of Murano. How? For a long time it was a secret. Several masters shared their secrets with the French and paid with their lives for it.
In Russia, they also used metal mirrors made of bronze, silver and damask steel. Then there were glass mirrors. About three hundred years ago, Peter I ordered the construction of mirror factories in Kyiv.
Secret ice cream
Ancient manuscripts say that the ancient Greek commander Alexander the Great was served for dessert fruits and juices mixed with ice and snow.
In Russia, on holidays, next to pancakes, a dish with frozen, finely chopped milk sweetened with honey was placed on the table.
In the old days, in some countries, recipes for cold treats were kept secret, for their disclosure to court cooks, the death penalty threatened.
Yes, and making ice cream was not easy back then. Especially in summer.
Ice and snow were brought to the palace of Alexander the Great from the mountains.
Later they started selling ice, and how! Ships with transparent blocks in their holds hurried to the shores of hot countries. This continued until the appearance of "ice machines" - refrigerators. It happened about a hundred years ago.
Today, ice cream is sold everywhere and anything: fruit and berry, milk and cream. And it is available to everyone.
How the iron became electric
Everyone knows the electric iron. And when people did not know how to use electricity, what were the irons?
First, none. Ironed cold. Wet fabrics were carefully straightened and stretched before drying. Coarse fabrics were wound on a roller and driven along it with a corrugated board - a rubel.
But here come the irons. There were none among them. Stove, heated directly on the fire. Coal, with blowers, and even with a chimney, similar to stoves: hot coals smoldered in them. In a gas iron, gas was burned from a canister attached to the back, in a kerosene iron, kerosene.
The electric iron was invented a hundred years ago. He turned out to be the best. Especially after I got a temperature control device - a thermostat, as well as a humidifier ...
Irons are different, but their principle of operation is the same - first heat, then iron.
Doesn't bark, doesn't bite...
The first locks did not need a key: the doors were not locked, but tied with a rope. To prevent strangers from opening them, each owner tried to tighten the knot more cunningly.
The legend of the Gordian knot has survived to this day. Nobody managed to untie this knot until Alexander the Great cut it with a sword. In the same way, attackers began to deal with rope constipation.
It was more difficult to unlock the "live locks" - try to argue with a well-trained guard dog. And one ancient ruler ordered to make a pool with islands in the palace.
Wealth was piled on islands, toothy crocodiles were let into the water ... True, they did not know how to bark, but in order not to forget how to bite, they were kept starving.
To date, many locks and keys have been invented. There is also one that is unlocked ... with a finger. Do not be surprised - this is the most reliable lock. After all, no one repeats the pattern on the skin of the fingertips. Therefore, a special device unmistakably distinguishes the owner's finger stuck into the well from someone else's. Only the one who locked it can unlock the lock.
singing button
Before you step over the threshold of your apartment, you press a button. The bell rings and Mom hurries to open the door.
For the first time, an electric trill announced the arrival of a guest more than a hundred years ago, in France. Before that, there were mechanical bells - about the same as on modern bicycles. Such calls can sometimes be seen in homes today - as a reminder of the times when electricity was not used everywhere.
Grandma's chest
Grandma has a chest
And he is her best friend.
She will open it early
Sit comfortably on the sofa
And remember your life
Living so hard...
They say everything has a soul. It keeps the warmth of the touch of human hands, the energy of the master, a certain aura of the family, a secret. Especially old things. And although things cannot speak, they are silent witnesses of the era, witnesses of the life of our ancestors. They carefully preserve the history of each family.
In my grandmother's house, there is a large wooden chest near the Russian stove. It is painted dark red, bound with metal plates, with handles on the sides. The heavy semicircular lid is lifted by a round forged ring. There is a keyhole, only the key has long been lost. The chest is not locked. No one can say exactly how old he is. It was passed down from generation to generation, from mother to daughter. So my grandmother inherited it from her mother when my grandmother married my grandfather. There was her dowry: self-woven towels, new clothes, fabrics, jewelry. Grandmother still keeps the most valuable things in it - old photographs, grandfather's awards.
I often come to my grandmother, go up to this chest and, like a spell, say:
Chest! Chest!
Gilded barrel!
Painted cover!
Copper latch!
One two Three,
Open your lock!
I sit down next to my grandmother and carefully examine the black and white photographs that “take me away” far, far into the past.
I stare intently at these yellowed photographs and try to find similarities with today's images of my relatives.
Years run, fly, hurry. Photos remain and there is always the opportunity to return memories to the past. “... If you want life to repeat itself from the beginning, take a look at the family album!”
Lozbin Andrey, 6th grade
Vintage wardrobe
Old things are witnesses of the life of our ancestors. They carefully preserve the history of our family.
I want to tell you about an old thing that we have in the house. This is a wardrobe. According to his father, he is over 100 years old. It was made by my great-grandfather with his own hands. The cabinet is still in good condition. Looking at it, we can say that it was made with great love. After all, if you look at it more carefully, you will not see a single carnation. Previously, things were, although not very beautiful, but they served for a long time. There is a mirror on one of the cabinet doors. It is oval and large. Inside there are shelves on which mom puts things today. In the second section, you can store coats and jackets that hang on hangers, also made of wood.
