tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28880026566048016202024-03-04T21:19:53.986-08:00Woman in LiveLenchikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11218927952877966693noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2888002656604801620.post-33835723563338300072009-07-09T22:02:00.000-07:002009-08-06T00:56:01.990-07:00My poems. Je vis de toi.Je vis pour toi.<span style="font-size:78%;color:#330033;">Il n’y a pas longtemps j’ai connu un homme très super et beau, très gentil et tendre. Je suis éprise de lui, moi, une femme qui ne fais jamais des bêtises. Mais l’envie de le voir toujours heureux et souriant me pousse a faire cela. Il est devenu une partie indispensable de ma vie. Je pense qu’à lui, je ne veux que lui, je ne rêve que de lui. J’ai jamais pensé que ce serait possible de m’arriver. Mais je l’adoraime trop. C’est à lui que je donne mes poèmes. Merci à toi, mon choucheRhomme, que tu as apparu dans ma vie. </span><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><span style="color:#003300;">Je suis la femme, et ça me donne la force</span></p><p><span style="color:#003300;">La force de te faire sourire quand tu es triste</span></p><p><span style="color:#003300;">Te faire voir la lumière là où il fait nuit</span></p><p><span style="color:#003300;">Te faire bouger quand tu en as pas envie</span></p><p><span style="color:#003300;">Te faire parler quand tu es silencieux</span></p><p><span style="color:#003300;">Je suis la femme, et ça me donne la force</span></p><p><span style="color:#003300;">La force de t’aimer tel que tu es</span></p><p><span style="color:#003300;">Et de te rendre le plus heureux.</span></p><p><span style="color:#660000;"></span></p><span style="color:#660000;"></span><br /><span style="color:#660000;">Nuit d’amour<br /></span><br /><em><span style="color:#330000;">Serre-moi dans tes bras tout doucement<br />Caresse-moi mes seins en réveillant<br />Le désir qui monte dans mon corps<br />De tes mains si fortes et si chaudes....<br /><br />Donne-moi un baiser tout doucement<br />Calme avec ta langue mes lèvres ardentes<br />Sens- les ouvrir en te permettant<br />De faire glisser ta chaleur là-dedans....<br /><br />Déshabille-moi tout doucement<br />Comme une vièrge me contemplant<br />Fais-moi gênée de tes gestes passionnants<br />Fais-moi impudique de ton regard dévorant....<br /><br />Prends-moi tout doucement<br />Profondément en moi pénétrant<br />Sens toute de moi vibrer sous toi<br />Et enfin crier en exstase de la joie...<br /><br />Parle-moi à l’oreille tout doucement<br />Que tu me veux toujours comme ta femme<br />Donne-moi l’espoir d’être aimée</span></em><br /><em><span style="color:#330000;">Dans tes yeux qui brillent fais-moi noyer...</span></em><br /><br /><span style="color:#330033;">A quoi bon avoir des autres ?<br /></span><em><span style="color:#663366;"></span></em><br /><em><span style="color:#663366;">Les orages nous évitent bien depuis<br />A quoi bon avoir des autres ?<br />Le matin quand tu dors je te suis<br />A quoi bon avoir des autres ?<br />Le soleil est toujours si doux<br />A quoi bon avoir des autres ?<br />Moi je t’aime, mon amour est a nous<br />A quoi bon avoir des autres?</span></em><br /><em><span style="color:#663366;"></span></em><br /><span style="color:#003300;">Sans toi</span><br /><em><span style="color:#663366;"></span></em><br /><em><span style="color:#006600;">Sans toi tout est devenu vide<br />La vie a perdu son sens<br />Le soleil n’est plus solide<br />La lumière n’est plus intense<br /><br />Sans toi tout s’est arrêté<br />Rien n’est plus intéressant<br />Les nuits sonts des larmes chargées<br />Les jours sonts très pesants<br /><br />Sans toi je ne sais que faire<br />Tout tombe en ruine<br />Mon âme ne sert plus à rien<br />Mon coeur n’a que d’la peine </span></em><br /><em><span style="color:#006600;"></span></em><br /><span style="color:#333300;">Je le veux</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#666600;">Je te dirai, je ne peux pas me taire,<br />Moi, je le veux toujours,mon cher,<br />Je veux aux champs et dans les prés,<br />Je veux au bois, dans les greniers<br />Je veux toujours, je veux partout<br />Sous le soleil et sous la pluie<br />Quand il est temps d’aller au lit<br />Et le matin avant de nous lever<br />Je veux sur la table, sur le canapé<br />A croupetons et aux jambes en air<br />Sur terre, à l’eau, au bord de la mer<br />Je veux dans la ville et au village<br />Je veux en rebelle, je veux en sage<br />Au froid de pôle ou en chaleur<br />Je veux toujours te bavarder, mon coeur!</span><br /><br />Juillet, 2009<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><em><span style="color:#663366;"></span></em>Lenchikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11218927952877966693noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2888002656604801620.post-43482742545970556772008-10-10T07:32:00.000-07:002008-10-10T08:04:29.233-07:00TheGoldAutomn2008<em><strong><span style="color:#666600;">The automn is a little sad but nice season.</span></strong></em><br /><em><strong><span style="color:#666600;">This automn is right so. </span></strong></em><br /><em><strong><span style="color:#666600;">The beautiful leaves covered the earth as a yellow carpet. </span></strong></em><br /><em><strong><span style="color:#666600;">I invite you to walk on it.</span></strong></em><br /><strong><span style="color:#666600;">But on condition that you don't forget to smile!</span></strong><br /><br /><embed id="VideoPlayback" src="http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docid=-1915251363562010932&hl=ru&fs=true" style="width:400px;height:326px" allowFullScreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"> </embed>Lenchikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11218927952877966693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2888002656604801620.post-38018813195685444672008-09-22T09:38:00.001-07:002008-09-22T11:19:32.830-07:00ForMyBoysAndGirls<EM><SPAN style="COLOR: #660000">To be with you is to be always young</SPAN>, <SPAN style="COLOR: #666600">in a good physical and mental form</SPAN>, <SPAN style="COLOR: #000099">to know how to smile to the bad</SPAN> <SPAN style="COLOR: #006600">and</SPAN> <SPAN style="COLOR: #330033">advance without fear. </SPAN><SPAN style="COLOR: #000099">You're the best. </SPAN></EM><br /><br /><OBJECT class=BLOG_video_class id=BLOG_video-247e0c3953239403 height=266 width=320 contentId="247e0c3953239403"></OBJECT>Lenchikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11218927952877966693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2888002656604801620.post-34209224364734453042008-09-18T10:58:00.000-07:002008-09-24T10:41:57.558-07:00NataPerLui<SPAN style="COLOR: #003300"><EM><STRONG>Mai pui... <br />Senza me tu vivrai... <br />Perche... <br />Tu sei nata per me...io son nato per te... <br />E mai pui.. <br />Mi lascerai... <br />Ti lascero... <br />Per sempre... <br />Mi amarai... <br />Ti amaro...</STRONG></EM><br /><OBJECT class=BLOG_video_class id=BLOG_video-9f36011e693dfcef height=266 width=320 contentId="9f36011e693dfcef"></OBJECT>Lenchikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11218927952877966693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2888002656604801620.post-81888556061768339722008-09-01T10:02:00.000-07:002008-09-01T11:07:09.565-07:00YaTebiaLiubliu<SPAN style="COLOR: #660000">Ja tebia liubliu <br />I ja zhits biez tebia nie magu</SPAN> (<SPAN style="COLOR: #330033">E non posso vivere senza di te</SPAN>) <br /><SPAN style="COLOR: #000099">Oui, oui, moi, je t’aime <br />Chaque fois que tu te réveilles</SPAN> (<SPAN style="COLOR: #330033">Ogni volta che tu ti svegli</SPAN>) <br /><SPAN style="COLOR: #663366">Yes, yes, I love you <br />It’s so easy to say you and to do <br /></SPAN><SPAN style="COLOR: #666600">Ich, ich liebe dich <br />Weil nur du mich zum Lachen bringst</SPAN> (<SPAN style="COLOR: #330033">Ti amo perche’ mi fai ridere</SPAN>)<br /><br /><OBJECT class=BLOG_video_class id=BLOG_video-2951ba083f1013be height=266 width=320 contentId="2951ba083f1013be"></OBJECT>Lenchikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11218927952877966693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2888002656604801620.post-47457727971382759752008-08-28T12:31:00.000-07:002009-07-28T05:47:25.802-07:00ForYouMyDearMan<span style="color:#660000;">I love very much Celentano's songs, most of them are very nice and funny.