THE MYSTERY OF HISTORY Morozov and Fomenko are accused of adherence to the occult. G. A. Eliseev writes: “If you look closely at Morozov’s biography, you can’t help but note his penchant for mystical experiences, and in general, the unformed religiosity of the pantheistic

(Simoron stories)

(PS: It is with this story that I want to start a new Rubric,

dedicated to the most magical magic

REFLECTION CHANGE

"... There is a Reflection, and there is a Substance, and this is the root of all life. Of the Substance, there is only Amber, a real city on a real earth on which everything exists. There are an infinite number of Reflections ... Amber, by its very existence, threw Reflections in all directions, all aspects of life... Reflections stretch from Amber to Chaos and everything is possible between them... If you are a prince or princess of royal blood, you can go through Reflections, causing them to change on their way, as you like, as long as this Reflection does not will become exactly what you wanted it to be, no more, no less. Then the world of this Reflection will be your own creation, and you can do whatever you want in it ... "

After going through a lot of various esoteric and psychological seminars, I began to heal people. Basically, I used the Juna method. I was able to achieve amazing success - I cured all the patients who came to me. I was especially proud of the numerous cases of healing of cancer patients, among which the majority were patients with thyroid cancer.

Once a woman came to me, and we, having found common acquaintances, started talking. Upon learning of my "exploits", she said a warning:

How are you not afraid to take such seriously ill people at home - you have Small child?! Do you know that many bioenergetics involved in oncology often get cancer themselves? After all, this disease is the result of heavy karma that you can drag onto yourself.

This fiery speech made a strong impression on me, and I stopped my practice. Now I understand that to intimidate a woman it was enough to “turn on the music for camels” or say the famous Simoron saying: “Keep your karma wider!”

Three months later, I decided that I needed to see a chiropractor, and turned to a medical cooperative. The young man, touching my neck, said: "You need to urgently consult an endocrinologist about the thyroid gland." The endocrinologist sent me to oncology. I was received by a very well-known oncologist and, without any hesitation, issued a ruthless verdict:

Dear girl, you have two or three months left to live, you need to urgently have an operation.

On my question:

Will the operation help?

He replied:

I don’t know if it will help or not, but, anyway, you don’t have long to live.

At home, a tantrum happened to me - I was insanely sorry for myself: I, so young, must die. Weeping bitterly, I told about my grief at work, and everyone began to feel sorry for me. I suffered from the thought that my mother would hardly survive my death, and then the eight-year-old son from his first marriage would be left alone (now I am married for the second time). We discussed his future with my first husband, Dmitry, with whom I have preserved great relationship, and he promised in the event of my death to take my son to him. My mother discussed with Dmitry the legal intricacies of guardianship.

In the oncology department of the hospital, on the seventh floor, where they did neck operations, patients with tubes in their throats, in which everything bubbled up, like in the head of Professor Dowell, made a depressing impression. I constantly had a movie spinning, how I suffer with the same pipe, melting every day, experiencing terrible pain. The wards were dirty, gray, and I did not want to lie in them after the operation. I decided not to have the operation - I will wait at home for my end.

Our family was religious, and my grandmother said that a person should prepare spiritually and materially for death. I went to church, prayed, confessed. Remembering that my grandmother was buried in a blue brocade dress, I sewed a similar one for myself in the atelier. I put it on in front of the mirror, folded my hands in a cross and imagined how spectacularly I would look in a coffin, and how I, young and beautiful, would be sorry for everyone around me. I also bought blue shoes, and from England they brought me blue tights with a golden seam, and I was worried about how to make the elegant seam visible.

I didn’t want to be buried in a cemetery, because in my imagination there was a movie about me and a beautiful blue dress being slowly eaten by worms. I imagined that my body was being burned at the stake in the forest, and the ashes were not scattered, but buried in the ground and a large grave stone-boulder was placed. I certified a letter from a notary, in which I allowed my corpse to be burned anywhere (we do not have a crematorium in the city).