The more you think about antiques, the more you think: “What were the masters!” Now everything is mechanized, machines and machine tools are everywhere. And before? Previously, everything was done by human hands.
Order of the Red Star
Human life is only a moment
In the boundless time of the universe,
And only in the memory of the living
She will remain incorruptible.
Our family has a valuable memorabilia that we cherish very much. This is the Order of the Red Star. This order was awarded to my great-grandfather for his courage and heroism during the Great Patriotic War. At that dashing time, he was a senior lieutenant, commander of a reconnaissance company. Collaborated with the newspaper "Red Star". His diaries have been preserved, where he kept records about the exploits and everyday life of fellow soldiers, about successes and defeats. We had to go through a lot, to suffer: the retreat of our troops and the encirclement, when they sat up to their necks in cold liquid for two weeks in a swamp; sorties behind enemy lines, capturing the "tongue", fierce battles with the enemy. And his merits were marked by such a high award.
More than sixty years have passed since the volleys of the Victory salute thundered, but the great feat of our great-grandfathers, who defended the Motherland, defended freedom and independence for us, will never be erased from the memory of generations.
I carefully consider the order. This is a dark red ruby star, in the center of which stands a warrior with a rifle on a gray background, surrounded by the inscription: "Proletarians of all countries, unite!". This order testifies to the dedication of our people during the war years. For our family, this thing is priceless, and we are proud of it.
It was not easy to run a household in Russia. Without access to the modern benefits of mankind, the ancient masters invented everyday items that helped a person to cope with many things. Many of these inventions have been forgotten today because technology, appliances, and changing lifestyles have completely supplanted them. But despite this, in terms of the originality of engineering solutions, ancient objects are in no way inferior to modern ones.
Stuff chest
For many years, people kept their valuables, clothes, money and other small things in chests. There is a version that they were invented in the Stone Age. It is authentically known that they were used by the ancient Egyptians, Romans and Greeks. Thanks to the armies of the conquerors and nomadic tribes, chests spread throughout the Eurasian continent and gradually reached Russia.
The chests were decorated with paintings, fabrics, carvings or patterns. They could serve not only as a hiding place, but as a bed, bench or chair. A family that had several chests was considered prosperous.
sadnik
One of the most important objects of the national economy in Russia was the gardener. It looked like a flat wide shovel on a long handle and was intended for sending bread or a pie to the oven. Russian craftsmen made an object from a solid piece of wood, mainly aspen, linden or alder. Having found a tree of the right size and suitable quality, it was split into two parts, carving one long board from each. After that, they were smoothly planed and the outline of the future gardener was drawn, trying to remove all kinds of knots and notches. Having cut out the desired object, it was carefully cleaned.
Rogach, poker, chapelnik (frying pan)
With the advent of the stove, these items have become indispensable in the household. Usually they were kept in the ward space and were always at hand with the hostess. Several types of tongs (large, medium and small), a teapot and two pokers were considered a standard set of oven equipment. In order not to get confused in objects, identification marks were cut out on their handles. Often such utensils were made to order from a village blacksmith, but there were craftsmen who could easily make a poker at home.
Sickle and millstone
At all times, bread was considered the main product of Russian cuisine. The flour for its preparation was extracted from the harvested grain crops, which were planted annually and manually harvested. A sickle helped them in this - a device that looks like an arc with a sharpened blade on a wooden handle.
As needed, the harvested crops were ground into flour by the peasants. This process was facilitated by hand millstones. For the first time, such a tool was discovered in the second half of the 1st century BC. A manual millstone looked like two circles, the sides of which fit snugly against each other. The upper layer had a special hole (grain was poured into it) and a handle with which the upper part of the millstone rotated. Such utensils were made of stone, granite, wood or sandstone.
pomelo
The pomelo looked like a cutting, at the end of which pine, juniper branches, rags, bast or brushwood were fixed. The name of the attribute of purity comes from the word revenge, and it was used exclusively for cleaning the ashes in the furnace or cleaning near it. To maintain order throughout the hut, a broom was used. Many proverbs and sayings were associated with them, which are still on the lips of many.
rocker
Like bread, water has always been an important resource. To cook dinner, water cattle or wash, it had to be brought. A faithful assistant in this was the yoke. It looked like a curved stick, to the ends of which special hooks were attached: buckets were attached to them. They made a rocker from linden, willow or aspen wood. The first reminders of this device date back to the 16th century, however, the archaeologists of Veliky Novgorod found many yokes made in the 11th-14th centuries.
Trough and rubel
In ancient times, linen was washed by hand in special vessels. A trough served for this purpose. In addition, it was used for feeding livestock, as a feeder, kneading dough, cooking pickles. The object got its name from the word "bark", because initially it was from it that the first troughs were made. Subsequently, they began to make it from the halves of the deck, gouging recesses in the logs.
