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Folktales and Modern Mentality

Our children have become so developed in their comprehensive thinking that you would be surprised at their little remarks. Once I was reading an Eastern European folktale to my daughter when she was five. According to the story, a girl went on a journey to find her little brother, who was kidnapped by an evil witch. On her way to the witch’s house, she met an apple tree full of apples, an oven full of bread, and a milky river. All of them asked her for help before sharing food with her and advising her of the direction to the witch’s house. At the end of that story, my daughter asked in confusion, “Mom, why did she not meet a microwave and refrigerator?”

As I was stunned by her question, I also, sadly, realized that those stories have become unpopular and boring. Nowadays, children cannot imagine that they must do chores to get food on their plates. We are so used to our comfort that we can’t imagine a life without pressing buttons and flipping switches. Simple knowledge about what bread is made of or how apples grow – our children dig for on the internet, if they choose to, of course. They have no interest in knowing all of this because all their lives they have been introduced to the final products: everything we need we can buy at the store. As a consequence, we are paying a high price for it by shaping our kids’ consumer mentality, based on taking – and not giving – attitudes.

There was something else that troubled my daughter. Who could write such a silly tale in which parents left their kids unattended? That sounds criminal at best. As a consequence of parental neglect, the youngest child was kidnapped. Of course, this folktale, as many others, was written centuries from now. And people then were living a lifestyle that reflected their era. But it is a task to explain all these archaic details to your kids. Thus, it is becoming more reasonable to postpone reading those stories at least until middle school age, if not longer, and maybe even do the folklore studies necessary exclusively for linguistic students.

The Length Of the Chapter

The length of the chapter can be a challenge for both aspiring writers and experienced ones. What word count is best – two thousand or four thousand? There is no right or wrong answer to that. But it is important to remember that you are not writing the book for yourself – instead, you are writing your book for others. Your reader will not always have time to finish the long chapter, but almost everyone likes to experience a great feeling of accomplishment – when you give yourself a pat on the back. The long chapters might cause some inconveniences while reading. For example:
Your reader will have to remember the place, and page to come back;
Your reader will need to have a bookmark nearby;
Your reader may be upset that he did not complete the chapter.
The reading process is also a job, and in my opinion, it is one of the writer’s responsibilities to respect this job and make it less stressful. Although it can be difficult sometimes – to maintain the same length, I prefer to stick to three-four, maybe five pages per chapter. I’d rather have more chapters in my book than more pages in my chapter.

The antagonist is also in my heart

There is nothing abnormal in the fact that most people hate the antagonists in the stories. That is fine, because that is simply what the antagonist is made for – to be a bad guy, due to the need to build conflict between good and evil. However, it would be dishonest of me to say that I hate my antagonist. No. I have a tender feeling toward him. I understand entirely why he has become the person that is represented in my book. I’ll tell you even more – every time I interact with him on my pages, my heart takes a tumble: Darn it! He’s so good, and he is so bad.
Let’s think about the topic of being good and bad at the same time. My elementary school teacher once responded to one of my classmates, who came up to her desk and angrily grumbled, “You don’t like me!” She said, “No, I do not dislike you. But I did not like how you acted toward Lorie today“. This teacher was excellent at explaining the difference between judging and analyzing. “Judge not lest ye be judged” always has been my leading principle. I’m not saying that the criminals should not be thrown in jail or sentenced to prison. Of course not. Moreover, I believe in the general detterance of punishment – accordingly to which, the public is less likely to commit a crime because of fear of the punishment; but I always keep in mind that everthing is relative. Whereas Mike could be a “bad” person in the eyes of one, he could be a “good” person in the eyes of another.

