Eagerly waiting for the Christmas holidays, my irrepressible head was filled with a variety of creative plans. Further, I ask the respected reader to gain brotherly tolerance to me, for some time I want to “pojate”, sing the praises of observation, and indeed, I’m going to dissolve your tail plucked, at least for himself, in order to admire it, even on one side and threatening to break his neck.
So, while the “Dumka grew rich”, as they say, while the foolish thought, and God still had. Being engaged in Taekwondo for two days in a row, God knows what the third is my alter ego asked me an unexpected question: and what is, in fact, I’ve been doing? And I, as a careless schoolboy in front of a strict teacher, I felt extremely embarrassed for not learned the lesson quickly began to continue their cross-cultural treatise. What? Well, absolutely nothing? — telling me my alter ego. That may be so. Who knows. How often the most trifling strangely adopts the most that neither is remarkable, and the most worthy of attention only causes disgust smile.
Speaking of Christmas in Belarus, I must say that it is celebrated here twice: the twenty-fifth of December and, naturally, the seventh of January. Twenty — five Catholics, or as they call themselves “Polish Catholics”, and seventh, respectively, Orthodox. That’s quite funny, congratulate each other with the Catholic, Polish Christmas, and often celebrate it, and Orthodox.
From a conversation overheard a few days ago:
— Merry Christmas, Mary! I wish you long life! Merry Christmas Elena Nikolaevna! And you many years! — I am interested in Ivanna, aren’t you Orthodox? — Orthodox — firmly — and how could I doubt? — responsible Ivanna. And Nikolavna? And Nikolavna Orthodox! You didn’t know? — surprised by my carelessness Ivanna. — What are you, the fact that, each other with Christmas congratulations? — Uh-uh…Hmm… So decided to rotate me in the eyes of Ivanna.
That’s where the unifying force of faith! That’s where religious unity and kinship! This in an age of religious schisms, divisions and build their own churches. Two Orthodox congratulating each other with “not his” festival and running his own mark. But this case is clear: it has long been noticed, although the day we all Irlanii SV. Patrick, though day knows whence undertaken SV. Valentine, though demonic, abbreviated in our consumer taste, Halloween (all saints ‘ Day, and in fact, became the day all the devils), and only the occasion was! Noted the same earlier domestic-scale housing, in his kitchen, the days of the Bastille, the liberation of Grenada and the capture of Khalkhin Gol.
Just a few years ago, however, we had porazumnee: Catholics rested on their Christmas day, Orthodox Christians on their own. And, of course, its celebrated. There was a certain logic and order. And now everything is mixed up. Perhaps the crisis is to blame. The authorities better to work less at the factory was hanging around. Let them, better than sitting at home, drinking vodka and kawaskai bites.
But despite my slight malice, we must recognize that first and second Christmas here are very serious. However, often “seriously” naive, sometimes reaching absurd to the elegant, appearance-revealing way. But, if you dig a little deeper. And if you do not get to the root causes, then all rank Chinar. For example, my neighbor, a woman deeply believing, (“deep” here probably refers to the observance of external religious ceremony — well, there is the Church of the resurrection to come, candles to put, etc.), nearly speechless did not dare when I saw that I am Sunday doing some work. Chastised me, in a neighborly way, but with women inherent in “Panikovsky” a La “there was an irreparable disaster — all died,” she still could not calm down from my “disbelief”. To which I delicately replied that more work on Sunday, the Lord hates laziness any day of the week. And that this sin, I’ll forgive you.