Upon completion of washing and drying, the linen was ironed with a rubel. It looked like a rectangular board with notches on one side. Things were carefully wound on a rolling pin, a rubel was placed on top and rolled. Thus, linen fabric softened and leveled. The smooth side was painted and decorated with carvings.
cast iron iron
The rubel was replaced in Russia by a cast-iron iron. This event is marked by the 16th century. It is worth noting that not everyone had it, since it was very expensive. In addition, cast iron was heavy and harder to iron than the old way. There were several types of irons, depending on the method of heating: burning coals were poured into some, while others were heated on the stove. Such a unit weighed from 5 to 12 kilograms. Later, the coals were replaced with cast-iron blanks.
spinning wheel
An important component of Russian life was the spinning wheel. In ancient Russia, it was also called the "whorl", from the word "spin". Distaffs-bottoms were popular, having the form of a flat board on which the spinner sat, with a vertical neck and a spade. The upper part of the spinning wheel was richly decorated with carvings or painting. At the beginning of the 14th century, the first spinning wheels appeared in Europe. They looked like a wheel perpendicular to the floor and a cylinder with a spindle. Women, with one hand, fed threads to the spindle, and with the other they scrolled the wheel. This method of twisting the fibers was simpler and faster, which greatly facilitated the work.
Today it is very interesting to see what it was.
Barsukova Nadezhda, Vanyan Daria, Mokretsova Elizaveta, Kholina Elizaveta, Kokoshko Roman
Download:
Preview:
Works of the winners of the school competition
Fairy tale stories on the topic "Educational things".
Subject: literary reading, L. Klimanova's program, Grade 2, EMC "School of Russia"
year 2013
Complaints about school supplies or an undercover operation.
Once in one pencil case we heard a conversation. Everyone whispered. The brush was the first to start: “In a technology lesson, they glued paper to me and forgot to wash it. Now I'm covered in glue!" then the pencil began to say: “Glue for you! And they smeared me in jelly! Yesterday my hostess was eating a pie with her guests, and she threw me on the shelf. They began to jump, and I fell off the shelf onto the plate. And there is jelly! Then the pen could not stand it and began to complain: “They dirty you, let them wash you, but they gnawed me! Now that's how ugly I am!
Suddenly, a noise was heard from the backpack. It was the diary who spoke, or rather, he wept: “They ripped the leaf out of me! And they instructed some more twos and threes! Our hostess does not want to take care of us at all. You have to teach her!" And then the backpack said: “Tonight, I will open the zipper and set you free. Well, don't waste your time, run to the window and jump into it! Hurry to apartment number 40…”
At night, when the hostess Katerina, a second grade student, fell asleep without putting her school supplies in order, things were done as the backpack said. They came to the new mistress, and she took care of them very much and looked after them well.
Kholina Elizaveta Grade 2
The joys and sorrows of a pencil.
A pencil stands in a jar and thinks, what does he have more joy or bitterness? Bitterness is a harmful eraser that can erase his work. The owner, who presses on him so hard that his thin nose breaks. But his most dangerous enemy is a sharpener, from a sharpener the pencil becomes smaller and smaller and gradually turns into an unnecessary “stub”.
What about joy? The pencil remembered that he was always at hand and helped the owner to make accurate drawings. How together they painted beautiful landscapes and portraits that last for a long time.
I realized that the owner needed a pencil and that he could not do without it. After all, the most important thing in life is to be useful!
Mokretsova Elizaveta Grade 2
Brush rescue.
At the technology lesson, the girl Lera made paper decorations for the Christmas tree. She tried very hard and wanted to make a garland before anyone else. She succeeded. The bell rang, and Lera ran to show her craft to her friends. And the glue brush was left on the table. She felt her bristles dry out, she wanted to scream, but she couldn't.
And suddenly the school supplies that were on the table came to life. The brush was very afraid for her hair. Her villi were all covered in fresh glue. If the glue dries, then nothing will save her.
How can I get to the water? whispered the brush. Then all the subjects began to help her. They made a swing out of a ruler and a compass. The pencil helped the brush slide down to one end of the swing, the eraser jumped with all its might to the other end. The brush flew up and ended up in a glass of water. Friends got it right. The brush is saved. Then Lera remembered that she needed to clean her workplace. She was surprised to see the brush in the water, immediately washed it from the glue. Everyone was happy and ready to do crafts with Leroy for the holiday again.
Barsukova Nadezhda Grade 2
Complaints about school things.
One evening I went to bed. The room was dark. I heard a rustle. In the darkness, I could see how the lid of the pencil case opened, and my writing materials looked out from there.
The pencil spoke first. He was glad that he was often used, and considered himself the most important. Only one thing upset him: occasionally a sharpener gnawed at him, and he became smaller and smaller. The pen said it was running out of ink quickly. Eraser also said that he worked hard every day and that he was losing weight. Then everyone heard the sobbing of the brush. She said that she had not been picked up for a long time, she was smeared with glue, and now she has dried up and no one needs her. Everyone began to feel sorry for the brush. Pens and pencils decided to save a friend. They wrote a letter asking me to free the brush from the glue.