All my relatives got involved in this game. Many dissuaded me, having a poor idea of ​​how it is possible to burn a person to the ground. I became a screenwriter, director and main actress of a grandiose drama.

In addition, I attended a seminar where they taught me to see my gravestone with a carved epitaph. I saw that on my stone was written a single word "Man".

One day, a work colleague casually threw a book on my desk. He stated that this book should be a desktop book for a person engaged in spiritual practices. I put the book in front of me, trying to decide if it was worth reading. She seemed childish, and I decided to leave her at work.

In the evening, when I came home, I smiled - a persistent friend stuffed the “Chronicles of Amber” into my briefcase. God, what an amazing world the author painted! Exciting adventures took possession of me so much that I wanted to burst into tears of annoyance when I, along with the hero, ended up on the last page. I was sorry to part with the characters in the book. I moved again and again and changed the reflections of the center of the universe - Amber, changed the structure of my body. Instead of the old nightmarish pictures in black colors, I fell into new, outlandish reflections, transparent and bright. In short, this wonderful book put me in a state of soaring.

Three days after reading the book, I got to the Simoron seminar, after which I began to constantly use funny techniques. Remembering the death sentence, she muttered her first Simoron name: “I am the one that changes reflections.”

After the seminar, everyone noticed dramatic changes in me: my eyes radiated light, I constantly laughed and joked, it became surprisingly easy to understand people.

A month passed, I completely forgot that it was time to die. Mom reminded me, and we decided that the examination would not hurt. I again went to the oncology hospital and began to take numerous tests. I was assigned a thyroid puncture, which was done by a famous professor. I was terribly worried, imagining how they would pierce my throat. But the devil is not as terrible as he is painted - there was almost no pain. Finally, I went for the final conclusion to the professor. He yelled at me:

Why are you taking away so many doctors? Why were you referred to us? You have nothing!

I don’t remember how I got home - my legs were wadded. I took out the old tests and called the professor. Hearing my voice, he just hung up the phone. I still went to him with these tests. She showed her old picture, the doctor's conclusion, and quoted the "death sentence" of the venerable oncologist. Having carefully studied them, the professor said in puzzlement:

Inexplicable things happen in life, for some reason everything has passed for you.

Tue 28 Sep 2010

Little Simoron story.
I came to the post office at 18.40 to send a parcel to the customer. I promised her that I would definitely do it today.
I see six people. And the postal employee (postal worker?) Angrily declares: we work until 19.00.
Actually, the schedule is until 20.00, but it turns out accept Parcels are only up to seven, and then they are only issued to recipients.
I got nervous. Obviously it won't be my turn. Because, as a rule, registration and sealing of the parcel lasts painfully long. You don't want to leave either, do you?
At first, I just stood in line, filled out a form for a parcel. By 18.53 (and I constantly look at the clock) there were three of us left:
an aunt with a large parcel box, a girl with a parcel and me.
- No, - I think, in 7 minutes of three? It won't make it.
And I decided to leave.
And then, as always in the most hopeless cases, I remembered that there is a proven remedy.
I looked at the box-filled post office through a small window and saw on the internal screen how this whole dreary room was filled with flying (or swimming) deep-sea fish. My son recently showed them to me on video.
An amazing sight. Fish from a depth of one and a half kilometers shimmer with running rainbow lights (like light music).
And I stand and represent. how they float around an angry guy, around a conveyor belt with parcels. Float and overflow.
Two more women come up here to receive parcels.
Meanwhile, the time is approaching 18.58, and then I remember that I still need to make an inscription on the parcel package and ask the angry guy about the package.
He replies that there are no packages and they need to be bought in a neighboring department. And he looks at how I packed my order. (And I packed it in round box from under the Tyrolean pie). And he asks: “Are you going to send the cake? See if it gets eaten on the way." And suddenly he smiles, pleased with his joke. This is undoubtedly a signal of light. It was his fish that stirred)))
Inspired, I run to the hall in the neighborhood for a package, out of breath I come back, and I see that the new woman is already receiving the package and the guy has gone after her, and every minute of his absence seems like an hour to me. While he is gone, I write as quickly as I can (the pen does not obey, scribbles are obtained). And here it is - the moment of truth. The guy returns, as if in slow motion, he hands the woman her precious receipt, turns his gaze to me and exactly in 18 hours 59 minutes and 40 seconds takes from my trembling hands the treasured burden.
- Aaaa - it worked !!! Thanks to the fish, Simoron and the packaging from the cake)))

