Grandmothers' stories about village life with horses. Stories about Mordovian moksha

Short funny fairy tale About the old grandmother - one of the most beloved Russians folk tales in children preschool age. You can read the fairy tale about the old grandmother online or download the text in DOC and PDF format.
The fairy tale begins quite funny, and resembles the matryoshka model: From more to less or vice versa. Grandmother, granddaughter, chicken, mouse. The grandmother’s water dishes are large buckets, her granddaughter’s are smaller, the chicken’s is the size of a cucumber, and the mouse’s is the size of a thimble. They collect water in the same way: the grandmother from a well, the granddaughter from a log, the chicken from a puddle, and the mouse from a pig’s hoof. As a result, it becomes clear why the emphasis is placed on their size; it turned out that their fears correspond to their size: The grandmother was afraid of the bear, the granddaughter was afraid of the wolf, the chicken was afraid of the fox, and the mouse was afraid of the cat.
The main moral of the tale lies on the surface, Fear has big eyes. But after analyzing the tale more deeply, you can draw conclusions and stumble upon more deep meaning. For each value, there are corresponding sizes of needs and behavior. big ship– a big swim, a small dog, a puppy until old age. This does not mean the size that can be seen with the naked eye, but the size to which a person has grown in terms of intelligence, worldview, and the stage of personality formation. If a person is shallow in soul, uneducated and has not matured as a person, the thoughts, desires and actions of such a person will also be insignificantly shallow. A person who has a personality complete harmony in biological, social and psychologically, thinks differently, the actions and habits of the first psychotype are not characteristic of him.
A fairy tale about an old grandmother and a laughing granddaughter clear example folk proverbs: Fear has big eyes, The devil is not as scary as he is painted, Fear has eyes that are small and can’t even see crumbs, Fear makes the eyes pop out of their heads, For some, thunder is not thunder, but a drum is scary, Fear has nine pairs of eyes.

My grandfather was probably the funniest guy in their area!

He told me this funny story grandfather who lived 92 years and died only from an accident, and not from old age! He and his grandmother lived all their lives in the village, breathed clean air, ate fresh food - everything of their own, Buryonka gave milk, pockmarked hens laid eggs, etc.

Moonshine

Grandfather got some moonshine, drank it, and grandma took it and hid all the moonshine somewhere. Maybe she buried it in the hay, maybe in the garden, in village house there are plenty of places...

Grandfather asks for more, but grandmother does not give in to his pleas. Then the grandfather says: “ Now I’ll go to the barn and hang myself!". Granny hasn’t been married for the first time, she says, go and hang yourself!

Well, my grandfather left, but he was a great prankster! In the barn I tied a rope to my strong leather belt, threw it over the beam, and put a sweatshirt on top of it. Pretended to be hanged...

He heard the grandmother coming, she decided to check the old man... Well, he stuck out his tongue and looked like he was hanged. The grandmother saw it, started crying, and the neighbor immediately came running to the screams. In general, the granny ran after the chairman of the collective farm, but the neighbor stayed behind...

The grandfather held out for a long time, but when the neighbor looked around and began to collect some kind of tool in the barn in her hem, he could not stand it and screamed:

Don't you dare, you damned one!

The neighbor fainted! Then they wanted to punish my grandfather for petty hooliganism with 15 days, but the chairman of the collective farm himself stood up for him: they say, he’s a hard-working man, he’s really needed on the farm right now!

I would wish it on my grandparents for long years life, but it's too late...

We have been the owners of a small dacha for about 10 years. The dacha is located in the village. And in the village, as it should be, there should be a temple. They are. And for 8 of our 10 years it was a typical sight of a modern village church - a headless bell tower, ruins of a refectory, a collapsed dome vault. And around the ruins, and in some places on them, small birch trees grow. Once, while walking around the temple, we picked up a piece of brick with the thought that maybe the temple would completely collapse, but a small piece would survive. But last year, a leisurely but purposeful restoration of the temple in the village of Rusinovo began.

This year, among other summer residents, our restless family with three young children began to attend services. Very often now they write about how poorly they receive children, how they hardly tolerate them, and how quickly they send children out of the church. They say they make noise, run around, talk, and interfere in every possible way. And here it is Sunday. Having dressed the prettier children, we go to the temple. Somehow they will meet us there...

