A story about your favorite thing. History of ordinary things. Matches, pillow, fork, perfume. What proverbs fit a fairy tale
Alshina Yulia, Zubakin Alexey, Kudryavtseva Vera, Ivanovskaya Lilia and other students of the 2nd grade
The presentation is made up of fairy tales about school supplies invented by students of the 2nd grade of GOU SOSH No. 425 in Moscow
Download:
Preview:
To use the preview of presentations, create yourself a Google account (account) and log into it: https://accounts.google.com
Slide captions:
We compose fairy tales We compose fairy tales about school supplies and other subjects (2nd grade)
School supplies We compose fairy tales about ...
The Tale of the Pencil and the Pen (composed by Vera Kudryavtseva) Once upon a time there were Pencil and Pen. They lived in a pencil case. Every day they went out to work in school notebooks. Pen will come out - will write. Then the Pencil will pop up: it will emphasize what needs to be emphasized, somewhere it will highlight something (an ending or a root, for example). Where the Pen fails, Pencil comes to the rescue. Where it is difficult for a Pencil - The Pen is right there. So they lived - they were friends. Once there was a trouble with Pencil: the lead broke. Poor Handle one! She ran to the Sharpener. "Help, please, Pencil's lead is broken!" - asks the Pen. The sharpener helped, sharpened the Pencil. The pencil gleamed, Pencil was delighted. And Pen and Pencil became even better to work in notebooks. Thanks to Sharpener!
Who is more important? (composed by Ilya Melekhov) Once upon a time, they were in Sasha's pencil case: Ruler and Compasses. Once they quarreled. Which one is more important? The compass says: "You can't draw a circle without me!" "And you can't draw a straight line without me!" - the Ruler shouts. They make noise, argue. At this time, Sasha came and took a compass. The compass was delighted: “You see, Ruler, the boy chose me! I am more important! " Sasha drew a circle with a compass and took a ruler. He drew segments to the circle and appeared on a piece of paper ... the sun! Then both the Compass and the Ruler understood that they were equally important for the boy Sasha. Since then, they have not fought anymore.
About school subjects (composed by Alshina Yulia) There lived an Eraser, Paper and two Pencils. One pencil was Red and the other was Green. Once Red Pencil said to Paper: "Paper, can I draw on you?" Green Pencil heard this conversation and also decided to ask the Paper to draw on it. The paper was kind and allowed the Pencils to draw on it. And they began to draw with Pencils. But Green Pencil was not good at it. The pencils began to swear. Eraser stopped their quarrel. The eraser said, “Don't swear. I will erase your bad drawings without any problems. " And the Pencils stopped quarreling, because if something didn't work out for them, the Eraser came to their rescue.
Dispute. (composed by Ivan Ponomarev) Pen, Pencil, Eraser and Sharpener lived in the pencil case. Once the Pen said: "I am the most important, because they always write to me." "No, I am," said Pencil, "I am the most important, because they emphasize everything with me." “And I can wash everything,” said the Eraser. And the Sharpener said: "I am also in charge, because I sharpen pencils." "Do not quarrel, - said Pencil - you all need to study!"
About the girl Dasha and ... (composed by Ivanovskaya Lilia) The girl Dasha lived in the same house. Dasha had a portfolio (she already went to grade 1). Once Dasha came from school, did her homework, played and went to bed. And from the briefcase came a thin voice. It was the Eraser. He did not sleep: he was tormented by insomnia. He squeaked to the whole room: “I am in charge. Hear all of me! " Then Pencil woke up and said: “Sleep. You are not in charge here. You erase everything and thus spoil everything. " The other residents of the portfolio also woke up from screaming. They, too, intervened in the dispute. This went on for several days. And on one of these nights, Dasha woke up. She opened the briefcase and ... “Oh! - Dasha said in surprise - all objects talk. " Dasha listened to their argument and said: “Don't argue. I need you all! It will be difficult for me to do without each of you. "
The Magic Hand (composed by Alexey Zubakin) The boy Sasha studied at a Moscow school. He was very fond of playing, walking, watching TV, but did not like to do homework. Once, on the way to school, Sasha found a strange Pen, which suddenly spoke up: “Let's be friends with you. I will do lessons for you for only A's, but you shouldn't have any friends except me. " Sasha agreed. All day his friends called him and invited him to the hill, to the skating rink, to play chess. And the Pen hissed: "You have forgotten our agreement, do not go!" She did all the lessons for Sasha beautifully and without mistakes, but for some reason Sasha was not having fun. The next day, he put the Pen where he found it. “I will study myself, without you,” the boy decided.
A fairy tale about school supplies (composed by Polina Lebedeva) Once upon a time, there were school supplies. Once, getting ready for school, they began to check: are they all in place? Pens and pencils in place, notebooks and textbooks in place, ruler and pencil case in place. And suddenly it turned out that there was no eraser. The accessories began to look for him in the briefcase. In this corner - no, in this one, too. And then the ruler suggested that he might have stayed on the desk. Yesterday the girl studied her homework and took it. The briefcase was on a chair near the table. The ruler lay between the briefcase and the table like a bridge. She said: "Pen, go over me on the table and see, maybe the eraser is there?" The pen moved along it to the table on the table and began to look for an eraser. She saw an eraser on the other end of the table. He lay crushed by a computer disk. The handle ran up and tried to lift the disc. But it was heavy. Then she called for help from the others. School supplies ran up and all together easily released the eraser. The entire satisfied company returned to the portfolio.