Simoron story. Just a classic of the genre.
I am the accountant of the parent committee in kindergarten. We recently had a meeting at which we decided to collect 3500 for the needs of the group for a year and 1600 for graduation.
We have one mommy of impressive size, who goes through the social network.
She and her husband are listed as unemployed. Therefore, they were taken to our garden out of turn, although there are a lot of people who want to get to us.
The mother is very inadequate. Sometimes he brings his daughter in warm weather to winter down jacket, sometimes in winter boots on bare feet. Again, they do not pay for the garden according to the social program.
At the meeting, she spoke loudly on her mobile, and when I turned to her with a request to talk in the corridor, she answered indignantly:
- Here you are at work and I am at work, why should I not work because of you?
I explained to her, already feeling the clinic, that because of her we did not hear what the speaker was saying. Then she exclaimed indignantly:
Why are you eavesdropping on my conversations?
The clinic was confirmed, and I decided to leave everything as it is.
When it came to how much to collect, she immediately left the hall.
Realizing that she was unlikely to hand over money, my parents and I began to discuss what to do with her child.
But at first they decided that all the same, she needed to be told in person how much she should hand over.
This role was intended for me as a responsible person.
The teachers also confirmed that she was unlikely to pass.
When I thought about the need to re-communicate with this lady, I began to feel slightly nauseous and I decided that I could not do without Simoron.
As a result, the name came out: "I am the one who gives birth to solar eggs with the eyes."
And at first the eggs were golden, and then I felt: no, only sunny.
Farther. Whenever I encountered an object, I simonated with all my might. I imagined solar eggs, sent them to her, but I was silent about money, like a fish.
I must say that it was very good and comfortable for me. I felt that I treat her somewhere with compassion and bright wishes.
And the main thing, I decided, is not to rush. Just wait.
So, this morning (a week after the meeting), I come to the group, I talk with the teacher, then a lady comes in, pushes her magnificent daughter in and disappears, and her daughter comes up to me and holds out ... How much would you think? 5,000 rubles, almost the entire amount. Although all the others have passed only half. We have a silent scene with the teacher.
And then I have joy and great relief!

