With the opinion that in the village there is hard to live than in the city, no one argues. Therefore, when a person’s life path comes into the autumn season and no strength is no longer the comfort, peace, banal heat — many are moved to the city.
When you have all the utilities, a bunch of shops, cinemas, polyclinics, hospitals, ambulance and other benefits — the city is perceived as paradise. No need to clean the yard — everything will do the janitor, even for the products you can not walk — there are social workers.
But will the blessing there is such a move — that another question!
Just tell two small stories.
In the dashing 90th, a student of the historical faculty, often worked as a collection of apples and berries in the local greenhouse-garden economy. The brigadier we had a slightly complete woman of seventy years. A shadow 100% grandmother is in a handkerchief, an old koftonk, rubber boots — a typical rustic rustic.
Yes, so it was. Mikhailovna lived alone in her house, which was located in the suburbs. Once it was a village, but then it began to surround the city. Her husband died about 20 years before the events described, so a large farm, roosters, geese, goats, quail, guysters, indulgets, rabbits — all this was held only. Children lived in the city, and they visited mom only when the egg, milk and meat ends. Well done so much!
In general, Mikhailovna was a global woman. And she performed the role of the brigadier even better. Despite the constant complaints that it hurts there, and there he hurts legs, legs fall off, the vertebral is not standing there, the joints were embarrassed — she had time to trace all the assemblers on the plot of 10 hectares.
It only happens with a container with a container, and a three-storey obscene design is already flying to you. But if you quickly do everything, you can get a delicious pie with sorrel or rice and egg.
When the shift ended and the bus came for the employees, Mikhailovna immediately squeezed, grasped up at the side and this very barrel-barrel was closed on the bus, where she was already waiting for the first seat. But at the final stop, when there was almost no one on the bus, she was without gamas, Oh, and Ahh drowned the tourist backpack-bun with apples, he took two nets, too, with apples, quickly descended from the footnings and cheerfully went to His home.
All who saw this scene quietly slipped from the seats: one and a half kilometer with a backpack and two grids or enameled vendors of 15 liters.
I’m talking, world woman!
For five years of my part-time, it has not changed either on the iota. And for the sixth year, the children took her to their city. The house was sold, brapping-chopping farm was allowed under the knife, and they bought his mother’s mother’s mother in a nearby house. After 8 months it was not …
The second story is very short.
Seven years ago, one of my acquaintances fell ill. Seriously sick. Doctors gave him from the strength of the year. He sold everything, bought the old house village and left … live. And somehow fell out of sight. And in the spring of this year, I met it in the building materials market, right during restrictions, he came to the city, because methies ended.
Say that I was surprised — nothing to say. Asked?
-Well, how are you?
Yes, like, like. The first time crawled. Then I got a dog, a garden. Winter survived. Then literality spread. Now I have a house, there is a cow, sometimes it happens, but I have no time to hurt — the cow itself will not fit, the firewood in the furnace will not be cluttered. No time to hurt …
My last words hooked me.
In the city, pensioners appear a lot of free time and many, just spend this time to «get sick,» to spare yourself, relax. They allow themselves to do it. In the village where there is no clinic, there is no hospital, and at best there is a FAP — have no time to hurt. In spite of everything you just go and do: on the knees, on the karachets, in the pose of the letter Zyu … — It does not matter if you simply do not have time for the disease.
Do not allow yourself to hurt, do not allow yourself to regret, because not the fool once said: Movement is …