In the morning I got up and remembered my dream, took a brush and cleaned it of glue. I think that all things were satisfied. I realized that I need to take care of my school supplies!
Vanyan Daria Grade 2
History of colored pencils.
For my birthday, I was given a large set of colored pencils. I drew for a long time that day and did not notice how dark it was. And then I imagined that my pencils came to life. I heard the conversation of colored pencils.
The black pencil was very sad. I asked him why is he sad? He replied that he paints only black asphalt, black earth, black birds, and therefore he is sad. Then other pencils intervened and calmed him down.
Multi-colored cars drive along your black asphalt, wonderful multi-colored flowers, trees, and shrubs grow on the black earth. We cannot live without each other. Let's be friends, and then together we will turn the world into a blooming garden!
Kokoshko Roman Grade 2
Be it a brooch, a book, a closet... We are waiting for family stories about things that are dear to you and your family, without which a home is unthinkable. Or - about things donated by loved ones, which are more to you than an inanimate object.
"The History of One Thing" is a competition in which everyone can become a participant.
Terms:You need to send an interesting story about your favorite things. Be it a brooch, a book, a wardrobe. We are waiting for family stories about things that are dear to you and your family, without which a house is unthinkable. Or - about things donated by loved ones, which are more to you than an inanimate object. Tell stories about "living" items from home collections. Submit your story to the editors of Fontanka via the contest form below. Attach a photo. Don't forget to include your coordinates.
Results: The results of the competition will be summed up on March 15. And the BODUM company, whose porcelain is stored in world design museums, will present a gift to three authors. Prizes from the brand BODUM: coffee grinder, electric kettle, teapot. Since 1944, the brand has been producing dishes. For more than sixty years of its history, it has created many things that have become legendary. The famous Osiris teapot is in the MoMA museum, and the French press BODUM coffee pot has become a visual synonym for Parisian coffee houses.
Yulia Arkadievna Paramonova, St. Petersburg
silver coin
My family keeps a silver coin, which, according to legend, was given to my great-grandmother by Nicholas II. She was just a little girl, it was the very end of the 19th century. Nicholas was not yet emperor and traveled the world. He has servants with him, and among them are my great-great-grandfather and his young wife, my great-great-grandmother. She cooked, great-great-grandfather was a batman. In general, in the middle of the journey, they found out that they would have a child. And so it happened that I had to give birth in Bombay! They were very worried, a foreign country, incomprehensible orders, everything unknown. Great-grandmother was born, thank God, without complications. All was good. And it so happened that somehow Nikolai saw my great-great-grandmother with her great-grandmother in her arms. And gave me a coin. They immediately decided not to spend it on anything, but to keep it. It became a great-grandmother's talisman, and then a relic of the whole family. With Nikolai then they also visited Egypt and Siam - that was such an interesting life.
Irina:
"Chicken God"
Ludmila Vostretsova.
Dear Desk
About ten years ago I moved an old table from my parents. He moves apart and can gather about twenty people around him. The top tabletop cracked along its entire length, but assembled by a skilled craftsman, the table still serves with dignity.
I remember well his solemn entry into his parents' house in the early 1950s. The appearance of the table opened the procession of new furniture: a huge sideboard, a voluminous wardrobe, a coquettish mirror in a wide frame, towering over the dressing table and a small bookcase on the bedside table. Chairs with straight backs were the last to be brought in (at that time, the word ergonomics was not in the vocabulary of our family, and the straight backs of the chairs did not yet bend carefully, supporting the lower back).
It is probably difficult for residents of capital cities to appreciate such an event. We lived then in a small Siberian mining town. I don't remember furniture stores at all. There was also no commission trade. After graduating from the institute, my father got a position as a teacher in a mining college. In our first dwelling - a room in a wooden house - the main place was occupied by my grandmother's chest (it is still alive today). Then a closet and a chest of drawers appeared in a small apartment, and, finally, a two-story house was built for teachers next to the technical school, in which we ended up with a three-room apartment. This is where the furniture comes in.
A folk craftsman was found who created our wonderful set for us. He made it from Siberian cedar, so so far not a single pest has left a single trace of damage on the tree. The sanded surfaces are tinted, probably with stain, and varnished (still preserved), so they acquired the noble look of mahogany. It was a "smart" purchase.
Our family lifestyle today would be called an "open house". Neighbors-colleagues constantly sat at our table. Then my many classmates also began to gather around him, then friends of my younger sisters joined them. When it was decided in the family that it would be more convenient to gather friends at a round table, ours, hospitable and already somewhat old, moved to the “nursery”, where we did our homework for him. For this purpose, it also turned out to be surprisingly convenient: the legs of the table are fixed not only under the table top, but also below - with a spacer, just at the height where it was convenient to put the legs.