We went to the service early so as not to be late. But it turned out that they hadn’t read “I Believe...” either. What to do for children? Favorite pastime is blowing on candles. I lowered my eyes to the floor in advance, try to quickly relight the extinguished candles, try not to get angry and try very hard not to look people in the eyes. “Now they’ll kick me out or say something,” I think, blushing and sweating, after each childish loud retort. In general, I don’t really take part in the service, but I’m still worried about where the middle one got in, where the older one went, and how to calm the younger one down.

And then the woman from the candle box turns to us: “Children, come here, look how many toys there are! This is for you, and this is for you,” she says, handing out bears and hares to my children. And all this with a good, sincere smile. “Wow!” - I think. But now, having played with the offered toys and gone through all the others, the children return to their previous activity - blowing out the candles. They put it out - I light it. They extinguish it with excitement - I light it up nervously. Finally, one of the praying women comes up to me: “Leave it alone, we’ll light it again later!” Do not worry!" And also with a smile! I'm in culture shock! And it says elderly woman, the same age as those fierce grannies, whose image often pops up in the Orthodox and other media.

There are not many children in the temple at all. A large family in the village is now a rarity. Grandmothers are touched by little children and watch with interest the grown-up talkative three-year-olds. And in grandmother’s eyes there is joy and warmth. And a little melancholy.

Well, I think they treated us so well the first time, then they will be stricter. We come for the second time. But again, smiles, care, a desire to help and entertain. Someone lifts my son up so he can kiss the icon, someone lets me blow out the candle. “I want to take communion!” – the middle one says in a loud whisper, tired of waiting and hungry. The parishioners turn around and look at each other in surprise and approval. Completes the godly picture younger son. Approaching the Chalice, he fidgets impatiently in his hands, points his finger at the Chalice and demands: “Yum-yum!” Even the priest smiles.

Still an amazing difference! Approximately the same fates Soviet women 60-70 years old, experiencing the same joys and sorrows Soviet state. But what a difference there is in the perception of life and its specific manifestation - children! May God grant them, these numerous grandmothers, “white handkerchiefs - heavenly flowers,” many years to come!

Greetings, blog readers!

Apart from collecting jokes and all kinds of cool phrases, aphorisms and sayings, I have been collecting funny ones for a long time, funny incidents from life. Previously, I wrote them down on paper or kept them in memory, but now there is an opportunity to publish them for a wide range of blog readers.

I bring to your attention two stories from village life. In which village, in which region the events took place, I find it difficult to answer, they told me this myself, I only made a literary cut. The first story is about a strange, mysterious summer resident who started living near the village. Second humorous story about the influence of unprintable words that are usually not spoken in front of women and children. So, read on!

Unrespectable deal

Our village is small. Previously, of course, there were more, until in the early nineties it democratically left the collective farm “Red Vegetable Grower”. And as soon as it came out, it fell into disrepair. The youth left, the men who were quicker moved to the city, only the old people and former collective farm drunkards remained.

It seemed that everything was kaput. But no. A circumstance happened that slightly extended the existence of the village. At the beginning of the same nineties, either a deputy, or a general, or a businessman, or a new Russian, or a bandit, or an aspiring oligarch, - in a word, a wealthy in monetary terms little man. He liked our place and decided to build himself a dacha.

Construction work has begun. First they were built by soldiers, then they were replaced by representatives of nations Central Asia. The village came to life: old women sold moonshine to shock builders, and men carried various building materials from the construction site. The building materials were drunk or used to repair outbuildings. Life in the village was in full swing.

And so they built a dacha. The construction turned out well: three floors, two satellite dishes and a two-meter brick fence with an iron gate. But the new building looked somehow unsightly and lonely among the blackened, rickety huts and dilapidated chicken coops. The builders left, the local men drank away the last of the cement, sand and pipe scraps. Life in the village came to a standstill again.

The owner of the mansion rarely appeared. Basically, he arrived on Friday evening, hid behind a red brick fence, behaved quietly and inconspicuously, did not communicate with anyone, and on Sunday evening he left for the city again. In the spring, he did not come to the flood at all, especially after the incident when his jeep-SUV sank in a puddle. All sorts of rumors circulated among the people about an unknown mysterious inhabitant.