Remember, in these Christmas days, going to Church at the convent we have in Grodno. Often on these religious holidays, parishioners put up different shrines: icon of righteous power, ecclesiastical paraphernalia, which allegedly so many centuries, and which reportedly touched so-and, as a rule, well known to all believers. Well, it’s kind of like big hotels and restaurants are incredibly proud of what they have allegedly visited Michael Jackson himself. Hang as relics of the napkin with which he wiped away, and the years do not wash the Cup, from which drinking this St. Michael. Or recently, the story we have told: in a Minsk shop frequented Berlusconi himself. Well, this one Italian almost Holy, because it is all hope — and there, and here. So this August story from mouth to mouth reverently passed on the floor of Minsk. The clerk of the bench, for sure, she was from happiness in heaven, it descended and turned the Holy Silvio. Pleased with the fact that despite all newspaper troubadours about the coming of this Saint in our pagan region, not all were so irrepressible and enthusiastic and naive, and quietly laughed himself to us over the coming of the Holy Silvio, — and, out loud because here it is impossible — who knew where and what store, and what a gem Chichi, who he allegedly spontaneously buy. And pohihikivali over all empty hype, which is almost a Holy aura surrounded the visit sensualist and Italian Ostap Bender from the policy.
So, I was in that Church, where the holidays brought some kind of Shrine. And so the parishioners would like to join this Holy healing icon supposedly the 18th century, which was hidden behind the new glass is obviously from the days not so ancient, covered with suspiciously shiny varnish, and generally looked bad — who would have thought that the Shrine more than two hundred years! — that they do everything to step on each other’s toes, banging elbows and hiss at each other, and generally forgetting where they are. The second commandment, in making the Shrine, was completely forgotten. Since there were mostly elderly women, it occurred to me to skip forward a humane one especially draglink Granny, go, miserable, you have a need. Well, absolutely nothing. The people behind me to see such altruism in the Church was clearly not usual. Yes, when the Shrine was brought! Began these miserable grandmother-God’s adowany me in the back sadly to hiss. So-and-so, the FAQ queue skip, and a? Look at you, for others to enter Paradise wants! Honestly, I, from habit, to cry as much as I wanted. How is it, people? You’re in Church! You’re the Lord came to visit, and stepping on the feet of each other. Oh!
Kissed I the icon, thinking just sad and unnecessary Duma got the light of God and the soul, is the divine light and joy, was a mundane lead, and sadness. From the Church rather walked “babysave”. On their faces was written contentment. The head was raised proudly, warmly wrapped figures important peasanty. They “joined”. From flesh and blood tasted. His duty fulfilled. Oh, and merry Christmas to you, brothers and sisters!
About the Belarusian children
I like Belarusian kids. No, I do not think anything “such”. And then on fashion the background of a General hysteria, fanned by unruly media, some violent head primerisima knows that. My sympathy to the children is kept within certain limits of love and decency. And I like them the most. Well, after brief communication. To minutes of commercials, fifteen a day. And the rest of the time at a distance, in the distance.
The happiest time of life in Belarus, a short human of the century, in my subjective opinion, falls at the age of five to twelve years. And as unhappy and uncomfortable here can feel sometimes pondered over his joyless existence seeking freedom, a grown man, just as happily and comfortably here, you can be in this age of innocence and ignorance. Maybe on the universal principle “nothing comes from nowhere and disappears into nowhere. If, somewhere will diminish — so somewhere will be added”? I do not know. But the fact remains.
From the first day here walking along the Railways of the country, I gladly considered incredibly independent and always well-groomed Belarusian children. No matter what kind of a forgotten stop we stayed in some five-thousand Kiptivka or modest Smorgon — with huge backpacks behind the back, in the early with glasses neat, clean and tidy, at the door grandly appeared, gently passed up the aisle and sat on your seats legs-hlopchiki and dewchenka.