It is very comfortable to sit at this table even today. He has aged, of course. In addition to a deep wrinkle-crack, he also has bald patches on the varnish surface. Today he substitutes his sliding wings not under plates and salad bowls, but under piles of books; in the center - patiently holding a computer. In the market - a vanity fair - hardly anyone will pay attention to him. But I feel comfortable working at this table. All my relatives, both living and departed, are next to me.
Daria Selyakova.
My house
Strange as it may seem, I don't have a favorite thing in my house yet. I just love my home. But it didn't happen right away. It didn't take long for me to fall in love with my house. I moved into an apartment where other people lived and lived for two years, getting used to the new space. I never got used to it, especially when I discovered the ubiquitous drywall under the wallpaper. Then my confidence in the strength of my house was literally physically shaken. I knew that the house was built in 1900, and only this gave me confidence that there must be at least some human materials under the plasterboard. At night, i.e. coming home late from work, I picked off this very drywall piece by piece, and started with the doors. Surprising things began to show up: the doorways were huge, as if specially for double doors (how romantic). Then the plaster fell like a hail of stones, shingles broke off, and, finally, a real wall was exposed - a palisade of thick wood with cracks and holes from knots. Yes, but the cracks were filled with ordinary tow, like hay. And I felt somehow calm. I realized that I have walls, those that "help", and this is MY house. And I began to "build" it according to my own principles: the windows that I ordered - wooden and very durable - these are my favorite windows; doors (there are 5 of them - 2 of them are double-leaf, 1 glass), with a reminder of the former beauty and craftsmanship of carpentry. And these are MY favorite doors. There is a roof over your head, thank God, although the ceiling requires serious repairs. Next will be: favorite wallpapers, favorite tiles, favorite paints, then solid objects and nice hangers. But the main "thing" has already appeared - "small motherland" ("here is my village, here is my home .."). And here already there is no sentimentality, it is an instinct.
Vera Solntseva.
Doll
For my birth, my godparents gave me a doll. An ordinary Soviet doll with a rubber head and blue eyes, yellow stiff short hair, a plump face and a plastic body. She was with me even at a time when I myself did not remember. There are photos where the doll Katya is bigger than me, there are photos where she is a little bit smaller than me, there are photos where I seem to be already big and dragging my Katya by the hair. Katya became the most important toy of my childhood. She always ruled the puppet tea parties. She had a girlfriend - Tanya doll, more
Roll in size, but for some reason much less my favorite. And the rest of the toys that appeared in my childhood could not be compared with Katya. Katya was the main and beloved.
My grandmother, with whom I spent a lot of time, loved to knit. She tied the whole family, including my Katya. The doll Tanya was also tied up, but not with such love. When I was very little, I loved to sit and watch how the thread decreases from the glomerulus. Then somehow I took a hook and began to knit myself, this skill was transferred to me by itself, I didn’t even have to study much. Strange, thanks to my grandmother for this and eternal memory.
I remember once we knitted a wedding dress with my grandmother Katya: a white skirt, a blouse, a Panama hat, a scarf, a handbag and socks. It became Katya's favorite outfit, she mostly wore it. When I grew up, Katya sat in the closet for a long time. About once a year, her clothes were washed, and then they put them on the top shelf. Later wrapped in a bag and removed somewhere else
quite far. And somehow, in my opinion, when I was already studying at the institute, they did a general cleaning at home, and Katya was found. I took it and suddenly noticed that her eye was broken. There were such eyelids with cilia that closed if Katya was put down.
And so the eye stopped opening. I suddenly felt hurt and offended for her, lying for so many years, wrapped in a bag, forgotten, unnecessary. I was a little ashamed of my feelings for the plastic doll. But still she cried. I remember my mother’s bewilderment: “Vera, why are you crying?” "Katya's eye is broken." This is the last thing I remember about Katya. This feeling
affection and love, overlaid with a sense of shame for their emotions.
Svetlana.
ficus 
My husband and ficus moved into my apartment at the same time. The husband held a ficus and a bag of things, the ficus held on with the last of his strength. "Sick," I thought. About ficus. “He’s kind of dwarfed by me,” my husband shrugged his shoulders, “for two years now he’s been sitting still, not growing.” From that time on, our life together began as a trio.
Ficus turned out to be a typical man: he demanded a lot of attention and promised nothing in return. At first, together we chose a suitable window sill for him: so that it would not be hot, not cold, not windy, not too bright, not too dark, and so that there were decent neighbors. The search for a suitable pot, soil, fertilizer and other male accessories was given the same work. "Fed, watered, heat me a bathhouse." With a soft, damp cloth, I washed each leaf from the dust of my bachelor years and told the ficus how good, shiny, beautiful, promising and unique it is. And he believed.