About the boy Kostya and ... (composed by Liza Sudakova) Once upon a time there was a boy. His name was Kostya. Kostya was a bad boy. he broke everything: he broke pens, pencils, and he simply broke erasers into several parts. He did as he wanted. He did not obey anyone and did not love anything. And then one night an unusual rain fell - starry, magical. We all know that when the stars fall, you have to make a wish. And Kostya made a wish: "I want to be small!" In the morning he woke up, and it turned out that his desire was fulfilled. He became small: as tall as a finger. Kostya decided to see what was going on in his pencil case. I opened it and saw: A handle with a broken arm; A pencil with a broken leg; Eraser with a broken back. They all cried bitterly. They saw Kostya and shouted: “Go away, you evil, worthless boy. Do not come near us, otherwise we will beat you. " For the first time in his life, Kostya was frightened and wept bitterly. He began to cry and ... a miracle happened: he became big again, like all the other boys. But since then, he no longer breaks pencils, pens, or any other objects.
Magic Pencil Case (composed by Ali Chergesbiev) A beautiful pencil case was bought for the boy for school. It contained everything a student needs: blue and colored pens, a simple pencil, an eraser, a ruler, a square, scissors and glue. But this pencil case turned out to be magical. You will ask why? Because as soon as the boy got an A, the inhabitants of the Penal began to argue. The Blue Pen declares to everyone that she writes beautifully, which means she is the most important. And the Green Hand answered her: "No, I am, because I highlight all the dangerous places - spelling." The eraser argues with everyone: "And I can erase any mistake!" And Gon and Ruler declare that without them the boy would not have received an excellent mark in mathematics. Scissors and Clay also keep up with: "Without us, you can't glue anything and cut it out in labor lessons." What do you think: which of them is most needed?
Katya pencil case (composed by Ismailova Maryam) Once upon a time there was a girl named Katya. She was an excellent student. Katya did everything on time: she walked, played, studied her homework, packed her portfolio and went to bed. One day she had a dream: all the inhabitants of the portfolio came to life and began an argument. Who is the most important among them? Argued Pencils, Pens, Eraser, Sharpener, Compass and Ruler. Everyone argued that Katya was an excellent student only because of him. The girl came to school and it turned out that in her pencil case there was no pencil, then pens, then rulers ... Katya began to receive bad marks. She cried every day and did not understand why this was happening. And all the inhabitants of the pencil case finally realized that Katya needed all of them. They didn’t run away from the pencil case anymore. It's good that it was a dream. Katya woke up and ran to see if everything in her pencil case was in place? All accessories were in place. The satisfied girl ran to school.
About the girl Galya and ... (composed by Vika Mazikina) Once upon a time there was a girl. Her name was Galya. She already went to school and studied with only A's. Everyone praised her. And then one day, when Galya went for a walk, the following happened .. The briefcase suddenly opened and first a Pen came out of it, then a Pencil, followed by an Eraser and a Felt-Pen. "Let's go travel!" they decided. But the old Briefcase tells them: "Don't, it's very dangerous!" But the friends did not obey and went under the bed. Galya came from a walk, undressed and ... suddenly she climbed onto the bed and began to jump on it. And Pen, Pencil, Eraser and Felt-tip were sitting under the bed and did not know what to do. They were very scared. The pen said, "Why didn't we obey Portfolio?" They really wanted to go back. Galya jumped a little (she did this only when no one was at home) and went to the kitchen. And the school supplies returned to their home (in the portfolio). Since then, they have always listened to adults.
Night dispute. (composed by Nikita Blinov) One night, school supplies were sitting at the table and drinking tea. They argued. Which of them is more necessary for a student? Pen was the first to enter into an argument. “I am the most needed,” she said confidently. “Without me, the schoolchildren would not have been able to write a dictation, a text ...” “And I am doing a special job ...” - said Pencil. “But if the kids make a mistake using you, it will be hard to fix it without me,” said the Eraser. Here the textbooks got into an argument. The argument went on for an hour. The pencil case could not stand it and said: “Do not argue, you can argue all your life, and there will be no sense from it. None of you can be better than the other. Each of us is needed in our own way. "
Dishes, toys and other items We compose fairy tales about ...
The Tale of the Teapot and the Cup (composed by Dzyubenko Diana) Once upon a time there was a Teapot. It was an old china one. Scale has firmly eaten into its walls, and the blue flowers on the sides have faded from time to time and charred over the fire. When tea was brewed in him, he grumbled and spat boiling water. He always disliked something. And the Cup lived nearby. Plain, with a gold rim and flowers on the sides. The teacup was the teapot's favorite student. In the evenings, the Lady came to them. She sat down and the three of them drank freshly brewed tea. Every now and then, dripping onto the tablecloth, the teapot was telling the Cup something about the old days or just about life. Teacup loved the already ugly old Teapot and listened to his stories with fascination. But one day, when the Cup was standing on the windowsill, a gust of wind opened the window ... The Cup, with a plaintive cry, fell down and broke. That same evening, grieving over the Cup, the Kettle cracked on the stove. He had to be thrown away, like the Cup. The lady was crying bitterly. It turns out that the dishes know how to be friends.
A fairy tale about toys (composed by Ivanovskaya Lilia) One girl lived - had: a soldier, a doll Marina and a rubber rabbit. One day the girl forgot to put her toys away. At night, when everyone was asleep, the cat Vaska came running and wanted to grab the doll ... But the rabbit with its strong teeth grabbed Vaska by the tail, and the soldier began to beat the cat in the paws with his wooden gun. Marina was able to escape and hide on the top shelf. Since then, Vaska the cat has not tried to “play” with the doll, because she has such defenders.