<br />These songs I would like to dedicate to the best of men I ever knew.<br /></span><span style="color:#336666;">Ti amo, ti voglio bene, venti-quattro mila baci, amore mio. Enjoy them.</span><br /><span style="color:#336666;"></span><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/PyPDshwfwDY&hl=" fs="1" width="425" height="344" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed><br /><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/HweU-Nc__HE&hl=" fs="1" width="425" height="344" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed>Lenchikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11218927952877966693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2888002656604801620.post-42424501676082637322008-08-28T11:21:00.001-07:002008-08-28T13:33:43.804-07:00NewLove<span style="color:#660000;">One day one man said to me:"You are always opened for the new love, it's great!" I answered him: "Sure, cause the old one seemed to not be mine"<br />For those who are in a new love this clip of Uspenskaya "I'm losing myself" with word for word translation from russian.I love this song very much.<br /></span><br /><span style="color:#3333ff;">Mama, God knews, that I’m not drunk,<br />I’m not alone and I’m not in a simple love<br />Only I’m losing my head<br />I’m losing my head<br /></span><span style="color:#333399;">Mama, don’t cry, or look out for trouble<br />The silly questions- what I do, where I’m<br />I’m losing my head<br />The night I’m losing my head<br /></span><span style="color:#000066;">I’m looking at him and I know that I’m losing myself<br />I know nothing about him, but I’m losing myself<br />Without him my life is strange and not mine<br />I’m losing myself<br /></span><span style="color:#000099;">I would like to sing under the guitare<br />But I’m losing myself<br />It’s devil’s work, I think, that I’m losing myself<br /></span><span style="color:#333399;">It’ll be better to me to cry, but I’m so happy of this<br />The wheel of my past life goes downhill<br />I’m losing my head<br />I’m laughing and losing my head<br /></span><span style="color:#000066;">I’m looking at him and I know that I’m losing myself<br />I know nothing about him, but I’m losing myself<br />Without him my life is strange and not mine<br />I’m losing myself<br /></span><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/gyS0IGzmDxA&color1=" color2="0xcfcfcf&hl=" fs="1" width="425" height="344" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed>Lenchikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11218927952877966693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2888002656604801620.post-38370340615911448522008-08-26T09:29:00.000-07:002008-08-28T13:34:37.445-07:00MeetingWithThePast<span style="color:#660000;">The days of love. They are always with us, in our memory, in our heart. The most beautiful moments of our life that we have to remember, that we have to recognize.<br /></span><span style="color:#666600;">Days ago I was going to the health-resort, it’s situated far from my place and I had to get in coach first, then in train. When I came to the coach station I saw there my ex-boy-friend who loved me very dearly but me I was always perfectly indifferent to him. It was unrequited love. He is a sportsman, tall, very handsome, with nice smile and very kind. Since our last meeting have passed many months. He was with his girl-friend or may be wife, I don’t know. I was sitting on the bench when he was coming up to the other one. When I saw him approaching I put my sun-glasses and pretended to not know him. I felt his look at me and for the first time I was not quite myself. I prayed God that he wouldn’t go up to me. The time was dragging on, I wanted to get into the coach too quickly as it was possible. At last the passengers were going to take into the bus, me too. When I stopped near to bus, he approached to me and said: “Hi, Lena, I’m so glad to meet you. You’re cool as usual.” Me: “Thanks. About you I can’t say the same. You don’t look well.” He smiled and suddenly put his arm round my neck, bended forward to my ear and whispered: “Lena, I wish you every health. It’s so important, I know well” and he kissed me in a cheek so unexpectedly that I began to smile. But that moment I saw a look of his girl-friend, she was so angry of her jealousy that I began to laugh and I allowed me one foolish thing: I touched his curly hair, slided my fingers in, bended his head to my mouth and whispered in the ear: “Thank you very much. You’re so kind. But in advance don’t behave yourself so to your girl. She’s very jealous” and I kissed him too. His lady was ready to attack both of us. It was so funny. When we got into the bus the very beautiful song began to sound, the music about the past love with the title just for that moment: “All is reminiscent of you”. But here I want to put the song of Lubov Uspenskaya “Karussel” cause it is just about our relations. She sings in russian, of course, but I made the gist in english:<br /></span><span style="color:#000099;">It was a short romance of my love<br />It was a beautiful illusion, the play of shadows<br />The caravan of chance days is gone forward<br />Nobody knows where they were on the wane.<br />It was a captivating attraction<br />Nobody joked so well as we did - he and I<br />For fun he made me take the empty carriage<br />For fun I went away, in train, the night.<br />I’m not the same as I was the other days<br />Long ago I realized that the love is only the play<br />All I couldn’t forget, I have to do<br />But for some reason I want to remember it.<br />It was a very nice attraction<br />Nobody joked so well as we did - he and I<br />And the night platform was left behind<br />Where he waved me good-bye.<br /><br /></span><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/qszR1gkiE6I&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/qszR1gkiE6I&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Lenchikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11218927952877966693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2888002656604801620.post-41527661855007753642008-08-03T10:22:00.000-07:002008-12-13T01:14:10.627-08:00MisMilFaces/ PrivateStories<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgINsRas4LTxNgQBFugj8DQMIRVd3YeZODQqL4olGOCtDrVfJemoIOLSc5o5o_8p_uVMseMDtoJgAx5MLGrnSTgiHRIiTuaDlOtIWH20mObXHi2nZgPs6AtLRWb8CrCt2y_8fxceFxr1CgV/s1600-h/ÑонÑ.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230347242809657874" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgINsRas4LTxNgQBFugj8DQMIRVd3YeZODQqL4olGOCtDrVfJemoIOLSc5o5o_8p_uVMseMDtoJgAx5MLGrnSTgiHRIiTuaDlOtIWH20mObXHi2nZgPs6AtLRWb8CrCt2y_8fxceFxr1CgV/s320/%D1%84%D0%BE%D0%BD%D1%82.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghLoYXriLKdToLbgl6LkzyU6bXWB4oj3WdpDvFU_94KDhpgX_Vv1g6FT05mq_TMPzbUhNOmFdC8v1ZoqUL7g8JGpP_2GfGuEtqCqWGH9GEAjW8uqYZYzjlAHrri7ZTTJlXw0CzzRsXMotk/s1600-h/ÑонÑ.jpg"></a><span style="color:#333300;">It’s not a secret that every day for all of us is very rich for different events in our private life.