Every day I told my husband: "Good morning, my love," and ficus: Hello, ficus! And the men began to grow. The husband is predominantly in the abdomen, and the ficus grew taller, like a short teenager sitting on the first desk. Every year we buy wider pants and bigger pots. And then the critical moment came: the ficus ceased to fit on the windowsill. "I'll have to give it to my mother or to a kindergarten," the husband said. The ficus and I became sad at the prospect of an imminent separation, the ficus even dropped a couple of leaves on my carpet. I remembered them on the threshold, embarrassed and young ... My husband seemed to remember this too, when I returned from work the next day, he greeted me with an enigmatic smile. From the table in the corner of the hall, the good old ficus was smiling with bright greenery :). It continues to grow, and the husband often jokes that soon a hole in the ceiling will have to be drilled. But no more stuttering about moving :)
Dunya Ulyanova.
old wardrobe
For many years there is an old wardrobe in our hallway. The jackets of the grown son are stored there, the raincoats of the husband, my coats that have not been worn for a long time. When guests arrive soaked under the usual St. Petersburg rains, there is always something in the closet that fits someone. The closet is called Grandma's, and I remember it all my life.
It is simple and elegant at the same time - a large mirror with wide chamfers is inserted into the right door, and the left door is decorated with a carved flower on a long stem, a familiar sign of Art Nouveau that does not die in furniture business. The closet appeared in a communal apartment on Ligovka, in a former pepper house, back in the thirtieth year. It was purchased under the so-called "subscription" announced to support the production of a furniture factory, that is, they contributed money and later received a beautiful "furniture" among the first buyers. In 1934, the family moved to the Petrograd side in a cooperative house, and the closet took its place in the new apartment. He kept grandma's smart colorful dresses, grandfather's white trousers and shirts, mother's school robe - things that pre-war photographs remind of. They did not burn it during the blockade, they only carefully swept away all the crusts from old sandwiches that accidentally fell under it. In 1949 the family got smaller and my grandmother changed her apartment. Older faces were reflected in the mirror of the faded wardrobe now, and not very fashionable clothes hung on the shoulders. Dozens of years have passed, young people who love other objects live in our house. An old wardrobe stands in the hallway, its mirror darkened and covered with small cracks of wrinkles. But now a little girl is looking into it, inventing something, and the closet is quietly answering her...
Irina Zhukova.
Chair number 14
This is a wooden object with a curved back in a circle, an object of amazing harmony. I rely on him when I get to work. And if in the middle of the day an eye falls on him, then He invariably pleases - such a perfect and unassumingly simple form. Its back is two portly arches or two semicircles. The seat is two perfect circles - one carefully bends around the other, fitting tightly, so that the centuries are not terrible. Chair number fourteen! I did not know that there was such a chair in the history of the famous Viennese carpenter Michael Thonet. That in the 50s of the 19th century it was the most popular and massive, that, in fact, all the Viennese chairs in the world and the romantically sophisticated concept of “Viennese furniture” went from it. That already after His launch to the masses, Thonet and his sons opened the production of rocking chairs, dressing tables, cradles, beds, tables made of bent wood. It was the easiest chair ever. There are only six parts in the kit, and the joints with the back and legs are lapped and stitched with wooden screws, which today seems impossible. The 14th model was "licensed". The previous ones, from which the image was formed, seem to not count now ... Rereading the history of this chair, I imagined how difficult it was from the first time for the German Thonet in Austria to receive privileges for the manufacture of chairs and table legs from bent wood, “previously steamed with water steamed or soaked in boiling liquid. I imagined in every detail how once this chair of mine was held by the hands of a master. Was it Thonet himself or his son: Franz?, Michael? Joseph? or August? One of my pairs was then repaired in a completely unprivileged way: around the perimeter of the seat, the chair was trimmed with small carnations, which did not spoil its charm, but added dramaturgy.
Mom, after the death of her grandmother, wanted to get rid of the chairs. But I did not, because its forms have always fascinated me. And then a friend came to visit with her sister, who said: "Yes, this is Thonet's chair." I nodded, adding that it might well be, but I still haven’t been able to find the master’s print. Then we turned the chair over again and found an inscription under the rim of the seat.
Two Thonet chairs lived in my apartment with my grandmother's closet, sideboard and round wooden table. Despite the outward refinement, I know how strong they are. The strength of the Thonet chair was once demonstrated in a spectacular publicity stunt: it was thrown from the Eiffel Tower and did not break. Not a single piece of modern furniture could stand such a test.
What else I learned about my chair: that the cost of one such chair in the early 19th century was about three Austrian forints. Come to think of it, he's over a hundred and fifty years old. One can only imagine what kind of people were sitting on it and what kind of conversations they did not have.
Elena Alekseevna.
casket
I have a box: a wooden box with a hinged lid, on which is an unpretentious oil landscape - green fir trees and birch trees, surrounded by a simple carved frame. It seems to me that almost every family had the same 50 years ago. I remember her as much as I remember myself, for almost half a century. As a child, the box seemed to me a magic chest. It contained buttons. I loved to touch them, played with them, for some reason always in Mowgli. She laid out buttons of various shapes and colors on the table and appointed one Hathi, one Bagheera. And on the back of the lid, I liked to scribble with a colored pencil. The box survived many family disasters, moved with me from apartment to apartment. I still keep my buttons in it, and some of them are the same ones I played with as a child, and on the inside of the lid are my childhood scribbles. I hope to leave this family heirloom to my grandchildren, if they ever have.