Usual for children of their age the uproar, quite adult, they got some children’s magazine or a mobile phone and was made for the puzzle, crossword, game. Eating in the evening mom cooked the sandwich, they did not throw away the package and paper out the window, like the Ukrainian and Russian kids and threw them in the garbage or, for lack thereof, put them in his pocket.The behavior is well familiar to me Ukrainians and Belarusians urchins-pilinkov the difference is conspicuous. If the first noise and dust rushed through the cars, couldn’t sit still five minutes, as if in one place they sat awl, they have never been able to communicate with each other in the midtones, then they had a bite, then began to play cards, then stopped to play cards again to eat, then climbed to his neighbors with questions in another place — in a word, not a single minute could be located in a static, relaxed position, then the second was just the opposite: one could only envy the parents of such well-behaved children. A couple of children, old men, with an incredible understanding of life in the big blue eyes that wanted to come and inquire “So what’s the point of our existence?”.
Of course, my memory involuntarily compared what she recently captured out in the other cities and towns, with what was now here. And, of course, the probability of error in such a biased comparison was important, as the new us is always more interesting, even sweeter, because we are tired of the fact that “every day”, as a trickle of water on temechku, even if the water is warm-warm. And here — as splashes of cold water! Like a sudden rain! Boldly, suddenly, in person! And well, that is cold! Well, that is wet! But, as this is all new! How fresh! New!
As a rule, with a short introduction, we are not able, and do not try we get down to the essence of things, sees the root, to see the flaws. We perceive the outer side, beautiful glossy cover, without looking at the middle and at the end of the book, where pages are wrinkled, torn and stains from yesterday’s soup. We see this gloss, and we like it. He leads us. Against our judgment, dismissing the experiences and voice of our second I “Be careful”. We have not before.
Maybe that’s why, not being personally acquainted, deep, what is inside our kindergartens, what and how to teach in schools, not knowing how to prepare educators and teachers, I was and remain so naive? No, not really. A veil of the “gloss” from the eyes was already asleep.
I’m not happy so much from the fact that the school lunch my daughter eats a hamburger, and teachers praise her.
For example, that year I was struggling unsuccessfully with a certain callousness when performing domestic work, with frostbitten automatism and the same show, in the context of her only child and her Belarusian school. That is, such as not fighting, and so, nothing to resent. Talking about the importance of the school to present a new work made on the computer, nicely decorated and generally just slylandro-downloaded from the Internet, or done-written-and translated-drawn father, mother, neighbor. And it turns out “Vasya’s father is good at math, dad decides, and Bob is losing”. And receives a rating.
My daughter is constantly pestering me to do something for her. With it, to participate in the job she wants. Or if it does, it does it automatically, not interested and callous, twisted, God knows what the clouds. My persuasion and educational measures, yet, no no avail. Work, as downloaded from the Internet and downloaded as mom and dad wrote essays and translated English, so… things are there.
One day the daughter, the schoolgirl of the fourth class of ordinary high school, came with an assignment to write a poem of at least eight lines. To admit to what was expected of a teacher giving such a difficult task for the pupils of the fourth class of the ordinary school, it was hard to tell. But the fact that my daughter is safely shift the implementation of this Titan of work on my shoulders, I have no doubt. A poem I wrote. And, of course, my ego was just full of joy and satisfied vanity, when this poetic opus was recognized as the best and even posted in the newspaper, but returned to much fanfare copper pipe parnikovyh clouds, back to earth, I suddenly realized that the crime was committed. Forgery. A clear case of plagiarism. Fraud and convenient connivance. And I’m the criminal himself. The crime was probably committed not only in our case. No doubt that other children innocently brought to her school matrons poetry my dearest parents, for which he was awarded with highest marks. The same unfortunate poet, whose dads and moms did not possess the gift of Euterpe, or simply were busy, with grief in half, independently scribbled some four poetic lines is not the best comme Il faut. And, respectively, respectively, and was noted for its teacher.
With it, I know the situation with my child everyday and not at all uncommon. Writing and presentation throughout are written in a similar way (as far as I know, downloading them from the Internet, they are even not necessary to rewrite),
A couple of years ago, being one of the few two connected to the interenet at our plant, to me the string was beating brow, “to search the Internet so-and-so.” And I blame myself that lures them. Almost every day I had to seek out on the network “Criticism of the Word about Igor’s regiment”, “the Autobiography of Charles Darwin” and “peculiarities of fruit flies”. The people and his offspring did not want to think. They even rewrite would not. Later, because of his spinelessness, I had to do assignments in German and English for those who are generous, I was bombarded cheap Belarusian chocolate, which I have a lot of heartburn.