<br />These stories happened recently to me. They are very funny, tell about our russian reality. I hope you’ll like it if you can get their gist of course. </span><br /><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#330033;">***<br /></span><span style="color:#000066;">Days ago I was hurrying up to my work-place as I had the rendez-vous there. I went there on foot, the day was rather cold for summer, and me I was in long skirt, t-shirt, jean-jacket and middle-heeled shoes, in one hand there was my bag and in another one I had a pocket with papers. So, going my own way, suddenly I heard behind me the conversation of two men, they were speaking loud about me. Let they be FM (first man) and SM (second man). Untill the end of their talk I didn’t turn at voices cause it was very interesting to know the curious things about my personnality. Sometimes they used the non-standart words in my adresse but here I’ll tell all in literary style of course. Here you are.<br />FM: Look, what a nice girl is going in front of us, she has a very fine figure.<br />SM: Why do you think that she’s a girl. I’m sure she’s an aged woman and more an old one.<br />FM: Oh, no, you’re not right. If she was aged or old she wouldn’t have so rapid gait in heels. SM: But look her hair, there are so many grey hairs and it shows that she has colored her head long time ago yet. And as for rapid gait the aged women always walk in half-bent, so I don’t wonder that she is walking so.<br />FM: No, you see, she holds her back so straight, well, I assure you, she’s not old. More I think that she does dances or some sports.<br />SM: Oof, as all aged women she has a back-pains and has to put the corset on which make her back so straight. You see, I’ll like to watch her dancing, it would be the real show, haaaa.<br />FM: But she moves her hips as the young girls do it.<br />SM: You wanted to say as the street-walkers do it, didn’t you?<br />FM: Oh, you think that she’s so? I’m not sure. She’s stylish, she has a very expensive bag, her clothes are not Made in China-Town. And at last she’s a very self-confident, look. You see I think that you’re right she’s a woman, not a girl. And to tell the truth I’m almost falling in love with her. How old is she?<br />SM: About 45-50...<br />FM: Noooooo, I should give her 25-35.<br />SM: Of course, the man in love, can he face the truth?<br />FM: Haaaaaaa. You’re right. What she is, how d’you think?<br />SM: If I say it to you you won’t be so happy, haaaaa.<br />FM: What? Do you know this woman?<br />SM: I’m not crazy as you’re. But if you are so interested in her, why you don’t want to ask her about it?<br />FM: I don’t know if I can.....<br />You know, I was smiling during all their talk, but at last I have to turn to the other street and not being sure they would follow me, I stopped very abruptly and without turn I pronounced:<br />“Hey, guys? Are you sure that you want to look at me? I’m so afraid you can be turned into two silly stones!” They were yet close to me, I turned to them and asked in laugh: “Well, here I am. As I’ve got, you have something to tell me? I’m ready to listen to you.”<br />FM and SM: Hello, how are you getting on?<br />SM: I didn’t expect that you’re so charming.<br />Me: You see, the grey hair, the half-bent walk, the back corset and my job of street-walker help me to be in fine form, indeed.<br />SM: Sorry, I beg your pardon for those words.<br />Me: Oh, it’s OK, it was rather funny to know it about myself.<br />FM: I was right. May I enquire as to your plans for now?<br />Me: I’m hurrying to my work up.<br />FM: Do you need the company. We’re at your disposal.<br />Me: No, thanks a lot. My ‘company’ is just waiting for me. Hey, look forward, the very nice girl is going in front. If you are hurry up, you can catch up with her and continue your useful guess-work. Good luck and nice day.<br />(In two days I met them in one cafe, we talked a little)<br /></div></span><span style="color:#003300;"></span><div align="justify"><span style="color:#003300;">***<br /></span><span style="color:#663300;">You see it’s funny but in our country they adress to the women of service sector, of any age, as ‘devushka’ = ‘girl’ (the equivalent adressing form in english is ‘miss’), very rare, but more true of course, to use the form ‘zhenshchyna’=’woman’ for those who are in age yet (the equivalent adressing english form is ‘missis’). And there are women who feel themselves offended if one adresses to them as ‘zhenshchina’. And I can’t explain why. For me it’s always strange to hear when one adresses in a shop or other public places to the aged and old sales-woman: ”Devushka, I would like....., please”. Me and my sister we use always the form according the age of actors. So I have done this preambule to understand the other story.<br />It happened in bus. I was there with my sister, we were going to her place. We were very tired and wanted to be at home as quickly as it was possible, so the first bus had come, we took it. My sister wasn’t sure that the bus stopped near her house and she adressed to the ticket-seller to know where we would have to get out. The woman who sold tickets was about 45, a little plump as all aged women, with very hard make-up, well dressed. All passagers giving money adressed to her: “Devushka, please”. And when my sister said: “Zhenshchina, tell us, please, where we have to get out to reach the ...street”. First she didn’t turned at her voice. My sister repeted her question more louder and impatiently. So the ticket-seller looked very angry at her, then turned her head in an other side and such way was speaking with my sister: “You have to get out in three stations, ZHEN-SHCHI-NA!” My sister thanked her, then turned to me and said: “Do you think I have said anything wrong?” Me: “It looks like that! Don’t you see that she’s very young for her ages???” And we both began to laugh. When we reached our station, my sister got out first in silence, me I was after her. Before to get out, I turned to this woman, smiled to her and said: “Devushka, thanks again! Nice day!” And she smiled too with “Spassibo”! My sister to me: “What a caustic tongue you have!” “Me??????? The only thing I want that she’ll be happy, always young and rare meet the woman like you, my dear SIS-TER!” And again we began to laugh.<br /></div></span><span style="color:#000066;"></span><div align="justify"><span style="color:#000066;">*** </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#003300;">In my town there are a lot of tatars. Very often old tatar women take me for one of them and begin to speak to me their language in bus, in street, in shop. I know some phrases in it, but the principal one is “sorry, I don’t understand you’ or ‘I don’t speak it’. One time when I said this phrase to the woman who had asked me the way she began to scold me saying: “It’s impossible! How don’t you speak your mother tongue, shameless?” I’m smiled to her and answered that I wasn’t tatar. She looked at me very attentively and concluded: “Yes, you’re not one of us!” I smiled and replied in tatar: “Thank you very much, it was very interesting to know it. Bye!” and went away. And this woman cried to my back: “But you’re very nice girl!” in tatar of course. Some days ago I was ending to talk in Skype with my friend and suddenly the unknown person asked me to authorize him. I did it and we began to chat. He talked me in very familiar manner that first I thought he knowed me. But it wasn’t so as I have understood few later when he said that he wanted to look at me. As I didn’t like the idea to give him my photo I sent him to visit my blog and I hoped that he wouldn’t return to chat. But he did it and then wrote me: “Oh, you look like arabian woman!” Me: “What? No!!!!!!!!” He: “Oh, darling, YES! Looking at your photo I could say that you rather like an arabe!” Me: “Thanks a lot! But I’m russian. As I see you know well arabian women!” He: “Yes, I’m from Algere, and I love russian women”. Me: “Oh, I see!!!!!!!! And me, you know, I love the russian language very much!” But I was chatting to him in franglais (he doesn’t good in both) not in arabian (in it I’m zero at all). </span></div>Lenchikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11218927952877966693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2888002656604801620.post-36502877757213631182008-08-03T00:59:00.000-07:002008-08-03T10:20:18.718-07:00AboutLove<div align="center"><span style="color:#003300;">This poem of Susan Polis Schults a very nice and give some good ideas for loving hearts to be together for ever.