некошка вчера совсем сошла с ума: приехав с работы в девятом часу вечера, я приготовила обед мужу и коту, погладила рубашки, и испекла яблочный пирог (не поленившись еще муки по дороге купить!)

(были, конечно, времена, когда у меня почти всегда на кухне что-то было вкусненнькое: печенье в жестяной коробке, пирог... но времена прошли когда я работу поменяла:-)) )

но пирог совсем другой, я обычно что-то вроде шарлотки делаю, а в это раз взяла рецепт из журнала (школа гастронома). получилось нечто похожее на штрудель. поедать подогретым, с шариком мороженого и ванильным соусом



надо как-нибудь на работу пирог притащить, но для этого нужна машина

а она стоит где-то далеко-далеко и ее ковыряют всякие дядечки в грязных комбинезонах...(выздоравливай, сольвейг, ты нам очень нужна!)

ПС ну-ну. скажите еще, что я "страшно далека от народа" если мне без машины пирог не дотащить! дотащить могу. но не хочу. с таким хрупкими предметами в утренней маршрутке?! брррр

Light.

Chicago. Beginning of March

And so where does my heart belong…



The thing she couldn’t really understand was how exactly it happened that Luka Kovac was driving her to Junior High Hockey Final in Des Moines. In fact, she was planning to go with Janie Ritchmeir, another mother from school team. Janie had taken her to various games before, but it appeared that this time she was taking the whole family to Des Moines as everyone wanted to see the Final and there just wasn’t place in her car.

Yes, she had mentioned she couldn’t come to her son’s game when he gave her a lift home after taking Lidka’s sutures off. He said he could drive her there. Said it so casually as if they had known each other for years and a favor of this sort wasn’t really anything to talk about. She asked why he would do that. ‘I’ve never been in Des Moines.’ It settled the matter. Ivan was slightly suspicious. Asked if she, too, fancied the doctor. He kept teasing her all through the week. ‘Mum, really, you and Lidka, you should start a Luka Kovac fan club!’ She nearly hit him with a wooden kitchen spoon in a fit of make believe anger….

The interstate ran smoothly under the jeep’s wheels. Luka had flipped down his sun visor, and opened the window at his side, allowing spring breeze to find its way inside the car. He was a perfect driver. Calm and confident, he drove through the chaos of city centre and here, on a rather empty at this time of the day, freeway, he seemed to enjoy driving just as she would enjoy a long walk. She admired his posture, relaxed, with his fingers barely touching the steering wheel, and still giving the impression of total control. She admired his hands, big and fine shaped just as all about him. She smiled turning her head to the window. Didn’t want him to notice. Was she falling for him? She didn’t know. All she could admit so far was that she enjoyed being with him.





Des Moines



- Hey, your son’s got fans!

- What? – she could hardly hear him in the noise of the arena.

- Listen!

From somewhere below, they must have been standing right on the level of the ring, there came a very high-pitched shrill:

- U-sha-kov in the team – Chi-ca-go will win! Ru-ssian – ro- cket!

Now she finally found them with her eyes. Three girls dressed in school teams’ colors, they were yelling at the full power of their lungs and jumping vigorously. There were other fans of their team, and numerous Iowa supporters of course, but these three were the loudest of all. She knew Ivan was popular in school, but she never realized to what extent. One of them turned, as if having felt her stare and noticed her.

- Hey, Mrs Ushakova!

All three of them turned to greet her with a wave just for a second and immediately returned their full attention to the game - right in time to see Ivan in the possession of the puck, speeding across Iowa’s blue line. She jumped to her feet, forgetting how to breathe as she saw the opponent’s defensemen coming at him, and then the arena was shaken with screams and shouts. Chicago score!

- Yes!!! - she yelled, and before realizing it found herself hugging Luka, - we’ve made them!









It started raining as she approached Chicago. First a few drops crawled down the windscreen and then all of a sudden, a whole Niagara was pouring down, rattling off the car roof. Water and lights glistening through the wall of it were deforming everything in the sight. She had the wipers at full speed and yet couldn’t help feeling dizzy. It seemed to her that at times the huge jeep was floating, as if weightless, dangerously glissading across the lane lacking proper connection with the road. A convoy of haul trucks overtook her splashing the windscreen with several slaps of road water in a row. She glanced at Luka. They were both still asleep: him and Lidka. Her head on his shoulder, his arms locked tightly around her. She carefully reached for the gloves compartment and pulled out the map. Right, next exit.

Luka opened his eyes when they were already in city centre, about ten minutes from the school. She smiled. He looked around, slightly disorientated.

- Iisuse Boje. How long I slept?

- About two hours. Not that long.

- Rain’s really heavy. Want me to take over?