Solovki (Facts)

Solovetsky Monastery / Special Prison / Concentration vs Labor Camp

#Solovetsky Islands #GULAG Archipelago

The #Solovki special camp was established in 1923 on the Solovetsky Islands in the White Sea as a remote place of detention, primarily intended for those who was against Bolshevik regime. The process of transitioning from a monastery to a concentration camp began in the fall of 1922. All wooden buildings were burnt, and many of the monks were murdered. Some of them were sent to forced labor camps.  Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn called Solovki the “mother of the GULAG”. His world-famous book The Gulag Archipelago describes the history of the creation of labor camps in Soviet Russia. The book shows the details of the prisoner’s daily life. The workers entered those camps through the schools of the Ministry of Internal Affairs or through military registration and enlistment offices. The convicts ended up in those camps as a result of their arrests. Most of the them were intelligent people who, in one way or another, expressed disagreement with the government politic. Writers, poets, dramaturgs, musicians, scientists and just ordinary Christians have been sentenced for many (10-20) years and even for life. https://www.amazon.com/Gulag-Archipelago-Three-set-volumes/dp/B002Y2OG2A/ref=sr_1_3?crid=2OZGW6WMM2HAS&keywords=the+gulag+archipelago&qid=1574519235&sprefix=The+Gulag%2Caps%2C205&sr=8-3

In 1939, the prison camp was closed. The buildings were utilized for a naval base and cadet corpus. One of its famous students was the author of “The Demonic Forces” Valentin Pikul. 

Christian prisoners were forced to sing Internazionale, kneeling for hours in the harsh winter weather outside. If one could no longer physically sustain singing, the soldiers could kill the other two.

The Solovetsky Monastery founded in the 15th century.

“Ostrov” (Island) is a 2006 film drama directed by Pavel Lungin

During World War II, the sailor Anatoly and his captain Tikhon were captured by the Germans when they boarded their barge and tugboat with coal. A German officer offered Anatoly the choice to be shot or to shoot Tikhon instead. Terrified of dying, Anatoly killed his friend Tikhon. The Germans blew up the ship with Anatoly but God granted him life. He was found by Russian Orthodox monks on the shore. He converted to become a monk. For thirty years, he tried to cope with his self-condemnation. Over those long years he had acquired the gifts of prophecy and healing. People of different regions sailed to the island. While healing others, Anatoly remained in a perpetual state of repentance. He often sailed to an uninhabited island where he prayed for forgiveness. One day he met a man who brought his daughter to the monastery. The man took his daughter to numerous doctors but none of them were helpful. She was possessed by a demon and Anatoly exorcised it. The visitor turned out to be Tikhon. He testified that Anatoly only wounded him in the arm. Tikhon forgave Anatoly.

When better to visit the Archipelago

From June to October you can get to the archipelago by boat. The rest of the time, the islands are reached only by air, due to the solid ice covering the White Sea. The most popular time to visit Solovki is from mid-July to early August. At this time, all excursions and locations are available, you can swim in small lakes inside the island. But there are crowds of tourists and many mosquitoes.I would recommend traveling in late summer or early fall. The weather is not bad at this time. However, there are a lot of berries and mushrooms in the woods. You can experience a walk barefoot on the moss, but swimming is likely to be cold. The last excursion to the cape, where you could see belugas – white whales is carried out on August 15.

In winter or early spring, you can see the northern lights, ride the snowmobiles and do the winter fishing. Tours are carried out only by prior request – you must contact the bureau to reserve at least three days before the trip. The average temperature in winter is −10 ° C.

Killing Your Best Friend Book Preview

Chapter 1

Tammy and Marta

Tammy woke in the middle of her nightmare. A sharp, metallic screech tormented her with an intense headache, and she shuffled her feet to the kitchen. She didn’t even turn on the light. It would only intensify her pain. There was plenty of light for her from the electric clock-radio with an illuminated 3:37 a.m.

It never ends, she thought, struggling with the pain. I’m so tired.

With a sigh, Tammy reached for the small box with a red cross in the middle. For nearly two years, she had been battling cancer and the posttreatment side effects that often tortured her with severe headaches and insomnia. There was always something in her body that gave her a feeling of deep unhappiness.

“Forty years old … I’m still young. I want to enjoy my life.” She cried softly so she would not wake her husband.

She protested her illness every day. Every single day. She imagined herself with a flag of various colors in her hands to represent the vividnessand perfection of life, and holding it tightly, she walked toward barricades to protest and to fight the struggleand the great sufferingof life.