These stories were told by my eighth-graders after meeting M.A. Osorgin "Pince-nez".
Reveler Ticket
I really liked the story of Mikhail Andreevich Osorgin "Pensne". After reading it, I began to closely observe the different things around me, and I became convinced that things really live their own lives, each of them has its own story.
I also have one such story. About the ticket. I was going to use it to go to the camp. He was issued three weeks before departure. I decided to photocopy it to keep it as a keepsake and went to the Service Center.
After a while, I remembered that my ticket had not caught my eye for a long time, I looked at the shelf, where, as I remembered, I had put it, - no. The scanned one is lying, but the real one is not.
I looked for him, turned the whole apartment upside down, worried, asked everyone, but no one could help me in any way: no one saw the ticket. I even went to the Service Center in the hope that I had accidentally left it there. But ... alas! And there was no ticket.
At home they told me that they would not let me in on a photocopy, and, completely upset, I decided to take a walk.
In the vestibule, putting on my sneakers, I found ... a ticket. He was lying calmly, nestling behind a shoe cabinet. When I pushed the curbstone slightly, he. as it seemed to me, he got up and looked at me in surprise, apparently unhappy with the fact that he was disturbed.
You probably thought that when I came home from the Service Center, I just accidentally dropped it behind the curbstone. But I am absolutely sure that this could not be, and I am convinced that my ticket decided to take a walk around the apartment and, tired of a long walk, the reveler decided to relax in the vestibule.
Yes, all things have a life of their own.
Ekaterina Kachaeva
How the mug punished me
All things have their own special life. Sometimes it happens that they are lost. But I think that people are always involved in their disappearance. Even if they disappear "of their own free will."
Once I lost my mug. I once poured tea into it, drank it, and left the mug on the coffee table by the armchair. I had no idea that she might disappear. But, when I decided to drink tea again, I discovered the loss.
For a long time I was looking for my favorite mug throughout the apartment, but it fell through the ground. When there was no more strength to look for, I took another mug and soon forgot about the old one.
After a while, repairs began in the apartment. They began to take things out of the room, including a sofa and armchairs. Imagine my surprise when I found my mug behind the armchair! It turns out that all this time she was lying, or rather, "sagged", pressed against the wall by the back of the chair.
Apparently, so skillfully she decided to hide from me, punishing me for not putting her in place.
Roman Tarkov
Strange things happen to things ...
Surprisingly, things tend to disappear at the most inopportune moment. It’s impossible to find an eraser, then a pencil, then a pen. You will turn the whole apartment over, search up and down - and not a trace. It's amazing, but then they appear, and more often when you have already found a replacement for them.
Leaders in the number of "shoots" I have are pencils. You put it in one place, in a minute you look - it's gone. Looking, looking - to no avail. You find it completely by chance and in the most unexpected place. Books, too, have a strange habit of hiding all the time.
Yes, strange things sometimes happen to things ...
Anna KurdinaA pencil with the soul of a traveler
Throughout his life, a person is surrounded by all kinds of things that he himself creates for his convenience. These things can be anything from pencils to furniture to cars. But it is with pencils (and even pens) that we have the most problems. We are constantly forgetting them somewhere, losing them. There is probably no person on Earth who would never lose a pen or pencil in his life.One such incident happened to me.
For the New Year, I was presented with a wonderful retractable pencil. He lived with me for about three months. During this time, I managed to lose it several times. I found it in the most unexpected places: now in the pocket of my vest, now under the bed, now in the crevices of the sofa. But the last time he disappeared forever. After taking a break from the whole apartment, I bought myself a new pencil with annoyance.
Sometimes it seems to me that every thing has a soul. Probably my pencil had the soul of a traveler. Having traveled around the apartment and explored all the interesting corners in it, he probably decided to expand the boundaries of his world and went for a walk outside the apartment. Maybe one day I will meet him somewhere and tell him: "Well, you are a reveler!"
Pavel Mitryaykin
Curious pen
Once an amazing story happened to me. Once during the school year, they bought me a new portfolio. When we brought the briefcase home, I began to study it carefully and, finding a secret section in it, immediately decided that I would put pens, pencils, a ruler and an eraser in it. I was in a good mood, and I completely forgot about the lessons, about the composition assigned for that day. But the homework had to be done. He did not finish writing his essay until midnight. I quickly washed my face and went to bed.
The next day, when I came to school with an old portfolio, I did not find a single pen in it. During the lesson, I asked my friend Maxim for a spare pen. Returning home, he sat down at the table, took out a draft, an essay book and then remembered that the pen was in a new portfolio. I unbuttoned a secret pocket, put my hand in there, but, to my great surprise, there was nothing there. I searched my pocket for another minute, until I was completely convinced that it was empty.
After a few minutes, I realized the seriousness of this incident. There was not a single pen in the house. Except for a few non-writers. I had no money to go to the store for a new pen, and none of my parents were at home. True, my grandmother was supposed to return from work in an hour, but I was given a lot of lessons and I might not have time to learn them by the evening. However, there was nothing else to do but wait for the arrival of the grandmother.
Half an hour later, the phone rang. Picking up the phone, I heard the voice of the granny:
Sanya, I'll be late at work for another hour. If you want to eat, dumplings in the fridge. Cook and eat.
