My grandson Dmitry goes to study in Novosibirsk, oil and gas faculty. Fourth generation of oilmen in the family. He leaves on the Tuesday train, the long way through Kazakhstan.
Who will fix my computer now? He says: Skype. I say: what is Skype? He installed it. I see his face on the screen. Fantastic. In 1963 I could not imagine.
The computer is sick again. This time it shows the blue screen and the words "A problem has been detected". It is the first time a machine tells me politely.
Dima is in his last school year and has the exams, so I did not call. I wrote to Bekzhan in the comments in the old post and he told me what to do. Hold the button 10 seconds, wait, press again. Did it. It works. I sent the thank-you with the neighbour who goes to Talas on Monday: a jar of the apricot jam. I think this is the correct exchange rate: one fixed computer, one jar.
Today a woman in the shop, around 45, said to Lyudmila: "Lyudmila Petrovna, it is you! You gave me a three in 1980 and it was fair." They laughed for ten minutes in the queue. Thirty-five years of teaching, and half of the town recognises her. I only have the fame in the cracking unit, and the unit has no people in the shop.
She still keeps the old red notebook with the marks. She says the marks are not about the children, they are about herself, so she remembers who she was.
The old apricot gave 60 kilos this year and the young one 15. We dried them on the roof of the shed on the white sheets from the 1970s. Lyudmila makes the jam, I carry the buckets, and Dima eats when he comes. Everybody has a function.
Parade on Azatlık prospect. My father Ivan Sukhanov went in 1942 from the Kobozev station, came back in 1945 without two fingers, worked 30 years at the refinery. Today I went with his photograph, and Dima with me. A lot of young people this year, more than last year. The band of the refinery played "Den Pobedy" and I cried like a child, I am not ashamed.
In Kobozev the war was the factories: the evacuated plants, 12-hour shifts, the boys of 14 at the machines. My mother made shells. We must remember this also.