She took a pill, drank a cup of water, and looked through the window for no apparent reason—just as she usually did, because of her painful insomnia. There was nothing yet in touch with the new day. Not a single motion was outside except the light spring breeze that occasionally interfered with the tree leaves. Suddenly, it seemed to her that a shadow flashed through the shed, but it was difficult to discern what it could be in the dark. Likely some animal scavenging for food. Besides that, it was a quiet early morning. Perhaps too quiet …

Then she saw another shadow, much larger. It crept along the ground, trembling under the light of a lonely lantern. Tammy squinted her eyes again, peering into the darkness. Then only one word involuntarily burst out her mouth. “Why?”She glanced at the clock. It was 3:45 a.m.

            A God-forgotten place. She thought. Shabby houses are divided into two halves,  for the sake of people supporting each other. Life here is not the same as in the city. You can come over to your neighbor late in the evening, without an invitation to simply ask for salt if you’re out of your own. You can exchange fresh deer meat for a bottle of moonshine. But this life is not as simple and as harmless as it may seem at first glance.

The fact that last Saturday night had been so peaceful seemed uncommon to her. Usually, she could hear every word behind the wall of her duplex when Marta’s husband was drunk. Both families could be imaginarily united as one, due to the number of secrets they kept about one another, involuntarily and faithfully but certainly not with a sincere desire of it. Sometimes Tammy wished Marta, the woman next door better luck with her terrifying spouse. She prayed for her safety while sending her daughter into the farther room to avoid having her hear the X-rated language that, luckily for her family, was often transformed into a drunk man’s incoherent mumbles. She didn’t know if she could handle it any longer. Ever since Marta married that man, everybody’s life in their neighborhood had become shaded with hidden fear and the awareness of a potential murder.

Chapter 2

Cops for Breakfast

“Get up! Get up!” Dustin shook his wife lightly by the shoulders.

Tammy opened her eyes halfway. Showing disappointment, she shamed her husband. “Are you serious? You know I didn’t sleep all night.” The daylight was already breaking through the ginger curtains, creating an effect of fire in the bedroom. Tammy chose this fabric on purpose because she hated the cold. She hated her habitat with an importunate abundance of gray and green. So depressing. She pulled her blanket over her head.

“Please, Tammy, get up. There is something going on,” Dustin insisted with worry in his voice. His words summoned her curiosity, so she could not close her eyes again. She wrapped her tense body in a soft polyester robe and followed her husband to the kitchen.

“What do you need?” she asked with irritation.

Without words, he nodded toward the window. Cops were swarming around Marta’s shed.

“Do you have any clue what happened?” she asked her spouse.

“I don’t. But maybe youdo,” Dustin said, and she caught a hint of suspicion in his voice. He agitated her. She shot him a challenging look, to which he immediately responded, “Youwere the one not sleeping all night, not me.”

“And what is your point?” she said.

“Well …”

“That’s right! You have nothing to say!” she snapped.

She never had patience when he tried to build conclusions. Some things became hard for him to comprehend with his beaten head. Over the years, Tammy still loved her husband tenderly, and if not for her illness, which unfortunately had developed as a chronic one, she would open her heart to him again. But now she was a grumpy, impatient woman, and snarled at him each time she heard his naïve talk or absurd ideas. On his part, he would not be able to forgive her for shoving him in a high school to be a gym teacher, instead of supporting him in his boxing career, which she never believed in. His last spar was as dramatically painful for him as it was for her. He lay in a coma for four days, and that was enough for her to understand one truth: there is no reason to endanger your whole life in an instant for the possibility of some silly fame. She tried her best to prove to Dustin her point. But either she didn’t choose the right words or he was not made of the right material to absorb them. Either way, his mind had stubbornly followed the path to a hostile denial of all that his wife wisely created for him: his new life and his new career. He just wasn’t willing to accept the fact that without her, he would be nothing more than a full-bodied man with one dream annoying him constantly—how to split somebody’s head and protect his own.