Okay, grandma, bye - that's all I could say.
Entering the room, I gave my briefcase a kick from the bottom of my heart. Something flew out of him, hit the wall and fell beside him on the carpet. Looking closer, I saw that it was a pen. He picked it up and began to do homework.
Recently we had a competition for the best fairy tale about a subject. Here are all the lyrics starting with the winner:
OLD Slippers
Part 1.
Two slipper brothers lived in the same city. They were worn by a poor old grandmother. They were called Top-Top and Clap-Clap. They very often fought among themselves: which of them is more beautiful? But this did not last long. They were tied up and taken to the trash heap. They fell in love, but after a week they went on a trip in a trash can.
Part 2.
They rode and saw a lot, a lot of debris, but suddenly they swayed and they spilled out onto the board. The board started to move, and they got into a special car. They were washed, sewn and much more there. And they sang:
Cheers cheers! We are clean!
Beautiful, good,
Wired, lovely -
Cheers cheers! Irie!
But suddenly they fell silent! Frightened. And they, it turns out, were put on labels and went to the store!
Part 3.
Before they got there, someone pointed a finger at them, and they went in a cart to the checkout. But they fell into good hands and lived happily ever after. They were sewn up and washed every day. (
THOUGHTED LIGHT
Chapter 1.
Once upon a time there was a traffic light. His name was Forik. He worked well in his service. Then one day he began to think and dream. Forik thought: “I wish I could go home and rest; I'm already tired of working. " Suddenly someone started knocking on him, and he woke up.
Chapter 2.
At the time when the traffic light was dreaming, this is what happened: the traffic light showed red for people, and for cars, all at once, green. Everything was mixed up, the cars were driving out of order, and people just stood there. Some people needed to go to work, others needed to pick up their children from school. It was all bad. But suddenly someone thought of knocking on a traffic light.
Chapter 3.
Forik never dreamed of working again.
***
Dear reader!
I hope this book was interesting for you and you can take a good example from it !!!(
ABOUT MAGNET
Chapter 1. Brave Magnet.
Once upon a time there was a brave Magnet. He complained that it was not being used. Once he was accidentally taken to war: a soldier played with a Magnet and mechanically dropped it into his pocket, and then went off to fight. As the soldier fled across the battlefield, the Magnet magnetized the slain enemy's dagger. The soldier took the dagger in his hands and looked at it: the blade was gold, and there was an inscription on it. Here are the words: "Whoever takes this dagger, he will get rid of the enemies, and they will no longer appear." Indeed, all the enemies have disappeared. The soldier healed happily when he came home. And the Magnet helped the soldier to defeat the enemies.
Chapter 2. Vic-Vic's trouble.
We forgot to tell you that our Magnet's name is Chik-Chik. Chik-Chik found his friend Vic-Vic. You probably know that magnets are magnetized if you put them side by side. That was Vic-Vic's trouble. Chik-Chik is magnetized to Vic-Vic. And Vik-Vic was old. From this, the Vic-Vic cracked, although from the outside it seemed that he was unharmed. But the owner of Vic-Vic was good. He glued these pieces together. And Vik-Vic was glad that he was useful.(
A TALE ABOUT THE BOOK
Chapter 1. Lonely book. How she lived.
Once upon a time there was a lonely book. She sat and missed. Nobody paid any attention to her. And no one took it to read. Oh, how many interesting things were in it! She traveled all over the country of Germany. And now she was sitting on a bench and stayed here for the night.
Chapter 2. Restaurant.
In general, I do not want to tell you about that. Not how she lived, but how she traveled and what happened to her. Listen carefully. I ask you a task: what was this book like and what end in history - sad or funny?
The next morning she got very hungry and went to a restaurant. There she ate ice cream with a cocktail. She liked it here and stayed here. The birds are singing, the sun is warming. Birds are singing. Every day she ate in a restaurant. There she usually ate potatoes with cutlets. And she lived in a house where the owners went on business to Moscow for a week.
Chapter 3. The book becomes loved.
Once she thought about children. Soon she was ready and went to kindergarten. On the way she met one uncle and he took her there. On the way, his daughter read the entire book. All - because she was childish and very interesting. The girl told her friends about her. Now the children were so interested in this that they only did what they read. So this book is happy to the end of the century.(
Whether it's 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 home is unthinkable. Or - about things given by loved ones, which are more than an inanimate object for you.
The Story of One Thing is a competition that anyone can take part in.
Conditions:It is necessary to send an interesting story about your favorite things. Whether it's 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 home is unthinkable. Or - about things given by loved ones, which are more than an inanimate object for you. Tell stories about living items from home collections. Send your story to the editorial office of Fontanka through the competition form below. Attach a photo. Don't forget to include your coordinates.
Outcomes: The results of the competition will be announced on March 15. And the BODUM company, whose porcelain is kept by the world design museums, presents a gift to three authors. Prizes from the BODUM brand: coffee grinder, electric kettle, teapot. Since 1944, the brand has been producing tableware. 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
I have a silver coin in my family, which, according to legend, was presented to my great-grandmother by Nicholas II. She was a very little girl, it was at the very end of the 19th century. Nicholas was not yet emperor and traveled the world. With him is a servant, 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 trip, they found out that they would have a child. And so, it happened so that I had to give birth in Bombay! They were very worried, a foreign country, incomprehensible orders, everything unknown. The great-grandmother was born, thank God, without difficulties. Everything was fine. And it so happened that somehow Nikolai saw my great-great-grandmother with her great-grandmother in her arms. And he gave me a coin. It was 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 Nicholas then they still visited Egypt and Siam - that was such an interesting life.
