A fewer years ago, in the confederate season, tired of the unmerciful July heat, I fell at the statue of Piotr Skonecki, at the entrance to the glassy cafe Vis-à-vis in Krakow. As usual, I wanted to talk to my colleagues about nothing that happens only in the Capital Royal City of Krakow, where haste degrades. To quench the thirst I ordered a large beer, and erstwhile I drank the last sip I felt the planet swaying strangely. I think I got a small drunk. – I told my friends, and they advised me to go to the Town Hall, due to the fact that there is simply a folk fair where the old mountaineer offers sour cream for free, which will do me good.
When I found a highland benefactor and asked about the acid, a heavy heated gazda murmured: “Soup's on the line, but buy yourself a sopke.“ and began to dig into a push bag. ‘Paccie ino ladies as pixie, som yom cut out of a limey piece“ He praised Gazda. ‘What are you doing? It's not like I'm gonna buy a show in July.” – I said to the detacher, but the gazda wouldn’t let go: “Don't be sorry, Mr. Ducks, 'cause it's the soup they're eating.It’s okay. ” How much do you want for it? I asked you for something. ‘Three cones behind it, farts of vats of acidic acid was gone, it's wom on 2 cones of acidic acidic acidic acid.“ He was tempted by a gazda. The day was beautiful, the beer was buzzing in my head, the Polish nature woke up in me, so I thought that 1 was alive and I bought a show that Gazda wrapped in a paper and tied with a hemp string. On the way home, my beer got out of my head, and I murmured to myself under my nose: “Whoa! Stupid old goat! It's not adequate that you're so hot for a beer, you've given yourself up to a sly mountaineer for 200 bucks.It’s okay. ” And erstwhile I got home, I pushed an unwrapped puppet show so it wouldn't remind me of my loserity.
Until Christmas came and like all year I bought a Christmas tree. It's time to wear that tree - I thought and put a chair to the peacock, where I took the pre-war shoe box from Bata tied with a ribbon. I sat in the chair, untied the bow, and mildly lifted the cardboard cap. What was not there?! On top of that was a pin that Dad utilized to make all year to gloat on the tip of a fir tree. There was besides a colorful chain that my grandma erstwhile put together. Decorative cross made of glass beads nipped into silk thread stored in the household for respective generations. Porcelain gnomes in red caps, baskets with blueberries and grape clusters. And besides the clumsily glued angels that my brother and I had cut out years ago from cellophane and spiders, the silver-golden braids of angel hair, poured out the clown from his uncle who died in Katyn, and a fewer colorful baubled baubled bombs... I spent a long time staring at household memorabilia taking each of my own into hand gently, like a host priest at the time of the raise, due to the fact that I realized that my top treasure was the yellow box in which I closed my happy childhood, the happy time erstwhile we were happy, like never again, erstwhile in 1952, Dad's A.K. beat the crap out of him.
When I finished dressing up the tree, I remembered the show I bought from the old Highlander in the summer. So I dug it out of the peacock, unpacked it, and put it under the tree in the dark, due to the fact that in the meantime dark December evening fell. And as I lit the Christmas lights, it became a miracle of the December night before Christmas, for in the glow of colored flowers I saw what I bought from the old gazda. From the light of the show, the heat I remember from my childhood was beating, erstwhile in our old house, all morning, Mom was lighting the oven. And it seemed to me that I saw her looking into the dark pit of the furnace, where under a layer of ash there were inactive any light orange coals, and she digs out a bucket of sharded lumps of coal from the bottom of the bucket, putting them carefully on a cold decision and closing the geled ribbed doors with a skillful blow in the furnace, until the expired paws revive and shine the first shy flame. And suddenly, the furnace caught the moor and the tongues of the golden flames shoot upwards, overlooking the shaky bricks. I thought I was cuddled to the faerie tiles again listening to the tune of the fire. I loved that sound due to the fact that it gave me a sense of safe home and carefree childhood. I thought I felt the forgotten satin heat of a tile oven again.
Having forgotten my memories, I took a closer look at the old gazda sculpture of the nativity scene, and it was only then that I realized that this mountaineer was telling the fact that it was an enchanted nativity scene. She was so beautiful! In the nursery he slept on the bacon Juzusik covered with a starched feather in blue fritters, pyjamas, blushes, you can see that happy and safe. He slept with his eyes closed so good, I thought I heard his quiet breath. Joseph and Mary were at the nursery. He, troubled by the destiny of the family, supported the cradle's busy hands, while she, the chabrowooka, dressed in a carmine dress with golden lams leaned over her son's shielding It's from the December frosting with a snow-white lace veil. While I was sitting there staring at the sorceress, it seemed to me that I heard the words of the old Polish carol coming from heaven: “Let us all go to the stable, to Jesus and the Virgin, let us welcome tiny and Mary His Mother...”. And then I saw an animal carved by an old gazda, and they stuck to a Jesus nursery. An ostracized donkey, a patched calf, a woolen lamb, a burqa ramming tail and a snowy white goose. And just to think that all these wonders of gazda conjured up from a part of limewood, in perfect harmony and order, without 1 unnecessary chisel movement. And again, looking into this highland masterpiece, I found myself in our household home, where before Christmas it smelled like cinnamon and household happiness, and before Christmas on the red-hot plate of the kitchen stove there was a fast borscht on dried borschts, in the sabbatical a Christmas indor sizzled, the older brother had a poppy, Dad had a mass on the cake, which I stole with a finger from his macaw, and Mama was scraping carpa in haste giving each household a shell for happiness. He returned again in 1951. After a Christmas dinner, Mom and Dad got up from the Christmas table, sat down to our Steinway, and, quietly on 4 hands, they infused a carol that was entrenched in my soul: “Lulai, Jesus, my Pearl, lullai my favourite pet. Lulajju, Jesus, lay low, and thou shalt tuck him in the weeping." We didn't know that it was our last Christmas Eve with Dad. Mom left a fewer days later due to the fact that the heart broke. Yeah, she loved Dad.
This morning I bought a Christmas tree and I had to put under it my magical spectacle, which I would not give for any treasure in the world, due to the fact that whenever I look at it, I am again with Mom and Dad in our old home filled with household happiness, which I want for all of you, without exception.
Let the angels dream for you!
Krzysztof Pasierbiewicz (em. academic teacher, independent blogger devoted to the fact and matters crucial to the Polish state)
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