Tsvetkova Valentina.
Gift
There is a thing without which my house is unthinkable for some time now. There is no family significance in it, and even the situation associated with its appearance is not worth it to take a place among the memorable events of my life. She has no history, she IS history, and a reminder, and a memory. The awareness of her presence is enough. By itself, it does not cause affection, perhaps it could easily be replaced by another. With an absolute minimum of subject value, its purpose is much higher than its cost. Gradually, there was a feeling or even confidence that not you, but she found you.
In fact, I happened to buy at an Orthodox fair a reproduction of Andrei Rublev's "Trinity", pasted on a board and covered with a thick layer of varnish - an ICON. And acquiring - found. An opportunity to join the absolute in Love. And to understand the essence of things.
Irina Igorevna.
Grandma's book
I will write about my grandmother's favorite book, but rather about my grandmother. She has been gone for a long time, there is almost no one to remember her. For the rest of my life, I've been damned sorry my daughter didn't get to meet her. It could have, but it didn't. Grandmother died young, barely having time to see me as a schoolgirl. With the departure of my grandmother, childhood did not end, but it ceased to be totally happy, it became differently colored. Something fundamental was shaken forever, but even in death, grandmother did good, evoking the first critical thought: is everything here as well arranged as it seems?
The memory tape is being rewound. New Year. Huge apartment of friends. Everything is interesting and mysteriously magical. Children's performances. Problems from Perelman - who will be the first to figure it out? An unprecedented, forgotten height of a Christmas tree - we now have low ceilings at home. Sudden silence, floorboards creaking. My parents came for me, they hug me: my grandmother is no more. Roar theatrically: so it is necessary. But I don't believe them. How is it not? I am, so she is.
First grade. Uncle Borya (he is no uncle at all, he is a colleague of his grandfather) grows unprecedented gladioli, receiving bulbs from Holland (Holland is only from a book about magic skates, there is no other, but there is no doubt that they can be sent from it. Uncle Boris has everything maybe: he has a TV, we go to him to shout “puck-puck” for Spartak). Grandmother grows bulbs on her uncle's balcony. There are always onlookers under the balcony. They look at gladioli, which do not exist: they are green, black and purple - I go to first grade with them - with an avant-garde bouquet. The sun through the black petals - from pink to purple. Grandma tied up especially tight, strict schoolgirl! - pigtails, apron and collars are sewn by her, starched cambric. The balcony smells of sweet peas until October, summer lasts - this is also a grandmother. Her joy from the first large refrigerator "Oka" (he is taller than me), the compartments for eggs cause delight - as they came up with, huh?! - with special recesses. My real uncle sent him in a roundabout way, across the country (it turned out that my grandmother has a son, he is my mother’s older brother, but I don’t know him, he is a military engineer, he serves in Kyrgyzstan. - Where is it? I climb into the Encyclopedia - green roots - she at the bottom of the rack, it's interesting to read there). My new word - he sent in a "container". Everyone is excited and happy.
Country house. We are "shooting". In the city, waking up, I hear voices in the kitchen through the wall: the price has risen, 150 rubles! What to do? Smiling, I fall asleep, what nonsense, summer and the sea will be, and my grandmother so tenderly says to my grandfather: “My dear, Bubble needs the sea.” I sleep, and the pillow smells so delicious.
Country house. Dark. The noise of the surf and firs. A moth knocking on a lampshade. Silencer crackle. Words: BBC, Voice of America, Seva of Novgorodians. Grandmother plays solitaire, grandfather makes crafts, he has “golden hands”. Listening to the radio, they exchange furtive glances, for some reason they have fun. I need to sleep a lot: I have "rheumatism". Grandmother says: Leningrad is in the swamp, you will recover soon, everyone in the family has it. I don't know the word "genus", I'm asking. Wow: my grandmother also had a grandmother, she came to her from Warsaw in a carriage (wow! Was she a princess?), And then the whites came, then the reds. Grandfather's voice: girls, sleep! Grandfather is always next to grandmother, he only goes to work. Glancing, am I sleeping? - They kiss. Like I don't know? They always kiss: "My dear grandmother" and "Irishenka is my favorite."
Morning, sun: how many interesting things will be today! Grandmother's hands in uniform motion: knit, sew, type, wash. Grandma has freckles, she's covered in golden dots, and she has gray eyes, she's lucky, she has huge, enormous ones. They say they glow. And she has extraordinary hair, they say: mop. Words: Vrubel's angel. What's this? Interesting.
House, 17th line. The silhouette of an awake grandmother: her back is straight, straight, her eyes laugh, she is very young with her back to the light. - "The squirrel came? She came and brought you 3 nuts." I'm headlong out of bed: that's great! The squirrel (she is drawn on a bookmark, and comes to life at night, and therefore only her grandmother sees her) was here again: here they are, nuts. What a great life.