Irina:
"Chicken God"
Lyudmila Vostretsova.
Dear table
About ten years ago, I moved an old table from my parents. It expands and can gather around twenty people. The top tabletop is cracked along its entire length, but assembled by a skilled craftsman, the table still serves with dignity.
I well remember his ceremonial entry into the parental home in the early 1950s. The appearance of the table opened a procession of new furniture: a huge sideboard, a voluminous wardrobe, a flirty mirror in a wide frame towering over the dressing table and a small bookcase on the nightstand. 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 straight backs of chairs did not bend carefully, supporting the lower back).
Residents of capital cities are likely to find it difficult to assess such an event. We lived then in a small Siberian mining town. I don't remember the furniture stores at all. Commission trading did not exist either. After graduating from the institute, my father got a teaching position at a mining technical school. In our first dwelling - a room in a wooden house - the main place was occupied by the grandmother's chest (it is still alive to this day). Then a wardrobe and a chest of drawers appeared in a small apartment, and, finally, a two-story house was built for the teachers next to the technical school, in which we had a three-room apartment. This is where the furniture was needed.
A craftsman was found who created our wonderful set for us. He made it from Siberian cedar, so until now not a single pest has left a single trace of damage on the tree. The sanded surfaces are tinted, probably stained and varnished (still preserved), so they acquired a noble mahogany look. It was a "gorgeous" purchase.
The lifestyle of our family today would be called an "open house". Neighbor colleagues constantly sat at our table. Then my numerous classmates, too, began to gather around him, then the friends of the younger sisters joined them. When the family decided that it would be more convenient to gather friends at a round table, our hospitable and already somewhat old man moved to the "nursery", where we did our homework. 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, of course, has grown old. In addition to deep wrinkles-cracks, he also has bald patches on the varnish surface. Today he substitutes his expandable wings not under plates and salad bowls, but under piles of books; in the center - patiently holding a computer. In the marketplace - the vanity fair - hardly anyone will pay attention to it. But it's comfortable for me to work at this table. All my relatives, both living and departed, are next to me.
Daria Selyakova.
My house
As strange as it may seem, I do not yet have a favorite thing in my house. I just love my home. But this did not happen immediately. I did not immediately fall in love with my house. I moved into an apartment where other people lived and lived for two years, rubbing in and getting used to the new space. I never got used to it, especially when I found the ubiquitous gypsum under the wallpaper. Then my confidence in the strength of my house literally shattered. I knew that the house was built in 1900, and only this instilled in me the confidence that there should be at least some human materials under the gypsum plasterboard. At night, i.e. coming home late from work, I picked out this very plasterboard piece by piece, and started from the door. Amazing things began to emerge: the doorways turned out to be huge, as if specially for double doors (how romantic). Then plaster fell like a hail of stones, shingles broke off, and finally a real wall was exposed - a palisade of a thick plank with cracks and holes from knots. Yes, and 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 home. And I began to "build" it according to my own principles: the windows that I ordered are wooden and very strong - these are my favorite windows; doors (5 of them - 2 of them - double-leaf, 1 glass), with a reminder of the former beauty and skill of joinery. And these are MY favorite doors. There is a roof over your head, thank God, although the ceiling requires serious repair. Then there will be: favorite wallpapers, favorite tiles, favorite paints, then solid items and nice hangings. But the main "thing" has already appeared - "small homeland" ("this is my village, this is my home ..."). And then there is no sentimentality, it's an instinct.
Vera Solntseva.
Doll
For my birth, the godparents gave me a Doll. An ordinary Soviet doll with a rubber head and blue eyes, yellow coarse 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 photographs where the doll Katya is bigger than me, there are photographs where she is a little bit smaller than me, there are photographs where I seem to be already big and pull my Katya by the hair. Katya became the most important toy of my childhood. She always dominated the puppet tea parties. She had a girlfriend - a doll Tanya, more
Katya is in size, but for some reason much less my favorite. And the rest of the toys that appeared in my childhood did not go in any way with Katya. Katya was the main and favorite.
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, but not with such love. When I was still very young, I loved to sit and watch how the thread from the glomerulus was decreasing. Then somehow I took the hook and began to knit myself, this skill was passed on to me by itself, I didn't even have to study too 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, blouse, panama hat, scarf, 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. She had her clothes washed about once a year and then removed to the top shelf. Later they wrapped it in a bag and put it somewhere else.
very far away. 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 would close if Katya was put on.
So the little eye stopped opening. I suddenly felt painful 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 she cried all the same. I remember my mother's bewilderment: "Vera, why are you crying?" "Katya's eye broke." This is the last thing I remember about Katya. This feeling
affection and love, obscured by a sense of shame for their emotions.
Svetlana.
Ficus 
My husband and ficus moved into my apartment at the same time. The husband held the ficus and a bag of things, the ficus held on with his last strength. Sick, I thought. About ficus. “He’s kind of dwarf,” my husband shrugged his shoulders.
Ficus turned out to be a typical man: he demanded a lot of attention to himself and did not promise anything in return. At first, together we chose a suitable window sill for him: so that it would not be hot, not cold, not blowing, not too bright, not too dark, and decent neighbors to be. The search for a suitable pot, soil, fertilizer and other men's accessories was given in the same work. "I fed, gave me water, and you 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 I had. And he believed.