“You’re still here?” Tammy said with irritation.

“Where am I supposed to be?” he asked and paused for a moment. “Can I have my coffee? Promise not to bother you with my stupid ideas.”

“Oh, thank you! You deserve a good breakfast then!” She allowed some irony. “What do you want? Eggs or biscuits?”

“Well … can I have both?” he asked guiltily. “By the way, Happy Mother’s Day!” 

Tammy burst out laughing. “Oh my God, Dustin! You are the most attentive husband in the world!”

After her sleepless night, she lost some control over her emotions. Nothing unusual for any human being. Of course, she didn’t mean to talk to her husband the way she did, but somehow it happened all the time. She would provide both—biscuits and eggs, plus sausages. She teased him because it simply fell in her manner. And the other thing: she experienced too many disappointments during her almost twenty years with Dustin. Doubtfully, her harshness reflected her rancor. No. Rather, it was the easiest way to defend her rights in her marriage.

A heavy knock on the door suddenly interrupted the silence in their kitchen.

“Open the door,” she ordered, cracking eggs in the bowl. “Cops.”

“Why do you think so?” Even now Dustin tried to argue with her.

She sighed, sending him another dramatic look, the look of a doctor to a hopeless patient.

“Who else can it be? Just open the door, Dustin.” She didn’t even try to hide her irritation.

Of course, she was right. Two police officers—one tall and thin and the second shorter and heavier—were standing behind their door like a mismatched set.

“May we come in?” the tall one asked with the type of confidence only a cop could have, acknowledging that nobody would attempt to refuse the law enforcer’s request.

“Sure,” Dustin said, stepping aside to let them in.

Tammy was busy with her breakfast preparation. The last thing she wanted to see in her tight kitchen were cops early in the morning. At least for her, it was too early.

“Yes?” she inquired, expressing titanium unhappiness. She did not even bother with the traditional hello or good morning. “May I help you?”

“Excuse my wife, please. She …” Dustin held his tongue for a moment. “She has been sick for days.”

Tammy remained calm, but inside, she thanked God for timely leading Dustin’s thoughts. Sure, the cops were fishing for details. Of course, she had nothing to hide, but she didn’t want an extra headache.

“Alexander and Marta Gray are your neighbors? Have you noticed anything strange with them lately?” the tall officer asked.

Everything about her neighbors seemed strange to her. They are married!And this is already strange! “Yes, they are my neighbors,” she replied. “Is it not obvious for you, idiot?” she murmured under her nose.

“What?” the officer sought elaboration.

“I don’t understand your question, sir.”

“Have you noticed anything strange in your neighbors’ behavior lately? Maybe loud talking, unusual visitors?” the officer asked.

“Like the president of the United States?” Tammy said, allowing herself to be sarcastic. Then she caught Dustin’s pleading look and settled herself back. “Sorry, Officer. I don’t see how the neighbors’ voices cannot be loud to us with the wall we share that is only four inches thick. I can diagnose them with the flu through the wall if they sneeze or cough.”

“Exactly,” the cop said. “If you can hear your neighbor’s cough, surely you can hear much more than that. Probably every word, huh?” The officer winked at her.

“Not really. Only the talking I hear from their bedroom. It seems like the architect of this crap”—her index finger drew a circle in the air —“had some sort of sexual disorder.”

The shorter officer smirked at her remark, and the other continued to question.

“Okay. Maybe some unusual activity? Perhaps some strange noises late at night? Shrills for help maybe?”

“I absolutely hate coyotes, Officer!” Tammy replied dramatically. “They sounded terrible last night. I had to stuff my ears with a bunch of cotton. And by the way, would you mind explaining what the hell is going on?”

The stick-looking cop ignored her question and showed an intention to leave, but the puffy one suddenly intervened.

“A murder took place last night at your neighbors’ barn,” he said, and received a look from the other one, which didn’t confuse him a bit. Tammy noticed that he no longer had a stupid smile on his face. Maybe he is not stupid after all.Holding onto the kitchen table, Tammy plumped into the chair. “Who?” she barely vocalized and felt a cold sweat all over her. Her lips became dry now as she experienced a sudden thirst.