Speaking of the Belarusian sweets
Getting pre-Christmas gifts, for which, by the way, I like a madman, running all around the plant with a statement in which stood the name, at the top it says “Gifts”, the remaining four rows are filled. Its not the clerical mind I tried to understand what I’m going to do now. So, to collect signatures. Clear. Signature for what? And for “Gifts”. . No, wrong, not yet received. That will get? But when? Where? Here nothing is said about this. Feeling like a complete idiot, I asked their more experienced colleagues, what is this statement. “Statement in obtaining Christmas gifts. You see, it is written “the Gifts” — he explained to me most mother-almathera colleague. “. — I was surprised. But still no one got it. There is nothing written “- “stupid” perplexed me. In short, I am also “stupid”, but making smart, and most importantly, inspired mandatory and hard to complete serenia… that is, to complete diligence, the person went to collect signatures. Those who are “downcast”, signed it without hesitation, making “clever” “And where do I sign?”. Those that used the head, not only to eat, but sometimes to think, puzzled and thoughtfully, looked first at bill, then at usilennogo, that is, the zealous messenger who brought it, sadly asked “dumb” question “what to paint?”. And, having a “stupid” answer “For receiving a gift,” said multivalued “A”, “stupid” signed, and thoughtfully, following, watched proudly receding me.
Who said that the perfect mind? Who said that the main experience? Not at all. Most importantly, diligence. Diligence to usery is what wants us boss. And corresponding to Mina on the face. The same diligent and silly. Look dashing, so to speak, and silly, that bosses don’t get embarrassed. While the first two qualities, intelligence and experience, often get in the way. They are only questions and discomfort around the hard body.
So, we got gifts. One aunt, which was not in the list, and I, respectively, a gift is not had coming to me, creepy and not at all childish on me for evermore. I promised her to bring a gift tomorrow. But she wanted today, as all received, and she was left alone without Christmas toys. I felt sorry for her and I gave her my gift. And I imagine, easy fight, beat out a gift tomorrow.
Colleagues around as happy as children. They immediately opened their gifts affectionately through all these “Lenusik” and “Bears” and very nedakonice and nostalgically told all sorts of stories from his childhood and the childhood of their children. The conversation revolved around candy, and when I asked what kind of candy from those in the present, I like more, I openly said that the Belarusian candy I don’t like. Some colleagues somewhat disappointed. I wonder what they expect me to say? I always like? I know these “diplomats”, which in my eyes you pour the honey with molasses, and as soon as you turn my back, spit, like they have a mouth full of sand.
Some believe it is their sacred duty to engage in immediate reassurance, “getting in your own right faith” opening the eyes of the blind, believing themselves the most that neither is sighted.
— Why you don’t like Belarusian candies? and I tense up, because they sense that this question is not so much culinary as a political one. Well, because it’s not chocolate, and “soya” — honestly I answer. — But delicious-candy — should be stunning argument that I do not know how to parry. — Have you ever had regular German chocolate? Not special, but the one that everywhere in Germany? in turn, I ask the question. — No. — Good, Ukrainian candy, of course, you eat? They can be bought here. Yes, it is. Nothing special. — “Nothing special”?! The quality of Belarusian chocolate, like I said, low, “soya”, wrapper design primitive, from our youth even, variety of flavors — scarce! Yes, the difference between a good Belarusian sausage and the same, disgusting Ukrainian! Meat and starch! What is there to argue when the child is seen! and I see that the comparison is almost like that of my interlocutor. She softened, and ready to admit that “Yes, the Belarusian candy — not very”. Psychology, however!