Story from Olya Blinova
“I am now resting in Feodosia with my boys, I have a story here that it might make sense to place in your piggy bank.
We have been here since June 8, and until 30 everything was wonderful - the sea, the sun, fruits, a lot of time to communicate with children, a lot of discoveries in connection with this, the joy that I decided on this trip.
On June 30, Artyom fell ill, he is now 1 year and 4.5 months old. I got seriously ill -
the temperature rose to 40.7, I could not cope with the temperature at home, besides, all this was accompanied by convulsions.
We were hospitalized in the local infectious diseases hospital. There, on the introduction of a sedative, Artyom gave out a strong excitement. Local doctors regarded this as a symptom of meningitis, began to convince me of the need for a lumbar puncture.
In the end, everything ended well.
We have been at home (in Feodosia) for a day and a half now, and today we went to see the doctor again, she said that she found Artyom completely healthy child and officially closed the history of his illness.
I would like to comment on all these events.
No matter what happened, I never for a second doubted the friendliness of the Universe towards me. I literally said to myself:
“I still don’t understand why I am allowed to survive these events, but I am absolutely sure that this is a huge positive in my life. The ways of the Lord are inscrutable - sooner or later I will definitely understand why he sent me this.
At the time when I felt that fear was covering me, I realized
that the most important thing for me is to prevent this, to keep my composure at all costs. I prayed and asked the Lord to support me.
During the prayer, a name suddenly popped up by itself - "I am an inspired flying, singing horse, knocking out heavenly forget-me-nots from under its hooves."
This name worked perfectly throughout the events.
But the following incident stood out in particular:
On the day the doctors assured me that my child had meningitis, I tried unsuccessfully to put him to bed for two hours. Whatever I did - lullabies, stroking, trying to just sit next to him, leaving him to himself, rocking in my arms - everything only caused even more excitement.
I must say that by this moment I had not slept for three nights and I myself could hardly stand on my feet.
Suddenly a name popped up. I started repeating it out loud. For the second iteration
the child began to fall silent. By the fifth or seventh, he was sleeping peacefully, evenly
snoring.
At some point, I wanted someone to say:
“Don’t be afraid, you are doing everything right. Your child does not have meningitis. He'll get better soon."
I realized that in order to hear it from someone, I need to tell what is happening, but there is no strength for this. I just said it all to myself out loud. And I realized that at that moment I would not have believed anyone more than myself.
Now, when everything is behind and I am able to calmly analyze everything
what happened, I can summarize:
1. I have a reason to be proud of myself - I adequately coped with this
difficult situation. For the first time in my life, faced with difficulties, I have
I didn't want to bury my head in the sand.
2. Before these events, I perceived Artyom as spoiled, for the time being
a child who does not understand speech well. I have reason to be proud of him.
He fought the disease like a persistent, hardy peasant. The real son of his father.
He perfectly understood when I explained to him the need for injections and patiently endured them.
3. These events brought our family even closer together. In every SMS from my husband, I
I felt empathy and support. With the eldest son the day before we
discussed the need to write reader's diary. I told,
that I feel because of his unwillingness to write it. Every visit to the hospital
Nikita informed me of his progress in this area. I was very
nice. And from the fact that the diary is being written, and mainly from the fact that
I saw in this Nikitino's desire to help me.
4. I shoveled my professional knowledge, but it seemed to me that for
the time of sitting on parental leave is pretty much all forgotten.
I am sure that when I go to work, I will quickly get into the rhythm.
5. I enjoyed watching the average medical staff. I have not seen such sincerity and goodwill in Moscow for a long time. Even among themselves, they communicate much more benevolently than their Moscow counterparts.
6. I happily parted with three obviously extra pounds.
Now I am absolutely sure that this situation was a huge positive in my life!”

Just today there was another amazing story with the renaming.
Andryushka and I arrived at the Tushinskaya platform, intending to go to nature. There, in the forest, a warm meeting awaited us with Safronov's group, with a fire, a game of volleyball and other joys of forest life. It was impossible to be late, because after the train to Manihino, we had to change on the ring road to another train, which runs 4 times a day, in order to get to the designated meeting point.
We arrived at Tushinskaya 15 minutes before departure to buy tickets in advance.
But when I saw the queues at the box office, I realized that it was more than 15 minutes. There were two windows, and there were very, very many who wanted to get out into nature.
Slowly, slowly approaching the treasured window, I glanced at the clock. Now there are 10 minutes left, and we have advanced no more than one and a half meters. And I also promised the child an interesting magazine before the train left. But so far I didn’t even have to dream about it - I would have had time to catch the train.
But here, to my happiness, I again like magic wand, I remembered about the renaming. And even somehow not really hoping for a result (well, the queue will not disappear, really ?!), she dreamed up a name: “I am the one who decorates the antlers of the reindeer with curlers” (in general, items such as toothpaste, curlers and other funny things). I repeated this name three times. And suddenly…
I heard: “The connection stopped working at the checkout. All pensioners and beneficiaries are asked to go straight to the turnstiles, they will be let in just like that.” And before my surprised eyes, the queue of 50 people began to disintegrate by itself!, I was the fourth at the window. Pensioners and beneficiaries rushed in a stormy stream to the aforementioned turnstiles, and I calmly bought a ticket, went through the turnstile and slowly chose Andryukha a pretty little magazine.
And more about today:
Hiking in a warm sunny spring forest gave me a wonderful aphorism:
"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder".