“Did you know the guy named Ivan Kortnev?” the puffy one asked. 

“Yes,” Tammy said. She took a deep breath, and her own breath was incomprehensible to her—a disappointment, or vice versa, some strange relief? She couldn’t interpret it yet. Then, under the pressure of the officer’s insisting look, she said, “He was a good man.”

“Was?” the officer regarded her eyes.

“You just asked me if I knew him,” Tammy answered. Then she got up, reached to the sink, and poured a glass of water. She greedily drank half a glass.

“What about you?” The officer shifted to Dustin.

“What?” Dustin seemed confused. Tammy turned her head and gazed at her husband curiously. What’s his answer going to be like?

The officer helped Dustin out. “Did you see or hear anything last night?” 

“Sorry.” Dustin shrugged his shoulders. “Can’t complain. I slept good all night.”

“Okay.” The officer gave up and, redirecting to Tammy, said, “Have a nice day, ma’am!” Both turned and walked out of her kitchen.

“Good luck!” Tammy sent her modest wish after them, and then she reached for the plates to serve their interrupted breakfast.

Dustin swallowed his saliva at the sight of the plate with golden scrambled eggs and hissing sausages. Marta’s homemade sausages! Yummy!

Then, after several bites, he expressed his disagreement with Tammy regarding their recent conversation with the cops.

“You shouldn’t talk with them like that,” he said, chewing on sausages.

“Please! That officer wasn’t worth a crap to have a decent conversation with, let alone saying anything about an interrogation. He has no skills whatsoever to take down testimony,” Tammy argued, watching Dustin eat.

“You just can’t stay away from troubles, Tammy! Can you? You’re always up for a fight. Always. Even now, with your medical condition …”

He knew that his last words would pit her off, and he did regret them as soon as they slipped off of his tongue. She shot him a disapproving look.

“And what about my condition?” She paused for a moment, waiting for his answer, and then emphasized her point of Dustin being wrong. “I’m fine, Dustin! I’m fine! And I do not appreciate your clumsy condolence!”

“You can escape anything but not yourself.”

Build Your Resilience

It is not a big secret that sometimes you will bump into people who are far from supportive. Thereby you must build resilience. You just have to! How? First, you need to realize the fact that not everybody in the world writes and guess what? – not everybody in the world reads, unless they absolutely have to, something work-related for example. So, don’t get upset if your friend or even relative says all of a sudden, Leave this crap alone! It does not bring any money! Yes, working on your project for 2-3 and more years, you don’t receive any monetary compensation. But, guess what, you don’t leave your main job either. You bring income to the house, and sometimes you even take a side job to recoup the costs of your book. So, what are their problems? To me, if someone disappears in malls all weekend shopping, or in bars – drinking beer and playing billiard, then this is their choice. I have nothing to say against it. But perhaps those people treat you as a nut case, only because you write a book. Keep your head up then! And dont give up on your dream! What would I tell them? – Don’t embarrass yourself by talking to a nutty.

Let’s talk about why your family may refuse to support you as a writer. Most of the time that is happening because people believe in secure earnings – it’s pretty obvious. You go to work somewhere else for eight hours – you get your paycheck. Mow the grass, paint the wall and you got cash. This sort of income is certain for everybody. But unfortunately, it doesn’t work the same way for the writing folk, whose hard work gets paid quarterly with royalties, an amount which you can’t predict. But guess what, if you take your writing in a serious, mature way, then you invest lots of resources: your time which could be even more than the regular 8 hours a day; your emotional impact, and then you do some research. In addition, serious writing is not a worry-free process. Yes, it is enjoyable, but also it is stressful as well. Why? For one thing, because you’re taking full responsibility for every word and every line you put in your book. Sounds intimidating? Agreed. Being a full-time writer is tremendous work. If you are experiencing a hard time with your family members, co-workers, friends – whoever at that point – and it seems to you as if nobody supports your writing endeavor and more than that – doing the opposite, then my advice for you would be:

1. Don’t let anybody humiliate you! Walk away from those people, or change the subject of conversation, and avoid sharing in the future regarding your project. You don’t need an extra headache.