Every day I said to my husband: "Good morning, darling, and to the ficus: Hello, ficus!" And the men began to grow. The husband is mainly in the abdomen, and the ficus matured in height, like a short teenager sitting on the first desk. Every year we buy wider pants and larger pots. And then came the critical moment: the ficus ceased to fit on the windowsill. “I'll have to give it to my mother or to kindergarten,” the husband said. The ficus and I became sad from the prospect of an imminent separation, the ficus even threw a couple of leaves onto my carpet. I remembered them on the doorstep, embarrassed and young ... My husband, it seems, also remembered this, when the next day I returned from work, he greeted me with a mysterious smile. Good old ficus smiled with bright greenery from the table in the corner of the hall :). He continues to grow, and her husband often jokes that soon a hole in the ceiling will have to be drilled. But he no longer stutters about moving :)
Dunya Ulyanova.
Old wardrobe
For many years there has been an old wardrobe in our hallway. There are my grown-up son's jackets, my husband's raincoats, my long-worn coats. When guests come, soaked in the usual St. Petersburg rains, there is always something in the closet to fit someone. The wardrobe is called grandmother's, and I remember it all my life.
It is simple and elegant at the same time - a large mirror with wide bevels 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 is undying in furniture business. The wardrobe appeared in a communal apartment on Ligovka, in the former Pertsov house, in the distant thirtieth year. It was acquired by the so-called "subscription", announced to support the production of a furniture factory, that is, they contributed money and later received a beautiful "setting" among the first buyers. In 1934, the family moved to a cooperative house on the Petrograd side, and the wardrobe took its place in the new apartment. He kept his grandmother's elegant colorful dresses, grandfather's white trousers and shirts, and his mother’s school dressing gown — things that are reminiscent of pre-war photographs. During the blockade, they did not burn it, they only diligently swept away all the crusts from old sandwiches that accidentally fell under it. In 1949 the family shrank and my grandmother changed her apartment. Now aged faces were reflected in the mirror of the faded closet, and not very fashionable clothes hung on the hangers. Dozens of years have passed; young people who love other subjects live in our house. An old wardrobe stands in the hallway, its mirror darkened and covered with small wrinkles. But now a little girl is looking at him, she comes up with something, and the closet quietly answers her ...
Irina Zhukova.
Chair number 14
It is a wooden object with a back curving in a circle, of stunning harmony. I suck 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 dignified arcs or two semicircles. The seat is two perfect circles - one carefully bends around the other, fitting tightly, so that 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 Tonet. That in the 50s of the 19th century it was the most popular and widespread, that all Viennese chairs in the world and the romantically sophisticated concept of "Viennese furniture" originated from it. That after His launch to the masses, Tonet and his sons opened the production of rocking chairs, dressing tables, cradles, beds, tables made of bent wood. It was the simplest chair. There are only six parts in the kit, and the joints with the back and legs are ground in and stitched with wooden screws, which today seems impossible. The 14th model was "licensed". The previous ones, from which the image was formed, now does not seem to count ... Rereading the history of this chair, I imagined how difficult it was from the first time for the German Tonet in Austria to get privileges to make chairs and table legs from bent wood, “pre-steamed with water steam or soaked in a boiling liquid. " I imagined in every detail how once this chair of mine was held by the hands of a master. Was it Tonet himself or his son: Franz ?, Michael? Josef? or August? One of my pair of sets was then repaired in a completely unprivileged manner: the chair was trimmed with small carnations around the perimeter of the seat, which did not spoil its charm, but added drama.
Mom, after the death of her grandmother, wanted to get rid of the chairs. But I didn’t give it, because its forms have always fascinated me. And then a friend and sister came to visit, who said: "Yes, this is Tonet's chair." I nodded, adding that it may well be, but I still haven't been able to find the master's imprint. Then we turned the chair over again and found an inscription under the rim of the seat.
Two Toneta chairs have settled down in my apartment with my grandmother's wardrobe, sideboard and a round wooden table. Despite the outward refinement, I know how strong they are. The strength of Toneta's chair was once demonstrated with a spectacular publicity stunt: it was thrown from the Eiffel Tower and did not crash. No piece of modern furniture could stand such a test.
What else did I learn about my chair: that the cost of one such chair was about three Austrian forints at the beginning of the 19th century. Just think, he's over one hundred and fifty years old. One can only imagine what kind of people were sitting on it and what kind of conversations they didn’t have.
Elena Alekseevna.
Casket
I have a box: a wooden box with a hinged lid, on which an unpretentious landscape in oil - green Christmas trees and birches surrounded by a simple carved frame. It seems to me that 50 years ago there were the same in almost every family. I remember her as much as myself, for almost half a century. As a child, the box seemed to me a magic chest. Buttons were kept in it. 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 whom Hatkhi, whom Bagira. And on the back of the lid, I liked to scratch with a colored pencil. The box survived many family cataclysms, moved with me from apartment to apartment. I still keep the buttons in it, some of them are the ones I used to play with as a child, and on the inside of the lid are my childhood scribbles. Hope to leave this heirloom to my grandchildren if they ever will.
Tsvetkova Valentina.
Gift
There is a thing without which my house is unthinkable for some time now. There is no family significance in her, and even the situation associated with her appearance is not worth taking a place among the memorable events of my life. She has no history, she is a story, and a reminder, and a memory. It is enough to be aware of her presence. By itself, it does not cause attachment, perhaps it could easily be replaced by another. With an absolute minimum of object value, its purpose is much higher than its value. Gradually, there was a feeling or even confidence that it was not you, but she who found you.