Story from Olya Blinova
Olya's son Nikita had exams for the gymnasium.
Of course, there was a lot of excitement about this and the most serious preparation. Olya did everything she could to help Nikita create a fighting spirit. And the son went to the exam in excellent shape.
The results of the exams were to be known in 4 days. And here Olya's nerves began to fail. As long as she could really influence the results, as long as she could tune in, support her son, there were actions that organized, created constructive employment. But now it was impossible to influence anything. And it turned out to be a difficult test.
Olya told me that when she realized that she was completely unbearable, she remembered the Simoron renaming. And since there was no energy left for creative searches, she decided to take my name from the story with the trolleybus stopper: “I am the one who flies the giant pigtails.” This name marked the beginning of a whole string of names: here is a poster with Khazanov - and please: “I am the one who hazanite”, then “I am the one who pugachet”, “I am the one who dippepelit” (Deep Purple).
Pretty soon Olya got a taste and transformed everything she sees into a construction: I can ... !, for example: “I can taxi!”, “I can junior!”. Turning words into an indefinite verb magically supported her greatly.
Olya confidently walked to the list with the results with the most successful name in terms of impact: “I am the one who is able to fly the results of exams”, “I am the one who flies butterflies in life circumstances”. There was no room for unrest in the mind.
Olya felt a surge of strength and an optimistic attitude.
The results exceeded expectations: 22 points with 16 passes.
Nikita! Congratulations on your admission!!!

Story.
Until Andryushka was 3 years old, I didn’t even think of getting in line at Kindergarten, although I repeatedly heard conversations at sandboxes that mothers stood in line while still pregnant. There are few kindergartens, it is very difficult to get a job - it became clear from what they heard. For myself, I decided this: I will get settled easily and without an appointment. This is how I set myself up.
And somehow I go into the studio in the next entrance to find out how they work with children, and the grandmother, who is waiting for the end of the lesson, gives me information: “Why are you here, you go to kindergarten short stay, it is located behind the Patriot (this is a cinema).
On a fine spring day, Andryushka and I went in search of a garden. But they didn’t find anything, and those whom we asked along the way shrugged.
A month later, almost in the trolley bus, the aunt again gives us the same information - there is a kindergarten and it is there. It turns out that it is a little further and across the street from the cinema.
And now for the second time we get into the kindergarten, we go to the head, and she says: “Yes, please, come, there are places.” And at the same time he offers to put us in the queue for the garden for a full day. Everything will be done in minutes. Moreover, I call her and ask: “How are you with vaccinations? My unvaccinated." The miracles continue:
She slightly raises her voice and says to me instructively:
— Don't you know that there is a law, on the basis of which kindergartens are required to accept children without vaccinations?
My God, this is happiness.
And in September we go to kindergarten. The teacher is wonderful. Andryushka walks easily and with pleasure.
In the spring, rumors begin to circulate that a new building is being built and our kindergarten will be transferred there together with the head, who will now work only there.
Miracles are told about the kindergarten, that it has a swimming pool, for a full day, developing and all that. I take wings
However, not a single teacher confirms the rumors, and moreover, knowledgeable mothers say that these rumors have been circulating for more than a year and all this is not true.
In the second year, I lead Andryushka in the garden in September and suddenly I see that a teacher was put in our group, who replaced us for one week and who I didn’t like at all because of the way she treated the children. I expected that we would have another, experienced woman, who had a graduate in the spring.
And here on you.
In cases where it seems to me that I cannot change the course of events, I resort to a tried and tested remedy. Rename. And so, I return home in a trolley bus. The sun is shining, there are few people, it is quiet. And the driver part of the glass is covered with a green film. And the interior of the trolleybus is filled with green light. Nice. Unusual. It's like a different reality. Here the name is born by itself: “I am the one who lights the trolley bus with green light.” I mentally imagine my flight through the cabin, filled with a green glow. All this in silence and as if the city froze outside the window, like a cat under the sun's rays.
The name transforms my state. I feel a surge of faith that everything will work out for the best.
Over the next week, it turns out that the new teacher is a very nice woman, she doesn’t interfere with children’s lives, she doesn’t swear, she’s calm. It can be seen then, last year she was overwhelmed by an unexpected load - when she was given our entire group.
Andrew likes her. By winter, however, it is changed to another, but we are even a little sorry to leave. The other one is also wonderful, somewhat more active.
Rumors about a new building appear and disappear. I get used to these bursts and do not react to them. And I repeat the name to myself just in case.
And here is the climax.
In May, we are announced that everyone who is on the waiting list and has a desire is moving to a new kindergarten with a swimming pool, a speech therapist, English, an excellent gym and other amenities. It's done!
The garden is large, three floors, 12 groups. From the outside it looks like a Dutch style house. White with wooden brown crosshairs on the facade, with pointed turrets, with a red tiled roof. The teaching staff is strong.
By spring, Andryushka is already swimming in the pool like a fish, however, in armlets. But if you consider that before the new garden he did not dare to go into the pool deeper than his knees, this is progress. The speech therapist gives him the letter "p" (free of charge). In general, miracles!
Thus, without initially signing up for any queues (the fact that the manager herself wrote me down when she received Andryushka does not count, because it was done at the same time as the admission procedure to the kindergarten) ended up in an excellent kindergarten for a full day without any money offerings. Isn't it a miracle?

