Not as hard as it seems

It is an interesting phase I seem to be going through.

Have you ever noticed, that when hardly pressed, you are capable of much, much more than you could have ever expected of yourself?

The amount of work which  Ihave to do (work in a very broad sense), the number of responsibilities has definitely become smaller, and yet - it seems to demand all of my time and strength.

 - The kids at school are, actually, angels, The worst things I've encountered so far is loud talk, which can not even begin to be compared to the belching contest or bringing knives and Cannabis to the class, which used to be part of everyday curriculum back at the good old trade school.

So every time I get so very much upset and nervous about somebody misbehaving, I pause, sigh and ask myself: "However did I survive back then?"

- There are now much less responsibilities, or, rather, they are concentrated around myself only, so that it's only me and my cats I must take care of, and that has lifted a gread burden from my shoulders. Yeat, there always seems SO MUCH MORE to do! And there never seem to be enough hours in the day.

So every time I get this feeling that I'm not a woman but a Shire horse pulling a well-loaded cart, I pause, stretch my muscles, and ask myself: "However did I se to lift that load back then?"

- The money is there, but never too much, and not all whims can be satisfied at once. I'm still saving for that easel.

So every time I feel an excessive lightness in my wallet, I pause, and smile, and ask myself: "However did I manage to support a family back then?"

And all these questions give me confidence, because if I had been able to do something that hard once, I shouldn't feel troubled with the smaller mishaps and all these tiny inconveniences today.

But, my God, how did I ever manage?

Lecte ;)

Viva la Vita

These photos of elderly tourists were taken on a Saturday morning, on the Town Hall Square. It's high tide and the streets are crowded, and the most part of the people visiting the Old Town are elderly American, British and German travellers. 

As a tour guide, I work with such groups every summer, and have an ambiguous feeling about them.

Firstly,  some of them are clearly too old to travel so far. I've had people with walking sticks, people in wheelchairs, even a person with a portable dropper. Also, almost in every group there is a person with heart problems or breathing, or walking difficulties, and a friend of mine once had to work with an elderly man with amnesia! A question I will probably never get an answer to is - why, WHY do people who can't walk properly choose a three-hour walking tour in a town with cobble streets, and in summer at that, when the temperature reaches up to 30C? 

Naturally, everybody in the group is supportive and understanding with such persons, but we have a timetable to stick to, and a guide simply cannot make 30 people wait for 10 minutes for one person to catch up with the group. Those who work in tourism say that they take art least one corpse off a cruise boat in every harbour. Sometimes people die right during the walking tour. 

Is it really worth the effort?

Secondly, despite all my grumbling, I admire these people greatly. An image of a retired person having fun and travelling round the world AFTER he or she has turned 60 or even 70 is completely alien to the post-Soviet culture in which I grew up. Here, most retired people simply can't afford travelling, and even when they can, the thought rarely crosses their mind. In Soviet (and the stereotype is alive still), once you retire your only entertainment is TV, gossip, and bringing up your grandchildren. And then you die. Finita. 

When I see the western elderly people, the old ladies with haircuts, manicure, earrings and scarves, the gentlemen with photo cameras, buying amber, drinking coffee in street cafes, choosing souvenirs, laughing and so clearly enjoying themselves, my heart almost bursts with pity for our grannies and grandpas, most of whom see nothing of old age but its misery, its poverty and bereavement. 

Here, old people are not used to enjoying themselves, nor are they supposed to. It's a horror of a life, really, when the culture denies old age any fun, or even dignity. A common phrase you may hear from an elderly person is: "I don't need it any more", the "it" being fancy dress, or interesting kind of food, or travel, or anything in that line. It's like after certain age you're not allowed to live any more. You don't wear bright new things. You don't travel. You don't try new food. You don't buy anything new and expensive (even if you can afford it). 

People who are used to thinking like that spend the final 20-30 (more even) years of their lives being old, shabby and discontent. It's the Soviet heritage, when a life is only valuable when it can be used for labour, for production, and actually living is a capitalistic heresy, it is indecent and makes you unworthy of the community you live in. Such a person would at best be considered extravagant. I hate it with every fibre of my soul. When I hear the "What-do-I-need-it-for" phrase from my Mom, who's not even close to sixty, I feel a surge of desperation, and get so angry - how dares she deny herself the beauty of life? How dare she think herself so valueless?

I love working with these people, however grumpy and uneasy to handle they may be, and I greatly admire the system, the society which made it possible for the elderly to keep their dignity, and remain human beings to the last.