2. Don’t let them destroy your dream! Show your respect towards their dreams and ideas, hear them out, even if their ideas sound unrealistic – that is even better for you.

3. Invent your own interpretation for their offensive words! As an example, I am bringing up an excerpt out of my reply to my husband: CRAP – Creative Resilience to an Annoying Partner.

Have fun with your writing!

Your Attitude Is Everything

Every so often when I hear the question How do you force yourself to write when you don’t have the mood for it? I am perplexed. First, I can’t stand any kind of force and even more so over myself. I have had the best mother ever. She never forced me to eat if I had no appetite for it at that moment. Her heart was sore when our neighbor forced her child to eat, even when that child turned away and spat out food. My mother could not stand it, considering such care as violent. She trusted my choices. “If you’re hungry – you will eat. Why would you be forced to do something?” Now, when I am coming across writer’s tips, accordingly to which you need to force yourself to write at least one sentence a day, I always think: Why? Why, for Christ’s sake, would you eat when you are not even hungry?

I understand that you need to have some organizational skills to keep your book going. These skills probably correlate with one of your main characteristics. For example, whether you are a night person or a morning person. Another variable is your work schedule, if you are not self-employed, of course. What work hours do you have? Morning? Afternoon? Third shift? Here we go, you can plan your writing now. However, you can write at work as well. Even if you have rigid hours with two 15-minutes breaks and an hour of lunch, you can write during these breaks. It doesn’t matter if you have a laptop with you or not. You can write on a piece of paper and even on a napkin if you must. If you have a good memory, you can even write mentally, imagining the episodes of your character’s lives. Your co-workers want to have lunch with you? It’s okay. Don’t let yourself have an excuse for your writer’s absence. Remember, all along with your regular food, a good dessert – a character’s name, or his appearance, trait, or a location – could be provided for you from your lunchmate. It is always possible. 

There is only one thing you need to have – attitude! Beautiful or ugly, but the attitude: I want to write my book as a memoir of my beloved grandma,or I want to write my book so well that my ex would regret the way he treated me! At the core of any attitudes is affect – how passionate are we about something. As you noticed, I used the word want instead of need or must. Why? Because when you must but you don’t want, then nothing worthly of keeping will come out from your quill. Wait for the right moment when you have your inspiration back. Don’t eat only because others do. Change your environment, take a walk, jump with a parachute – do something unusual, even if people are saying you are a nutcase. Get your writing appetite back but stay safe! Don’t jump with the parachute, if you don’t trust your instructor.

Solovki (Facts)

Solovetsky Monastery / Special Prison / Concentration vs Labor Camp

#Solovetsky Islands #GULAG Archipelago

The #Solovki special camp was established in 1923 on the Solovetsky Islands in the White Sea as a remote place of detention, primarily intended for those who was against Bolshevik regime. The process of transitioning from a monastery to a concentration camp began in the fall of 1922. All wooden buildings were burnt, and many of the monks were murdered. Some of them were sent to forced labor camps.  Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn called Solovki the “mother of the GULAG”. His world-famous book The Gulag Archipelago describes the history of the creation of labor camps in Soviet Russia. The book shows the details of the prisoner’s daily life. The workers entered those camps through the schools of the Ministry of Internal Affairs or through military registration and enlistment offices. The convicts ended up in those camps as a result of their arrests. Most of the them were intelligent people who, in one way or another, expressed disagreement with the government politic. Writers, poets, dramaturgs, musicians, scientists and just ordinary Christians have been sentenced for many (10-20) years and even for life. https://www.amazon.com/Gulag-Archipelago-Three-set-volumes/dp/B002Y2OG2A/ref=sr_1_3?crid=2OZGW6WMM2HAS&keywords=the+gulag+archipelago&qid=1574519235&sprefix=The+Gulag%2Caps%2C205&sr=8-3

In 1939, the prison camp was closed. The buildings were utilized for a naval base and cadet corpus. One of its famous students was the author of “The Demonic Forces” Valentin Pikul. 