One day, before the May holidays, there was a incredible incident. The iron gates suddenly opened and the owner himself came out. And he came out not alone, but with a wheelbarrow loaded with brushwood and branches. The brushwood and branches were carefully brought to the forest, which was located about thirty steps from the dacha. Then, the situation repeated itself - apparently the mysterious inhabitant of his property was seriously engaged in pruning trees.

Local men realized: what if they help? Maybe a couple of bottles will drop for work? IN Once again When the owner came out with a wheelbarrow, a simple village peasant named Afanasy approached him. Shy, Afanasy said that it was not good for such a respectable gentleman to do such an undignified task alone, and also hinted that for just four bubbles and half a loaf of sausage, a team of highly qualified specialists would do everything for him in the best possible way. The owner reacted with understanding, saying that he was pretty tired of driving the wheelbarrow to the forest, and there were still a lot of branches.

He disappeared behind the heavy iron gates. Half an hour later, the gates opened and a black jeep SUV drove out... At the back of the jeep was a well-known wheelbarrow loaded with brushwood and branches. The SUV accelerated and braked sharply near the forest...

The power of the unprintable word

Our village is located in a picturesque place in the middle zone of the country. There is a forest, a river, a lake and clean air around. Old-timers remember how in the old days artists came to our region with the goal of capturing nature for subsequent generations, before they spoiled it with the benefits of civilization.

And now they come, but not from painters, but from city dwellers, ordinary city dwellers. They come not with the goal of creating a work of art, but with the goal, to put it mildly, to relax and unwind in the bosom of Nature, pour into themselves an excessive amount of all kinds of alcohol, eat it with something and fall to sleep on the mortal earth.

At first, the villagers were outraged by the indecent behavior of the townspeople. But then they began to take advantage of this situation. The benefits consisted of selling moonshine, lard, herbs, vegetables, fruits and other foods to vacationers that it was a pity to throw away, but the dogs did not eat. Grandfather Tromfimchuk even began to rent out his boat, asking for three packs of foreign cigarettes for the service. The village came to life a little...

But one circumstance greatly upset local residents. The fact is that city residents have gotten into the habit of washing their cars right next to the lake. One could have ignored this, but oily spots began to float across the clear water surface, and the fish began to smell of gasoline. And we ourselves are not pleased when Nature is polluted.

At first, the city people were asked to be kind. They persuaded and explained. But persuasion and requests had no effect on them. Each of the vacationers considered it his duty to wash his car by the lake. Moreover, they washed in the same place, where there was a suitable access to the shore.

Locals began to use physical and forceful methods of persuasion, but this did not live up to expectations; on the contrary, it attracted crowds of police officers and investigators to the village and increased the activity of the local district police officer. In addition, the law enforcement officers themselves began to wash away the city dirt in the village lake. The situation of the villagers seemed hopeless. But no, a humane way to save the environmental situation was soon found.

One fine day off, a smug and self-confident city resident drove up to the lake to wash his foreign car. He started washing, and out of the corner of his eye he saw several local residents coming down from the hill towards him. The residents do not scold or swear, as they did before, but laugh, smile and point their fingers at him. This greatly surprised and discouraged the townsman. He was even more surprised by the appearance of grandfather Tromfimchuk with a camera. The grandfather captured the process of washing a car, a smug and confident driver, and then took a close-up photo of a small sign that says fun near an improvised natural car wash. Having taken the pictures, Trofimchuk laughed, followed by the rest of the village residents.

The sign appeared quite recently, but had a magical effect on the locals: it turned anger and indignation into laughter. Yes, instead of being indignant at the behavior of the townspeople, the villagers began to simply laugh at them. So, what was written on this sign? Let's come and read...

Oh! No! The author, knowing that his story is read by women, children, philologists, teachers of Russian language and literature, simply finds it difficult to convey literally the text written on the tablet, so he decided to publish his free translation, which only remotely conveys the meaning. This is what happens: “Here, people of unconventional sexual orientation, immediately after they have been used in an unnatural form with the help of rotators, hammer drills, crankshafts, hard abrasives, other people of non-traditional sexual orientation wash away their (adjectives, not translated) means of transportation. Note: the vehicles are made from fecal matter covered with other natural secretions, the presence of feces is directly proportional to the confident expression on the face of the deprived of intelligence.

The translation turned out to be large, although less was written on the tablet. But on the other hand, the city stopped washing cars by the lake. And they still don’t wash it. This is the power of the unprintable word!