- No, we’re almost there.





When she pulled over at the school entrance there were other parents already standing there, waiting for the bus.

- You can’t park here.

- I know. I’ll just take her to bathroom and be back.

- Go. I’ll park the car.

She got out, quickly ran round the jeep’s front and took Lidka from his arms. Coming back to the school’s sliding doors she caught a sight of Luka running from the parking, his leather jacket over his head. She couldn’t help laughing and she wasn’t surprised that Lidka joined her. He looked at them with a broad grin.

- Don’t feel any pity for me, do you, girls?

- I didn’t make you run here! You could have stayed in the car.

- What, the gentlemen aren’t supposed to have the same basic human needs?

She laughed again.

- Ground floor, on the left.

- Thank you!

As soon as he left she saw a woman coming towards her from the place where a group of parents was standing, chatting. Janie Ritchmeir.

- Hey. Hello, princess, - she said, bending to touch Lidka’s shoulder. She was one of the very few people Lidka spoke to.

- Hi, - replied Lidka, allowing to be stroked, but withdrawing from the touch almost immediately.

- I saw you at the game, - said Janie.- Good that you made it there.

- Yes. I enjoyed it. Why didn’t you come up?

- You seemed a bit busy.

She noticed a smile playing on Janie’s lips. She sensed there was something coming up.

- The man with you. Could I have seen him somewhere? I don’t mean to intrude, sorry, but it just feels like a dйjа vu.

She should have expected that. Janie worked at County, an ICU nurse. And there was no way anyone seeing Luka was to forget him. She hesitated for a second, not knowing if he would want people in the County to know he went to Des Moines with her to see a junior high hockey game. On the other hand, as far as she knew Janie, she wasn’t a gossiper.

- No dйjа vu. He’s an ER Attending at County.

- Oh, really? Now I know where I saw him. He must have come up to check on a patient.

предыдущая закрытая тема закрыта в связи с узкоспецилаьной направленностью разговора, который к тому же может считаться отчасти рекламой

но, statement останется



мальборо, произведенный в турции, показался некошке безумно ароматным и вкусным. и хотя я не курю, я получила истинное удовольствие.

до сих совершенно волшебный аромат держится на кончиках пальцев

немного напоминает табак, который муж покупает в пакетиках и скручивает самокрутки в специальной машинке

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лето - это маленькая жизнь... а зима - это маленькая смерть

я смотрю, как убирают со всех углов палатки с аршинными буквами выписанными названиями пива, как закрываются уличные кафе. как летят листья и дети бугут с рюкзаками в школу. я снова должна привыкнуть смотреть по утрам на термометр на окне. и брать с собой зонтик.

вот совсем недавно я носила невесомые платья, майки и белую юбку. шлепала с наслаждениям почти босыми ногами в любимых разноцветных босоножках по раскаленному асфальту... а скоро прятаться, в шубы, шапки, тяжелые сапоги с мехом. не забывать перчатки.

я плакала в прошлом году, стоя в прихожей у сеяб дома, я не могла нять шубу потому что руки так болели, что не могла расстегнуть крючки, у меня руки замерзли закрывать варежками лицо ...



как же мы так живем? почему настоящая жизнь - такая короткая, а зимовка - такая длинная?

цитирую

"Please be informed that mini truck GAZEL which brought ....today at 14.30 hrs .... slightly damaged the siding at the entrance of the warehouse under construction.

Reason: the driver (a woman) made a decision herself to drive into the warehouse without waiting for the representative ...."





так, значит? ну и причем здесь то, что водитель - женщина?!

берегитесь, ув менеджер по безопасности, сердитая некошка!

Заштопали катализатор, умельцы. Нет, мы родное не ставим, нам так неинтересно. Мы, левши, такие - и шведов подкуем.

Нашел таки плату заднего фонаря. Заменил. Ура, у нас стопы в попе горят. Achievement.

Теперь нам еще на диагностику двигла попасть (и хорошо б, чтобы не «попасть» на какую-нибудь дрянь там. Маслосъемные колпачки – это еще ладно, поменять можно, чтоб хуже не было… ттт).

И крыло правое заднее заменить. И, даст Бог, перезимуем.

Подумаешь, подушки не работают. Вот вам и хваленая безопасность Volvo!!!

иду вчера вечером к воротам, домой уже. мимо теплой компании, что-то там ковыряющей в непонятном (мне) оборудовании. славяне, однако, не известные любители прокомментировать проходящих мимо девушек турки.

иду в меховом розовом жилете.

смотрят, улыбаются, только поворачиваюсь к ним спиной, отчетливо слышу

- кис кис кис кис....



ржала вслух. они тоже. все порадовалсь в конце очередного нелегкого дня

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