<br /></span><span style="color:#663300;"><strong>LOVE IS<br /></strong></span><span style="color:#336666;"><em>“Love is being happy for the other person when they are happy..<br />being sad for the person when they are sad..<br />being together on good times and being together in bad times..<br />Love is the source of strength.<br />Love is being honest with yourself at all times..<br />being honest with the other person at all times..<br />and never pretending..<br />Love is the source of reality.<br />Love is an understanding that is so complete that..<br />you feel as if you are a part of the other person..<br />accepting the other person just the way they are..<br />and not trying to change them to be something else..<br />Love is the source of unity.<br />Love is the freedom to pursue your own desires..<br />while sharing your experience with the other person..<br />the growth of the one individuel alongside of<br />and together with the growth of another individuel..<br />Love is the source of success.<br />Love is the excitement of planning things together..<br />Love is the source of the future.<br />Love is the fury of the storm..<br />the calm of the rainbow..<br />Love is the source of passion.<br />Love is giving and taking in a daily situation..<br />being patient with each other's needs and desires..<br />Love is the source of sharing.<br />Love is knowing that the other person<br />will always be with you regardless of what happens..<br />missing the other person when they are away..<br />but remaining near at all times.<br />Love is the source of life."</em></span></div>Lenchikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11218927952877966693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2888002656604801620.post-59754090537503285222008-08-02T13:08:00.000-07:002008-08-02T23:28:12.750-07:00Friend or pal<p align="justify"><span style="color:#996633;"><span style="color:#666600;">What do you think about friendship?<br /></span>To have friends it’s very nice. Without them our life would be very dull and boring. But there are friends and friends and we have to know with whom we can simply laugh and whom we can confide in. More I’m sure that we can have many pals but only one true friend in the life. There are a lot of proverbs and maxims about friends and friendship. Some time ago I have received the letter in french with different portraits of true friend and pal. It was rather interesting to know it. Now you too have a nice chance to know if your friend is true or you’re only pals. May be you have your own opinion about it, so you’re welcome to do your list of friendship.</span><span style="color:#996633;"><br /></span><span style="color:#663366;"><em>- Un simple copain, quand il vient chez toi, agit comme un invité.</em></span><em><span style="color:#663366;"><br /></span><span style="color:#660000;">- Un véritable ami ouvre ton frigo et se sert. </span></em><br /><em><span style="color:#663366;">- Un simple copain ne t'as jamais vu pleurer.</span></em><em><span style="color:#663366;"><br /></span><span style="color:#660000;">- Un véritable ami a les épaules trempées de tes larmes. </span></em><span style="color:#996633;"><br /><em><span style="color:#663366;">- Un simple copain ne connaît pas les prénoms de tes parents.<br /></span><span style="color:#660000;">- Un véritable ami a leurs numéros de téléphone dans son carnet d'adresses.<br /></span><span style="color:#663366;">- Un simple copain apporte une bouteille de vin à tes fêtes.</span><br /><span style="color:#660000;">- Un véritable ami arrive tôt pour t'aider à cuisiner et reste tard pour t'aider à nettoyer.<br /></span><span style="color:#663366;">- Un simple copain déteste quand tu appelles après qu'il soit allé se coucher.<br /></span><span style="color:#660000;">- Un véritable ami te demande pourquoi tu as mis tant de temps à appeler.<br />- Un véritable ami s'informe de ta romantique histoire d'amour.<br /></span><span style="color:#663366;">- Un simple copain pourrait te faire du chantage avec.<br />- Un simple copain pense que l'amitié est finie quand vous avez une dispute.<br /></span><span style="color:#660000;">- Un véritable ami t'appelle après une dispute.<br /></span><span style="color:#663366;">- Un simple copain s'attend que tu sois toujours là pour lui.<br /></span><span style="color:#660000;">- Un véritable ami est toujours là pour toi.<br /></span><span style="color:#663366;">- Un simple copain lit ce message et le supprime.<br /></span><span style="color:#660000;">- Un véritable ami le fait passer et te le renvoie. </span></em></span></p>Lenchikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11218927952877966693noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2888002656604801620.post-76743756934213115802008-08-02T12:37:00.000-07:002008-08-02T13:04:10.595-07:00MyVideoPoem /PerLui<em>The life is done so that we not only find but also leave each other. <br />And it's normal. <br />The only thing we have to do in this situation is to know to keep the dignity and to remember it as a very nice and warm souvenir. <br />My poem is just about that.<br />I dedicate it to one man from the bottom of my loving heat.<br /></em><OBJECT class=BLOG_video_class id=BLOG_video-f6fe8a1594915f27 height=266 width=320 contentId="f6fe8a1594915f27"></OBJECT>Lenchikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11218927952877966693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2888002656604801620.post-82093082585935734142008-08-02T09:46:00.000-07:002008-12-13T01:14:14.860-08:00My pain quotidien<div align="justify"><em><span style="color:#000099;">I don’t doubt that if you are asked about your favourite dish you find the answer without difficult.<br />When one asks me about my favourite dish I become very perplexed cause I don’t know if I have one. But my perplexity grows up when one asks me to give the recipe of some russian dish. It doesn’t mean of course that I don’t know the russian cuisine and can’t cook. Simply I don’t pay much attention to food. More, when I have a lot of work I forget about it, and it’s OK. But sometimes I have a true desire to make happy to my family with my cooking. The one thing I hate in it it’s the cooking needs much time. So if I cook I do it always very quickly but with all my love.<br />And when I have analized the dishes I love I found out that many of them are not russian. It’s very funny but the true. So I’ve done the hot-list of my favourite dishes. Here it is.<br /></span></em><span style="color:#006600;">1. Caviar sandwich (russian)<br />2. Borsch (ukranian national dish)<br />3. Fish soup (russian) <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7uDHC77940VjVFGWvBSw1nG7NpyrZgP0L7XqzFlkAldijl0HJMu-nW2STfZZ-rkCTUhIcBDi0Ma5vzOgfg7O1SuE8w_P0R6PtknCdekyP7B7yxNCgN9F-65UnfaAQYU1jrPUd7CnmnO5n/s1600-h/ÑÑбнÑÑп.jpg"></a></span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9nSh_7-aO3TgFoAB1qoETe26h-MQSJM8yR-3f2FUev_s4LX3um_HFHtrfZVujrJOA16BpgERTfHJZnzw8d-9EsFbqfGl3uq6hFEgZq0P91dxfJ51En8bt8ZLbI4c00L_FP-B9jmxcUUZF/s1600-h/ÑÑбнÑÑп.