In fact, on occasion I bought 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 by acquiring, I have found it. An opportunity to join the absolute in Love. And to understanding the essence of things.
Irina Igorevna.
Grandmother'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. All my life I’m damn sorry that my daughter hadn’t met her. It could have, but it didn’t happen. My grandmother died not old, barely having time to see me as a schoolgirl. Childhood did not end with the departure of my grandmother, but it ceased to be totally happy, it became multi-colored. Something fundamental was forever shaken, but even in death, grandmother did good, provoking the first critical thought: is everything here as well arranged as it seems?
The memory tape is rewound. New Year. A 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? A tree of unprecedented, forgotten height - we now have low ceilings at home. Sudden silence, floorboards creak. My parents came for me, they hug me: my grandmother is no more. The roar is theatrical: it should be so. But I don’t believe them. How is it - no? I am, therefore, and she is.
First grade. Uncle Borya (he is not an uncle, 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 send from it. maybe: he has a TV, we go to him to shout "puck-puck" for Spartak). Grandmother grows bulbs on the balcony of Borin's uncle. 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. Sun through black petals - from pink to purple. Grandma tied a particularly tight, strict schoolgirl! - braids, an apron and collars are sewn by her, cambric is starched. The balcony smells of sweet peas until October, summer lasts - this is also a grandmother. Her joy from the first large refrigerator "Oka" (it is taller than me), delight is caused by compartments for eggs - as they thought up, huh ?! - with special notches. His real uncle sent it in a roundabout way, across the whole country (it turned out that my grandmother has a son, he’s my mother’s older brother, but I don’t know him, he is a military engineer, serves in Kyrgyzstan. ”“ Where is this? 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 it in a "container". Everyone is excited and happy.
Dacha. We “shoot”. In the city, waking up, I hear voices through the wall in the kitchen: the price has risen, 150 rubles! What to do? Smiling, I fall asleep, what nonsense, the summer and the sea will be, and the grandmother so tenderly says to the grandfather: "My dear, Bubble needs the sea." I sleep, and the pillow smells so delicious.
Dacha. Dark. The noise of the surf and firs. A moth knocking on a lampshade. Crackle of jammers. Words: BBC, Voice of America, Seva of Novgorodians. Grandmother plays solitaire, grandfather plays, he has "golden hands". Listening to the radio, they look at each other furtively, for some reason they have fun. I need to sleep a lot: I have "rheumatism". Grandma says: Leningrad is in a swamp, you will soon get well, everybody has it. I don’t know the word “kind”, I ask. Wow: my grandmother also had a grandmother, she came to her from Warsaw in a carriage (wow, was she a princess?), And then white people came, then red ones. Grandfather's voice: girls, sleep! Grandfather is always next to grandmother, he only goes to work. Looking in, am I dreaming? - they kiss. I don’t know? They always kiss: “My dear little boobie” and “Irishenka is my beloved”.
Morning, sun: how many interesting things there will be today! Grandmother's hands in a uniform motion: knit, sew, type on a typewriter, wash. Grandmother is freckled, she is all in gold dots, and she has gray eyes, she is lucky, she has huge, enormous ones. They say they are shining. And she has extraordinary hair, they say: a shock. Words: Vrubel's angel. What's this? Interesting.
House, 17th line. The silhouette of a grandmother asleep: her back is straight, straight, her eyes laugh, she is very young with her back to the light. - "Did the squirrel come? Came and brought you 3 nuts." Get out of bed: that's great! The squirrel (she is drawn on a bookmark, but comes to life at night, and therefore only her grandmother sees her) was here again: here they are, nuts. How great it is to live.
First memory. The sky is terribly huge, crashed down from the swing, paralyzing with pain and horror. Below the sky, the face of my grandmother floats into the frame, and the smell of perfume, and strong and gentle hands - it just seemed scary.
An 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 social media. origin ". Laboratory assistant, educator, typist. Profile: “There was a brother: he was shot in 1918”. Sister: sentenced in 1948. Uncle - March 1935, his wife - 1935. Others - 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. "Please" was the most angry verb in my grandmother's lexicon: "Please ask for forgiveness, Herod of the human race." I was firm only in the fact that "coffee" of the neuter is "utter nonsense", and "if you want in masculine, then if you please:" coffee "and" coffee ". But the amendment was also strict: “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: husband, wife, two children. The children did not get up, they had to learn to walk anew. The weight of the cargo was strictly limited. Grandmother tied her favorite book into the hole in her belly. It is thick, but the hole in the hypochondrium to the spine contained it, it was imperceptible. Everything that was left was lost. All memory, all library. Grandma took out three books to 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 her by heart: Lermontov. Works. M., 1891. Anniversary edition. Illustrations by Aivazovsky, Vasnetsov, Vrubel. Pictures of my childhood.
I love the poem more about "the trembling fires of the sad villages", and my grandmother, Irina Ivanovna, read with inspiration: "Open the dungeon for me." She just flew away from me with her ever-beloved Lermontov. She was not made a "grandmother" at all. It seems that now I already understand what it was about. But, probably, not about everything.
Elena Alekseeva.
