When she was gone...

Essay by cassetsCollege, UndergraduateA, November 2006

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I often dream about my grandmothers village house, her old bed with the metal net, which a crowd of us, kids, enjoyed climbing on an and rocking it back and forth, throwing the pillows on each other. Grandmother would then grab a stick and threaten to teach us a lesson. But we ran faster then her... I always remembered our grandma's kind and loving smile-even when we caused her trouble.

Every summer grandmother's house had baby chickens, ducklings, bunnies and us- her four oldest grandchildren: three girls and one boy. We ate a lot, slept a lot, fought, stole apples from neighbor's garden and rode an old rusty bike. We enjoyed catching up to and hanging on to the back of horse-drown carriages full of summer-dried hay, and only bravest of us attempted to cling on to it across the waist-deep river...

Grandma, as many hard-working villagers of that time always wanted to wake

up with the morning roosters and singing of birds. Not just wake up, but also she could go water the plants, wash our closes and feed home animals. Working at the early hours and hearing the village sunrise sounds gave grandma meaning of life, and was a sign of success. For being a hard-working woman of the kolkhoz, she was greeted in front of many workers and as in important ceremony was given a wall-hanging clock with a little singing bird, which came out of tiny door every half an hour. For a long time at home, grandma watched at the clock with love and then hung it on the wall in best to see spot. Then, she invited two or three of her best friends and together celebrated until late in the night. Together, they sang poetic Ukrainian songs about life and would...