One of my favorite stories.
Somehow, during the trainings on Simoronautics, I, about one problem situation came up with a renaming: I'm the one who gives pink bunny ears. I approached the matter responsibly. She made ears out of cardboard and satin. Honestly put them to her head, jumped up and said the name. The name worked well. The problem was dissolving right before our eyes. While riding the subway, I gave ears (in my mind, of course) to everyone in a row, but bald men were especially in need of such a gift. Their ears were decorated and gave a cheerful look. I imagined how they enter the car and lower their ears so as not to touch the top bar. It was very funny, and along the way, small problems were resolved under this name.
So, just at that time, a friend from Stavropol calls me (and she works in Pepsi-Cola, in a regional branch) and says: that Pepsi-Cola centers in the regions are being closed, and they are already directly told about the upcoming dismissal. And she asks me:
Think of something, you're always learning something new.
Here I offer her:
- And you take my name, it is strong, it helped me perfectly.
Am I the one who gives bald men pink bunny ears? Oh, that will do.
And so 2 weeks pass. Olya calls and happily declares:
- Tatyana!!! You have no idea!
And says:
- Here is how it was. Right at work, I began to leaf through magazines Business people, there are a lot of bald people there, cut out ears from pink paper with a sticky edge and sat gluing them all day. The head of the department comes in. Looks bewildered.
— What are you doing?
“I put pink ears on bald men, don’t you see.
“So we’ll all be fired soon, doesn’t it matter to you?”
No, it's just more interesting.
And a few days later, the leadership from Moscow lowered the decision: leave the Stavropol branch, and put Olya in the place of the head of the department.

Thu 19 Mar 2009

Today, on the way to Serebryany Bor in the morning, I saw a traffic jam in the oncoming lane and at first I was upset that it would take me a long time to get back, but then I remembered about the renaming and looked for something interesting with my eyes. Found. It was a staircase from the roofs (this is the design of the house) as if leading to a helipad. My imagination drew me a giant, with pigtails on his head, which rotated like a screw, thanks to which the giant rose into the air and was very happy about it. A name was born: I am the one who flies the giant pigtails. The name inspired me and as usual I began to pronounce it to myself from time to time.
On the way back, the traffic jam disappeared! (and yesterday by this time it still remained in all its glory, but I did not rename it). And I rushed home in 15 minutes! And the traffic jam did begin, but exactly from the place where my trolleybus is already safely turning off Mnevniki to my stop!

good day my Dear friends and readers! Whether we like it or not, Simoron practices work. And Simoron's life stories confirm this.