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229986374942635362" style="WIDTH: 107px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 97px" height="139" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9nSh_7-aO3TgFoAB1qoETe26h-MQSJM8yR-3f2FUev_s4LX3um_HFHtrfZVujrJOA16BpgERTfHJZnzw8d-9EsFbqfGl3uq6hFEgZq0P91dxfJ51En8bt8ZLbI4c00L_FP-B9jmxcUUZF/s200/%D1%80%D1%8B%D0%B1%D0%BD%D1%81%D1%83%D0%BF.jpg" width="148" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color:#006600;">4. Plov (uzbek)</span><br /><span style="color:#006600;">5. Balish (tatar)</span><br /><span style="color:#006600;">6. Fish pie (russian)</span><br /><span style="color:#006600;">7. Pelmeni (dumplings) (chinese)</span> </div><div><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGESMg-AXInl0xJ2Sq2xbmTGFsJkq5Dj61oSGqbk04zwxLuJ2K4bGfwb3hQIHruau3DGOV0lm2zTXmUP6FR78Skf3VMfPaJd90tkOE0bcGlAfXFuIfRm6xiEdPCkBluyd7YyaqvAs_cQ4E/s1600-h/мени.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229985480645993634" style="CURSOR: hand" height="114" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGESMg-AXInl0xJ2Sq2xbmTGFsJkq5Dj61oSGqbk04zwxLuJ2K4bGfwb3hQIHruau3DGOV0lm2zTXmUP6FR78Skf3VMfPaJd90tkOE0bcGlAfXFuIfRm6xiEdPCkBluyd7YyaqvAs_cQ4E/s200/%D0%BC%D0%B5%D0%BD%D0%B8.jpg" width="114" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color:#006600;">8. Stuffed pepper (russian)</span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#006600;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis6CEE45JhSB8ozXFCiP-NmKy6vbszTmqHt3cCyTZ_GKcuCFs9Zt8KMCW2OUjtYwYBSAMsyA2xXCQYJqcmv0YZujDV2F2oyG9NwopR15-aCku61NVO8qaGZjbyX0MUkYcX8GixsaOZhWRT/s1600-h/пеÑеÑ.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229985762150366018" style="CURSOR: hand" height="110" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis6CEE45JhSB8ozXFCiP-NmKy6vbszTmqHt3cCyTZ_GKcuCFs9Zt8KMCW2OUjtYwYBSAMsyA2xXCQYJqcmv0YZujDV2F2oyG9NwopR15-aCku61NVO8qaGZjbyX0MUkYcX8GixsaOZhWRT/s200/%D0%BF%D0%B5%D1%80%D0%B5%D1%86.jpg" width="119" border="0" /></a></span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUlfcgwkqCwgMhMKrEbjNed1XxCkt1kRGAxHG8cFj_Ih03hFpDvYJiSZrBp392BlZbQrXN4berMIXnnFlEVFBii87zWuNlXPz-mt2yH6ror4Pcj-qgBOw52SKMIen9Owhhy_lFT5VlitxW/s1600-h/пеÑеÑ.jpg"></a><span style="color:#006600;">9. Baked fish (russian)</span></div><div align="justify"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz2eGUNdLgGJ_LqC0bjRgLdWtf6tKnCjgKAT-UetDzk9vkEsXK_uRebPOpdrURbSCEWnCT40eXDUDV7cxitPRGi1AKqCQEPv3JbP3YRCYHcfWz2Y596gNOhAnWtGSmtu21e3D_PC_9OVXQ/s1600-h/ÑÑбÑ.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229986783384107570" style="WIDTH: 127px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 87px" height="102" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz2eGUNdLgGJ_LqC0bjRgLdWtf6tKnCjgKAT-UetDzk9vkEsXK_uRebPOpdrURbSCEWnCT40eXDUDV7cxitPRGi1AKqCQEPv3JbP3YRCYHcfWz2Y596gNOhAnWtGSmtu21e3D_PC_9OVXQ/s200/%D1%80%D1%8B%D0%B1%D1%8B.jpg" width="140" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB-bW87ugPnRJgX-RKYd3FaMgvxwvaSlwLxDFVVne-NRN8d4q6NGDaC8A6kCaD01SW1K0xeHFA_rBKCo9Zj1Wu_EK0RsJ6Ugjcp17cWNPDHYW6_JyjAwpH2hhc3q4JPrQXUt7PvWM1xiE3/s1600-h/ÑÑбÑ.jpg"></a><span style="color:#006600;">10. Lobio (georgian)</span><br /><span style="color:#006600;">11. Golubtsy (russian)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSQaAtEw3kobwwzeK-UU78chbCYEPF9A6rW-pwqv0I0vLECNUGTAupMFkniKSf8jjSlmUbdmcl9kNBjEeezJh3Xjsqy5ZPfwwQrBEbC1mNCNsTpC_iSIGEUeLfH6pi-YTHGb-uhro1QlLB/s1600-h/голÑбÑÑ.jpg"></a></span> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_wvDusZDaV5GpMKkm0kD6Ui5g-JwONqsp06hQ4BWkH9QYJH1wcYPajjkygKwliUgikTZ66y_uSV7sDxiCfUNOxEEIO4e_5OBggT-vihcDsNA9ZPlWsQMKGUBrYiAAO5zLOPDszvYP3jZo/s1600-h/голÑбÑÑ.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229985270253831922" style="CURSOR: hand" height="99" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_wvDusZDaV5GpMKkm0kD6Ui5g-JwONqsp06hQ4BWkH9QYJH1wcYPajjkygKwliUgikTZ66y_uSV7sDxiCfUNOxEEIO4e_5OBggT-vihcDsNA9ZPlWsQMKGUBrYiAAO5zLOPDszvYP3jZo/s200/%D0%B3%D0%BE%D0%BB%D1%83%D0%B1%D1%86%D1%8B.jpg" width="104" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#006600;">12. Pizza (italian)</span><br /><span style="color:#006600;">13. Lemon cake (russian)</span></div><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirlCab-L7RJvus-mlUpxQia-9IyZGcjlK_ZFANXQTA7O7nusEp1sniEQw4eMLimpQn5Ib1OEChcuhlexyBwB33WmXV1mGlJU8lwnpEJvCoheRG6FZJrVwRApJLmgdmU1QGZpNzbwvM5-XG/s1600-h/пиÑог.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229986065000880290" style="CURSOR: hand" height="91" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirlCab-L7RJvus-mlUpxQia-9IyZGcjlK_ZFANXQTA7O7nusEp1sniEQw4eMLimpQn5Ib1OEChcuhlexyBwB33WmXV1mGlJU8lwnpEJvCoheRG6FZJrVwRApJLmgdmU1QGZpNzbwvM5-XG/s200/%D0%BF%D0%B8%D1%80%D0%BE%D0%B3.jpg" width="127" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo3Q1Q8SKf8knRHNqdc0oh6RP19Bl223HN-Su2AapUHoRC2TxRpFJ8bQJO1FI3o8dVLsh74DyPm7UwZiO_TKe6mBwAkh3GeaM1qZFaXMUCsgHmmAzm2cMNyLGafw6ZTqaD9HcroBaSBZY4/s1600-h/пиÑог.jpg"></a><span style="color:#006600;">14. Tchak-tchak (tatar)<br />15. Salads with squids or shrimps (russian)<br />16. Cabbage salade (russian)<br /></div></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjow6nKBfSvKq2fpgAOXZ3-66cNPC-nzoM4AMNourPinPv9bf3yT6W3-GuvcyevTGlQdaSGoJCBVfC4XKkcIZxh2YnVUZNQCKnpcit1fviaOZf92qvy8G7TlDizMN9a0m8vOhPXRZYBUvOS/s1600-h/голÑбÑÑ.jpg"></a></div>Lenchikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11218927952877966693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2888002656604801620.post-78347816649400391962008-07-14T10:46:00.000-07:002008-12-13T01:14:15.055-08:00Some Words in French<div><span style="color:#660000;"><em>I want to dedicate this page of poems to my french friends. You see sometimes it’s very interesting to look at yourself through out the letters you have received from different persons. Several time ago I was in correspondence with one man. We finished our letters play as he had found another passion in real life, and me I’m really glad for him. I always take it very easy cause c’est la vie. We choose, we are chosen, and very often it doesn’t coincide with each other.<br />But our letter-roman the bad tongues used with too ugly aim, they decided that they could humiliate me (why? this is the question) and did it in their messages full of dirty words and pics.<br />Being by nature the strong woman I took it philosophically and more I wrote a little self-portrait according all I had known about myself from these PM. Here you are.<br /></em><br /></span><span style="color:#666600;"><strong>Autoportrait<br /></strong></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqfZ9-hX_lnIk5COMgbJEqnYO-sCQp0z4eUoW22Sbawc8-KH7cp0SLw1j5AbyktsHftRKvZWv_D0HWFjfGpw0lb1MqKukvL91dd9q1xaj1pYLWCPHYIz2HQN6IMQsN8AMjclH_TwMe87lT/s1600-h/ÑÑÑ.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222928743226179554" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 186px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 253px" height="289" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqfZ9-hX_lnIk5COMgbJEqnYO-sCQp0z4eUoW22Sbawc8-KH7cp0SLw1j5AbyktsHftRKvZWv_D0HWFjfGpw0lb1MqKukvL91dd9q1xaj1pYLWCPHYIz2HQN6IMQsN8AMjclH_TwMe87lT/s320/%D1%8F%D1%8F%D1%8F.jpg" width="213" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color:#000099;">Si tu regardais mes yeux<br />Tu t’y noyerais<br />Mais non, pas comme dans l’océan bleu<br />Simplement comme dans le marron marais<br /><br />Si tu regardais ma peau<br />Tu la prendrais avec ‘ohhh!’