WITH part 
I would like to tell you about a family heirloom. This is an old dessert plate from the Kuznetsov factory. She is all that remains of the grandmother's service. Sometime in March 1929, her parents gave her this set for a 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 my grandmother and her two children were hiding in a vegetable garden in a crack dug in the ground. Her husband, my grandfather, was a train driver. The drivers were not called up to the active army, since in fact the October railway was the front. One September day, my grandfather managed to get home. He told his grandmother and children to get ready and take only the smallest set with them. Grandma refused to leave without dishes. After a long bet, grandfather found a way out. He offered to bury the dishes in the ground so that when they returned, everything could be reached. Granny packed her sets, 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 the grandma and the children to the remote village of Klenovo. There was nowhere else to carry: on the one hand, Leningrad, surrounded by the enemy, on the other hand, Moscow, where battles were also going on. A grandmother and her sons lived in this village for about two years. She worked on a collective farm on a par with village women. And then came the day of returning home.
The city was unrecognizable. Granny immediately started looking for her boxes. Some of them disappeared. Apparently dug up and stolen. And most of them were just broken. Of all the porcelain she loved so much, only one plate remained. All her life, grandmother took care of her. For her, she was a kind of line between life after 1945 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 lovely little sons. Grandmother was a soloist of a choir in a club, she was drowning in her husband's love; she could afford to get on the train and go to Leningrad for a concert by Claudia Shulzhenko. Until the end of her days, my grandmother loved to hum: "I am a kukaracha, I am a kukaracha ..." And most importantly, she was so young and carefree.
When the war ended ... Beloved younger brother Yurochka went missing, another brother, Misha, died in the bombing of a diesel locomotive. The same bomb injured the hands of her husband Shurik. Brother Victor lost his leg and after the war became addicted to alcohol. Sister Susanna died of typhus. In the late forties, the eldest son brought a grenade from the forest and, playing, threw it into the fire. Shrapnel disabled the youngest son.
Grandparents lived a very long life. Grandfather died at 95 years old, and grandmother at 92 years old. 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 very quietly repeated: "How happy I was then."
At one of the literary reading lessons, the children were offered a creative task: to compose a story about inconspicuous objects in their home or about how things in my house treat me. Here are the most interesting compositions.
Daniil Terentyev
Once upon a time there was an old clock. They stood in the largest room and in the most conspicuous place. Every half hour they chimes loudly, but no one noticed them.
One day the clock broke. The house became sad and quiet. And everyone immediately noticed how bad it is to live without a watch. Therefore, they were sent to the watchmaker's shop. The master repaired them and the watch returned home. Since then, the watch has begun a new happy story.
Semenova Natalia
In our homes there are a lot of different objects and things that benefit us and help us live.
One of the items is a socket. Yes, the most common electrical outlet. It is a source of electricity thanks to which my family and I can watch TV, turn on household appliances, charge a laptop, tablet and phones, which are so necessary in the modern world.
Zakrevskaya Arina
I think that every person has their own favorite thing, which they cherish and love. Perhaps this thing is associated with pleasant memories. Some people have a computer, a bicycle, a doll or a book. And I have one of my favorite things - a bed. She stands in the most secluded corner of my room.
Why do I love her? And how can you not love her! After all, she takes care of me, my rest. Before bed, I like to read, and she probably listens to me too. And he is also friends with my toys, who love to sleep in it. I take care of my pet: keep it clean, refuel it. I think our friendship will last a long time!
Zhigareva Valeria
The things in my house treat me well. I love them and they love me. The writing desk treats me very well. I do my homework, write, draw. The table lamp loves me. She shines on me so as not to spoil my eyesight. My sofa loves me. It is soft, beautiful. When I sleep on it, I have sweet dreams. I have a good relationship with TV. We are friends with him. And also my portfolio loves me - because I carry textbooks, notebooks and good grades in it.
Markvart Alexey
I use every day many things that make my life easier, but some things are small and inconspicuous. The cutlery helps me eat, and the table lamp gives light to the dark room. In the morning I have breakfast and my mother makes me tea, but without a kettle it would be difficult. Sometimes I do not notice the closet, it would seem that it is large, but I am so used to it that I put my things there without thinking about it. In fact, there are many inconspicuous things in our house, but this does not mean that they are useless or of little use - on the contrary, the more inconspicuous things are, the more we need them.
Kotova Love
Things are good to me because I try to keep them clean and tidy. And sometimes my things are hidden from me. This happens when I forget to put them in their place. The bed is my favorite friend. We have an understanding with her. I fill it up, and it gives me magical dreams.
Mitin Maxim
The computer desk doesn't like me very much, something constantly falls under it: now a pen, now a notebook, now a very important piece of paper. And I don’t even want to talk about the closet - sometimes the clothes will fall out of it, or you will not find the right one. The bed loves me very much, it is good, soft, comfortable and wonderful dreams are dreamed on it. I am also friends with a chest of drawers, because I put things neatly in it.
The chair does not respect me, because I always spin on it. But the sofa loves me very much. I come home from school tired, lie down on the sofa, and he carefully puts a pillow under my ear. As a person treats his things in the house, so they will reciprocally answer him.
Mitin Kirill
I really love my house and the things that are in it. But not all things love me. So there is a mess on the table and in the closet, the closet is not friends with me. When I put my things well, then in a few days he will be offended for something, and all things will become wrinkled.
I love the writing desk, I write and draw on it too often. The chair does not respect me, I once fell from it. The sofa loves me, it is very comfortable and I have wonderful dreams on it. But the blanket doesn't like me at all, because I often throw it off on the floor.