Christian prisoners were forced to sing Internazionale, kneeling for hours in the harsh winter weather outside. If one could no longer physically sustain singing, the soldiers could kill the other two.

The Solovetsky Monastery founded in the 15th century.

“Ostrov” (Island) is a 2006 film drama directed by Pavel Lungin

During World War II, the sailor Anatoly and his captain Tikhon were captured by the Germans when they boarded their barge and tugboat with coal. A German officer offered Anatoly the choice to be shot or to shoot Tikhon instead. Terrified of dying, Anatoly killed his friend Tikhon. The Germans blew up the ship with Anatoly but God granted him life. He was found by Russian Orthodox monks on the shore. He converted to become a monk. For thirty years, he tried to cope with his self-condemnation. Over those long years he had acquired the gifts of prophecy and healing. People of different regions sailed to the island. While healing others, Anatoly remained in a perpetual state of repentance. He often sailed to an uninhabited island where he prayed for forgiveness. One day he met a man who brought his daughter to the monastery. The man took his daughter to numerous doctors but none of them were helpful. She was possessed by a demon and Anatoly exorcised it. The visitor turned out to be Tikhon. He testified that Anatoly only wounded him in the arm. Tikhon forgave Anatoly.

When better to visit the Archipelago

From June to October you can get to the archipelago by boat. The rest of the time, the islands are reached only by air, due to the solid ice covering the White Sea. The most popular time to visit Solovki is from mid-July to early August. At this time, all excursions and locations are available, you can swim in small lakes inside the island. But there are crowds of tourists and many mosquitoes.I would recommend traveling in late summer or early fall. The weather is not bad at this time. However, there are a lot of berries and mushrooms in the woods. You can experience a walk barefoot on the moss, but swimming is likely to be cold. The last excursion to the cape, where you could see belugas – white whales is carried out on August 15.

In winter or early spring, you can see the northern lights, ride the snowmobiles and do the winter fishing. Tours are carried out only by prior request – you must contact the bureau to reserve at least three days before the trip. The average temperature in winter is −10 ° C.

Fight For It!

IMG_0212_edited.jpgPart 1

The title of my book came in the course of its writing. The writing was a wonderful thing filled with both laughter and sadness. The story of this cup is hilarious. I went to the local Hallmark store to buy a happy birthday card and a little something for my husband for his birthday. I guessed, that just a gift card for his favorite restaurant would not be enough.

When I walked around the shelves, this cup (on the photo) caught my eye with its big golden letters BFF. My kids laughed when they saw me holding it. “No, don’t you dare to get this for him.”

“Why not?” I asked but didn’t expect an answer. Of course, I bought it. And I placed my gift card in it.

Part2

Frequently we get in arguments. Sometimes, it’s over nothing. Just a waste of my time. But sometimes, it’s more than that. Yes, if someone compares your head with a river through which all s… floats, then yes, it hurts. It was always a problem for me to live only at the expense of basic needs. Each of us eats and drinks, sleeps and goes to the bathroom, and monthly pays for all these needs. Yes, my head was always full of something inaccessible to my husband. But gosh, it’s so hard to keep a secret when you have your BFF by your side every day. I wanted to share my project ideas with him so bad! And then, one gloomy afternoon, when he was laying on the couch, watching television and suspecting nothing, I dared. I knew it would be a piece of cake for him to pay attention to me on the commercial break.

“Want to see something?” I asked excitedly.

“Sure, go ahead.” No emotion.

I opened my Word in front of him. He supported his negativism with a sigh of disgust, but as soon as he read in red letters Killing Your Best Friend, his adrenaline finally bumped a level that made him jump off of his couch.

“Are you kidding me?”

“No,” I declared. “This is the title! And I’m not going to change it!”

“People will think, you are a maniac!” he countered.

“Only you, darling, only you.”

From then on, he thinks two times before saying something offensive!

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