<br />Mais non, pas pour la blanche nouille<br />Simplement pour la vraie grenouille<br /><br />Si tu regardais mes seins<br />Tu y verrais, tout en sueur,<br />Mais non, pas la vallée du silicone<br />Simplement deux petites taches de rousseur<br /><br />Si tu regardais mes jambes<br />Tu penserais qu’elle vient<br />Mais non, pas de la Maison P. Cardin<br />Simplement celle des Gnomes Crétins<br /><br />Si tu regardais mon corps<br />Tu te dirais en soupirant<br />Mais non, pas ‘Quelle mince dame!’<br />Simplement ‘Quelle grosse de kilogrammes!’<br /><br />Mais si tu savais mon esprit vif<br />Tu apprendrais avec tristesse<br />Non, pas qu’elle est conasse naive<br />Mais qu’elle possede trop de sagesse<br /><br />Et si tu me toute regardais<br />Sans apprecier les parties pesantes<br />Tu constaterais que moi<br />ni belle ni laide<br />Mais très intéressante<br /><br /></span><span style="color:#660000;"><em>The other poem is written almost in the end of our letter-relations. This correspondent wrote me some lines which began by “Combien de fois....” to put the point in our play. So I replied him the same way. And finally I liked my poem very much, I don’t correlate it any more with that man. For me it’s a poem of my life and that’s all. One young french-girl commented this poem and you can read her thoughts below.<br /><br /></em></span><strong><span style="color:#996633;">Combien de fois....</span></strong><br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;">Combien de fois la haine et le mepris<br />j’ai du prendre avec la grande peur<br />Combien de fois j’ai mis le sourire<br />en me privant de tout bonheur<br />Combien de fois j’ai été violée<br />par mots, par regards, par gestes<br />Combien de fois, le coeur serré,<br />j’en suis renée sans devenir peste<br /><br />Combien de je t’aime je l’ai fait lire<br />Combien de nuits j’ai passé sans dormir<br />Combien de lettres j’ai ecrit sans réponse<br />Combien de larmes j’ai caché dans ma poche<br /><br />Combien de prières j’ai fait au Dieu<br />Combien de force il m’a donné<br />Combien de merci je lui ai rendu<br />Car il a su en moi la Femme garder.<br /></span><br /><em><span style="color:#660000;">And the last one is not a chef-d’oeuvre but I love it too as I could, in my opinion, to show by the opposite traits why the relations like that can not make a succes. This poem was born of one phrase of french writer F.Dard, in one of his roman the main heroe San-Antonio says to one woman: “Vous êtes trop riche pour moi....... (You’re very rich for me....)”.<br /><br /></span></em><strong><span style="color:#996633;">Vous et Moi de mes propres yeux<br /><br /></span></strong><span style="color:#000099;">Vous êtes pour moi trop décisif<br />Et moi pour vous suis trop pensive<br />Vous êtes pour moi trop d’air sage<br />Et moi pour vous suis trop d’esprit sauvage<br />Vous êtes pour moi trop franc de cerveau<br />Et moi pour vous suis trop sotte de mots<br />Vous êtes pour moi trop beau de goût<br />Et moi pour vous suis trop grosse de vue<br />Vous êtes pour moi trop occupé de vie<br />Et moi pour vous suis bavardeuse comme pie<br />Vous êtes pour moi trop passionné de corps<br />Et moi pour vous suis froide à mort<br />Vous êtes pour moi trop calme dû<br />Et moi pour vous suis trop peste drue<br />Vous êtes pour moi trop fidèle en amour<br />Et moi pour vous suis trop menteuse en tour<br />Vous êtes pour moi trop raisonnable<br />Et moi pour vous suis trop coupable<br />Vous êtes pour moi trop intelligent<br />Et moi pour vous suis trop méchante<br />Vous êtes pour moi trop fier par principe<br />Et moi pour vous suis trop légère de type<br />Vous êtes pour moi trop dur<br />Et moi pour vous suis trop importune<br />Vous êtes pour moi trop noble zutteur<br />Et moi pour vous suis trop simple à douleur<br />Vous êtes pour moi trop fâcheur<br />Et moi pour vous suis trop sans pudeur<br />Vous êtes pour moi trop plein de bonté<br />Et moi pour vous suis trop pleine de mégère-té<br />Vous êtes pour moi trop de l’ouest<br />Et moi pour vous suis trop de l’est<br />Vous êtes pour moi trop Homme au passé féérique<br />Et moi pour vous suis trop Femme au présent comique<br />Mais enfin<br />Nous sommes deux êtres au futur bien normal-ique<br /><br /></span><em><span style="color:#660000;">And the last I would like to tell that I’ve never thought I could write poems in other language, may be they are not done with all poetic canons but I filled them with the opened woman’s heart to what is going on. And I’m very thankfull to the man who have inspired me for it. </span></em></div>Lenchikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11218927952877966693noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2888002656604801620.post-27779422360057216792008-07-12T06:52:00.000-07:002008-07-12T07:02:51.257-07:00NatureShock<OBJECT class=BLOG_video_class id=BLOG_video-f0c23e991ca4edd8 height=266 width=320 contentId="f0c23e991ca4edd8"></OBJECT>Lenchikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11218927952877966693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2888002656604801620.post-7711086130223050262008-07-10T00:28:00.000-07:002009-07-28T05:49:02.557-07:00Amour sous la pluie.........<span style="font-size:85%;color:#666600;">I don't know if you ever have been in love in the warm summer rain. I assure you that these pleasant sensations you would never forget. All you need to realize it a warm summer rain, two loving hearts and the great desire to confide your feelings to each other.</span><br /><span style="color:#666600;"><span style="font-size:85%;">This poem I give to my man I love dearly. I'm sure that many couples would like to be in our place</span>. </span><br /><span style="color:#6600cc;"><em><strong>L’amour sous la pluie<br /></strong></em></span><span style="color:#000099;">Je te cherche des yeux dans la foule<br />Je sens tes caresses emportées par le vent<br />J’entends ta voix dans le murmur des feuilles<br />Est-ce en rêve ? non, je sais tu es tout à moi<br />Tu me parles tout bas à l’oreille<br />Tu vois mon beau sourire d’éveil<br />Tu m’écoutes chuchotter de la joie<br />Est-ce en rêve ? non, tu sais je suis toute à toi<br />Il pleut, sans parapluie on se promène<br />La pluie nous embrasse et nous mène<br />On voit ses gouttes couler aux joues<br />Le rire nous prend, comme deux foux<br />On se met à attraper ces gouttes, tout mouillés,<br />Sans remarquer que nos lèvres se sont deja rencontrées......<br />Est-ce en rêve ? non, c’est l’amour sous la pluie qui se fait..........<br /></span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"></span>Lenchikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11218927952877966693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2888002656604801620.post-1298307852417891952008-07-07T09:28:00.000-07:002008-12-13T01:14:15.344-08:00Russian Day of Love (8th of July)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX97nlKgrdpUzGPDED5fdg4M6v15tzzsveO6SddTZrwAyvBcvXs2gcThuVjccAbc_wzTtm6vVfS_ZqjVZRL6w4VeJkov6C0bnMBIng92TSh5j3YylrkZ3p7tWzw35N0fqBMr4P3XWWNE30/s1600-h/икона2.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220530345683704370" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX97nlKgrdpUzGPDED5fdg4M6v15tzzsveO6SddTZrwAyvBcvXs2gcThuVjccAbc_wzTtm6vVfS_ZqjVZRL6w4VeJkov6C0bnMBIng92TSh5j3YylrkZ3p7tWzw35N0fqBMr4P3XWWNE30/s320/%D0%B8%D0%BA%D0%BE%D0%BD%D0%B02.bmp" border="0" /></a> <span style="color:#000099;">The 8th of July in Russia is an Assumption Day of </span><div><div><span style="color:#000099;">saint martyr Fevronia and prince Petr. </span></div><div><span style="color:#000099;">Their wonder-working icon is in one of the Murom's church.</span></div><div><span style="color:#000099;">This couple is a nice model of Christian matrimony.</span></div><div><span style="color:#000099;">They are protectors of love, marriage, family.