First memory. The sky is terribly-huge, crashed from a swing, paralyzes with pain and horror. Below the sky, the grandmother's face floats into the frame, and the smell of perfume, and strong, and gentle hands - it just seemed that it was scary.
Old box, there are letters and documents. 1909, telegram Perm-Pyatigorsk: “A dark-haired daughter was born. Everyone is healthy." Leningrad University. “Not accepted by the social. origin." Laboratory assistant, educator, typist. Questionnaire: "There was a brother: he was shot in 1918." Sister: sentenced in 1948. Uncle - March 1935, his wife - 1935. The rest - 1938. Karpovka 39, apartment 1. Post-war letters to her husband: “Bob, dear, don’t worry, we are all healthy and miss you ..”
Grandma never insisted on anything. She listened, understood, loved everyone. “If you please” was the most angry verb in my grandmother’s vocabulary: “If you please, ask for forgiveness, Herod of the human race.” She was firm only in the fact that “coffee” of the neuter gender is “utter nonsense”, and “if you want in a man’s, then if you please: “coffee” and “coffee”. But she was still strict in the amendment: “We were not“ evacuated ”. It was a business trip of the People's Commissar. Grandfather was not allowed to go to the front - as a specialist. “He tried to leave us, he ran to the military registration and enlistment office.” At the end of March 1942, they were taken out of Leningrad on a military plane: a husband, a wife, and two children. The children no longer got up, they had to learn to walk all over again. The weight of the cargo was strictly limited. Grandmother bandaged her favorite book into the hollow of her stomach. She is fat, but the pit of the hypochondrium to the spine contained it, it was imperceptible. Everything left was lost. All memory, all library. Grandma took out three books for the children: Alice in Wonderland, Little Lord Fauntleroy, Knights of the Round Table. And this one, with which she could not part, although she knew it by heart: Lermontov. Works. M., 1891. Anniversary edition. Illustrations by Aivazovsky, Vasnetsov, Vrubel. Pictures of my childhood.
I prefer the verse about “the trembling lights of sad villages,” and my grandmother, Irina Ivanovna, read with inspiration: “open the dungeon for me.” She just flew away from me with her ever-loving Lermontov. It was not made at all by the “grandmother”. I think now I understand what it was about. But probably not everything.
Elena Alekseeva.
FROM part 
I want to talk about a family heirloom. This is an old dessert plate from the Kuznetsov factory. She is all that is left of the grandmother's service. Sometime in March 1929, her parents gave her this service for her wedding. My story is about the history of this plate.
In September 1941, German troops approached the small town of Malaya Vishera, where my family lived. The city was bombed, and a grandmother with two children hid in the garden in a hole dug in the ground. Her husband, my grandfather, was a machinist. Engineers were not called up to the active army, since in fact the October Railway was the front. One September day, grandfather managed to get home. He told the grandmother and children to pack up and take with them only the most minimal set. Grandmother refused to leave without dishes. After arguing for a long time, grandfather found a way out. He offered to bury the dishes in the ground so that when they returned, everything could be obtained. Granny packed her services, figurines, vases carefully and for a long time. I put everything in boxes and late at night, in the dark, they buried everything. Early in the morning, on a hired cart, grandfather took grandma and children to the remote village of Klenovo. There was nowhere else to take it: on the one hand, Leningrad, surrounded by the enemy, on the other hand, Moscow, where there were also battles. A grandmother and her sons lived in this village for about two years. She worked on the collective farm on a par with village women. And then the day came to return home.
The city was unrecognizable. Grandma immediately started looking for her boxes. Some of them disappeared. Looks like it was dug up and stolen. Most of it was just broken. Of all the porcelain she loved so much, only one plate remained. Her grandmother took care of her all her life. For her, she was a kind of line between life after the 45th and that life before the war, when she was so happy. Then her parents, brothers, sisters were alive; she had her own big house and two beautiful little sons. Grandmother was a choir soloist in a club, drowning in her husband's love; she could afford to take a train and go to Leningrad for a concert by Claudia Shulzhenko. Until the end of her days, grandma loved to sing: “I am a cucaracha, I am a cucaracha ...” And most importantly, she was so young and carefree.
When the war ended ... Yurochka's beloved younger brother went missing, another brother, Misha, died during the bombing of a diesel locomotive. The same bomb shook the hands of her husband Shurik. Brother Victor lost his leg and became addicted to alcohol after the war. Sister Susanna died of typhus. In the late forties, the eldest son brought a grenade from the forest and, while playing, threw it into the fire. The fragments made the youngest son disabled.
Grandma and Grandpa lived very long lives. Grandfather died at 95, and grandmother at 92. After the war, they had a daughter - my mother. They built a new house, planted and grew a huge apple orchard.
And only when the grandmother took this plate in her hands, her eyes filled with tears, and she repeated very quietly: “How happy I was then.”