</span></div><div><span style="color:#000099;">The legend tells the following about them:</span></div><div><span style="color:#000066;"><em>The prince Petr was Yury Dolgoruky's second son, the gran duke of Susdal and Kiev. Before came to the throne in 1203 Petr was taken ill with leprosy, and no one of savant doctors could help him. In dreaming it was opened to him that he could be healed by one peasant girl, the wild-hive beekeeper's daughter, Fevronia. She was a very beautiful, kind and wise, she could cure people and animals. </em></span></div><div><span style="color:#000066;"><em>The prince Petr sent his guards to her place. When she came, he told her that if Fevronia healed him he would marry her. The girl healed him, but the prince didn't keep promise. And as soon as Fevronia went away, he fell ill again. So Fevronia saved him once more and became his wife. </em></span></div><div><span style="color:#000066;"><em>But boyars were very angry with Petr because Fevronia was a commoner and wanted Petr to leave her. The prince Petr refused to do it, so he and his wife had to go away. They left Murom and became to live as commoners but in great love to each other. </em></span></div><div><span style="color:#000066;"><em>In a short time Murom was chastised by God for greed and cruelty. To stop it the boyars begged Petr and Fevronia pardon for all they did and asked them to come back. After their return Fevronia was treated with respect.</em></span></div><div><span style="color:#000066;"><em>When Petr and Fevronia became older, they took of monastic vows as David and Ephrosinia, and prayed God that they might die the same day. They left by will to bury them in one coffin with thin partition-wall. </em></span></div><div><span style="color:#000066;"><em>Indeed they died the same day and hour - the 25th of July (in new style - the 8th of July). But the monks put them in different coffins. The next day the sweet-lovers were founded together in one coffin. </em></span></div><div><em><span style="color:#003333;">"A man will be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh. So they are no longer two, but one. Therefore what God has joined together, let man not separate." (Matthieu, 19:6)</span></em></div><div><span style="color:#000099;">Today their relics sleep in the temple of Saint Trinity in Murom. And those who believe in eternel love pray Petr and Fevronia for it. </span></div><div><span style="color:#000099;"><span style="color:#000099;">For all Russians this day is not a day of frivolous lovers as the 14th of February but the day of the true beloved and the happy matrimonies. This year in our country is declared as Familly</span> Year. Certainly it's no coincidence that the <span style="color:#990000;">8th of July</span> become a red-letter day, </span><span style="color:#990000;">the Day of Love, Familly and Matrimony's Fidelity. </span><span style="color:#000099;"><span style="color:#ff0000;">The symbol</span> of this day will be<span style="color:#ff0000;"> camomile</span> (or ox-eye daisy), the very beautiful flower. From of old times this flower with white petals remains the most dearly feelings for beloved in Russia. </span><span style="color:#ff0000;">The bunch of daisies tells about tender true love a la russe.</span></div></div><div> </div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220529463022531426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 102px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 122px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="135" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRqUQ_v_3O7gJ6QcehtrOOpQ2aJ_SfKXoFixIfrWYGj9rl0YF7AWCJH90R9o1HExfjqHLAivYIHuqIZE2odvtiCO8MqYX8aDHigtzkv95p0-AP7U3wTUdQvM1R5Fhgh4N5kieJUJgMvaXH/s320/%D1%80%D0%BE%D0%BC%D0%B0%D1%88%D0%BA%D0%B0.bmp" width="113" border="0" /><span style="color:#6600cc;">It's very difficult to find a true love, but to know how to keep it is doubly difficult. The true love doesn't need gold mountains, but the comprehension and the shining eyes. </span><br /><div><span style="color:#6600cc;">If you love dearly don't let your love to be ruined. </span></div><div><span style="color:#6600cc;">If you haven't got it yet, let this day help you to find it. </span></div><div><span style="color:#6600cc;">And I dedicate my poem to those who are in search of love. </span></div><div><span style="color:#6600cc;">(Sorry I have only french variant).</span></div><div><span style="color:#993300;">Après la pluie le beau temps </span></div><div><span style="color:#993300;">après la nuit le beau jour </span></div><div><span style="color:#993300;">après le travail le beau repos </span></div><div><span style="color:#993300;">après le passé l'extra-futur! </span></div><div><span style="color:#993300;">Mais où y est, demanderiez-vous, l'amour?! </span></div><div><span style="color:#993300;">Il est caché dans tous ces tours..... </span></div><div><span style="color:#993300;">Si vous ne l'avez pas su attraper </span></div><div><span style="color:#993300;">Il faut tout simplement recommencer </span></div><div><span style="color:#993300;">Et il retourne chez vous </span></div><div><span style="color:#993300;">peut-être </span></div><div><span style="color:#993300;">après </span></div><div><span style="color:#993300;">la pluie </span></div><div><span style="color:#993300;">la nuit </span></div><div><span style="color:#993300;">le travail </span></div><div><span style="color:#993300;">ou le passé. </span></div><br /><br /><br /><div><span style="color:#993300;"></span></div></div>Lenchikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11218927952877966693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2888002656604801620.post-19157685573877473692008-07-07T04:46:00.000-07:002008-07-07T06:31:26.718-07:00Nicknames<span style="color:#006600;">Why do we use nicknames? </span><br /><span style="color:#006600;">What do we hide in it? </span><br /><span style="color:#006600;">Our past? Our present? Our future? </span><br /><span style="color:#006600;">Or they have no any sense?</span><br /><span style="color:#006600;">There is a very interesting cartoon film where the main hero says: " As you name your boat this way it will go forward!" </span><span style="color:#006600;"></span><br /><span style="color:#006600;">I agree with it and I think that nicks should be nice and pleasant to produce the good impression to everyone. </span><br /><span style="color:#006600;">I prefer as nicks very concrete words which remind me the images of different situations I have ever been in. </span>Lenchikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11218927952877966693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2888002656604801620.post-34225587301758553192008-07-07T03:00:00.000-07:002008-07-07T06:37:07.825-07:00Songs<span style="color:#6600cc;">I like to listen to songs in different mood. Some of them reflect the moment you are in. It's great. My favorite song is 'Pour en arriver la' of Dalida. One who knows french can understand me.</span><br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#336666;">Pour en arriver là.<br /></span></strong><a onclick="imprim(20362); return false;" href="http://www.paroles.net/chanson/20362.1#"></a><a onclick="poster(20362); return false;" href="http://www.paroles.net/chanson/20362.1#"></a><a onclick="return favori(window.location.href,'Paroles.net - Pour en arriver là.');" href="http://www.paroles.net/chanson/20362.1#"></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Paroles et Musique: M.Jouveaux, J.Barnel 1984</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">© Polygram ~ Barclay ~ Orlando Production</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">J'ai traversé des nuits et des jours sans sommeil</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Pour en arriver là</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">J'ai eu chaud sous la pluie et froid en plein soleil</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Pour en arriver là</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">J'ai parlé à la peur et fait taire le silence</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">J'ai maquillé les heures j'ai vendu des dimanches</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Pour en arriver là, pour en arriver là</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">J'ai pleuré tant de fois que je n'ai plus de larmes</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Pour en arriver là</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Je suis tombé cent fois mais sans tomber les armes</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Pour en arriver là</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">J'ai marché sur ma vie plus souvent qu'à mon tour</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">J'ai mis le mot fini presque à tous mes amours</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Pour en arriver là, pour en arriver là</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Pour en arriver là j'ai trop douté de tout</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">De moi de </span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Dieu de vous</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">j'ai laissé derrière moi tous mes rêves d'enfance</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Aujourd'hui j'ai le cœur presque en état d'urgence</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Pour en arriver là</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">je crois bien qu'avec vous </span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">si j'avais rendez-vous</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">sans l'ombre d'un regret</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Pour en arriver là</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Je recommencerai</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">J'ai appris à hurler juste en dedans de moi</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Pour en arriver là</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Pour ne pas vous montrer qu'on me montre du doigt</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Pour en arriver là</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">J'ai fait le tour du monde mais je n'ai rien pu voir</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">L'absence est si profonde qu'elle salit mes miroirs</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Pour en arriver là, pour en arriver là</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Pour en arriver là</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">j'ai trop douté de tout de moi de dieu de vous</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">J'ai laissé derrière moi tous mes rêves d'enfance</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Aujourd'hui j'ai le cœur presque en état d'urgence</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Pour en arriver là</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Je crois bien qu'avec vous </span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">si j'avais rendez-vous</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Sans l'ombre d'un regret </span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">pour en arriver là</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Je recommencerai</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Pour en arriver là</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">J'ai souvent oublié de prendre deux billets</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Ou de dire attends-moi</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Pour aller nulle part</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">J'ai mis dans ma mémoire</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Que des débuts d'histoires</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Pour en arriver là</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Je crois bien qu'avec vous</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Si j'avais rendez-vous </span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">sans l'ombre d'un regret</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Je recommencerai</span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Pour arriver là.</span>Lenchikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11218927952877966693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2888002656604801620.post-69689953289223710132008-07-07T00:44:00.000-07:002008-12-13T01:14:16.196-08:00Our Little Friends<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDqKm9FA1yJqKh1HU-UjD0-d9NvylUDt8lG1DZi26Fy6VLxk4OP66Gd_AKelNFlvn6LwodcgKUQHDzxp1XBAfOoWEyYCkQIETYeRCOP_YaKDnSM14HHLeA0IL7YxGuBNPWRWDyaGRwK3av/s1600-h/my+parrot.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221706137202598130" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDqKm9FA1yJqKh1HU-UjD0-d9NvylUDt8lG1DZi26Fy6VLxk4OP66Gd_AKelNFlvn6LwodcgKUQHDzxp1XBAfOoWEyYCkQIETYeRCOP_YaKDnSM14HHLeA0IL7YxGuBNPWRWDyaGRwK3av/s320/my+parrot.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Cuf1jB65hec/SHHKAb0BvBI/AAAAAAAAACU/pra_vcMDmHs/s1600-h/my+parrot.jpg"></a><br /><br /><br /><div align="justify"><span style="color:#6600cc;"><em>I never thought that I would fond of any animals or birds. But one day my nephew received a little parrot for birthday, his mom was very angry with this present and they refused of it. Me I had pity on this little bird and took it with idea to give it later for someone. Days passe and Dasha is always with us, it's so cool this bird. Indeed we have to be responsable for those we have domesticated.</em></span></div></div>Lenchikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11218927952877966693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2888002656604801620.post-29949123234515748912008-07-06T12:32:00.000-07:002008-12-13T01:14:16.390-08:00Kiss Day (6th of July)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXa3MKoI0PAnfOy_PeFHVF6d9Aykiy4zLGAto5Ok_Ry2vodaGawgyZZ3M9Mr2S7tUK8fzmoxhISaySiNNabst444haVbQPFvClvjGk_ddOeu0O5yN_QDi_EHdHnGe7n6fMOAumlPotYY4B/s1600-h/поÑ6.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220172226985488914" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXa3MKoI0PAnfOy_PeFHVF6d9Aykiy4zLGAto5Ok_Ry2vodaGawgyZZ3M9Mr2S7tUK8fzmoxhISaySiNNabst444haVbQPFvClvjGk_ddOeu0O5yN_QDi_EHdHnGe7n6fMOAumlPotYY4B/s320/%D0%BF%D0%BE%D1%866.bmp" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#990000;">Do you like to give kiss or to be kissed? Don't mind. </span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#990000;">Today we have the international Kiss Day. So don't forget to send kiss or to kiss simply all you love, may be don't love. </span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#990000;">This day appeared for the first time in England, then it was approved by UNO. </span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#990000;">The kiss record was set up by one American man in 1990 who for 8 hours kissed 8001 men. </span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#990000;">The first movie-kiss was included in 1896 in Edison's clip "The kiss". </span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#990000;">The most long kiss, about 185 seconds, was in film "You're in the Army Now"(1940). </span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#990000;">So you can too set up Kiss Record. </span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#990000;">You're welcome.</span></div>Lenchikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11218927952877966693noreply@blogger.com0