Today is the first serious exchange for our Family Money - ten ruble coins have been exchanged for a paper bill. The rest is available here on the 16th of the month.

Let's not talk about serious things before the weekend. Simply Simoronym!

Are you ready for this cleanup? Then, roll up your sleeves and "Alga!"

And from me to you stories about money.

Almost Simoron stories from life

stash

For a long time, during the time of Tsar Peas, we lived in a modest one-room apartment. The usual stalinka of the Leningrad project.

The child is small. A good night light would be needed, but nothing suitable could be bought. So I adapted to leave it on at night table lamp on the window behind the curtain.

And now to the crux of the matter.

My husband decided to make himself a small stash for unforeseen expenses before the New Year holidays. Well, you never know what the money will need! And did.

It's so good that I couldn't find it myself. He already admitted to me that he stumbled around the top ten. And I searched and couldn't find it.

And ten rubles at that time was good money. If you translate into bread at those prices, you could buy as many as sixty-six and a half rolls.

Or thirty-five and a half liters of milk. I can also cite matches and salt as an example. Matches - a thousand boxes, and salt - one hundred and sixty-six kilograms.

Already forgot to think about that stash. Spring came. The May holidays not far away.

And what about the lamp, you ask? And very even moreover!

It was made soundly, on a heavy leg-stand with glued to it soft cloth so as not to spoil the furniture on which the lamp will stand.

The wire of that product was long enough and I, wiping the window sill from dust, never lifted the lamp, but simply moved it along the surface of the window sill.

And then by the First of May I decided to wash the window. Of course, the lamp was removed from the window. And what was my surprise when I saw a ten under it. That's where the stash was!

Apparently, grandfather Lenin didn’t really want that he was drawn on a ten-rouble bill to New Year holidays spent. Decided to wait for the proletarian May Day!

And the joy that the money was found was indescribable. Everything according to Simoron is to enjoy all the events in life.

About the benefits of seasonal bags

It was at the time when I was doing business. There has always been money. Of course, they were counted, but not to the nearest penny. But she used the Simoron practices, not even knowing about their existence.

Somehow I was going to go shopping. I took a decent amount of money with me. Some spent, some left.

It was the last warm day of autumn. Winter starts tomorrow. And the bag with which I went to the store, I safely sent to winter holidays into the cupboard. The wallet, of course, was taken from her.

And I needed that bag only with the advent of spring, when it was time to change the winter plumage to a lighter version.

Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta! Attention everyone! In the pocket of the bag lay eight thousand rubles. That's just the cost of this money in terms of bread, I don't remember.

But the car GAZ-3110 "Volga" from the salon, cost a hundred and not very big tail of rubles. I know for sure, they bought a new car before the New Year.

According to Simoron, you need to leave money in all pockets and bags so that you can carry it.

An ode to sandals or what drives the love of ice cream.

Summer. Heat. On the feet - sandals from " children's world”, a print dress and panama hat complete the look. Why not a dress, but sandals in the first place?

Sandals at that time were for me, and not only for me, a very important part of the wardrobe. You could put money in them and not be afraid that you will lose. With the active lifestyle that we led then, dress pockets were not a very reliable store of money.

And in this shoe, you could swim in the fountain and climb trees. The strap always tightly pressed the foot to the sole. Stitched welt and leather, withstood any test.

It was not shameful for a girl to wear sandals. The model of this shoe was one for boys and girls. The difference was only in color. Sometimes, flowers appeared on the girl's sandals from the remnants of the skin. But it was not important for everyday wear.

And how many other wonderful properties sandals had. It was considered a special chic to rub the soles on them to such an extent that they slide along the edges of the steps in the entrance. But it was already aerobatics! And not everyone was given to achieve such mastery.

Grandfather Lenin has not yet celebrated his centenary, and the fiftieth anniversary of the revolution has already taken place. This is me to ensure that you yourself determine the years of events.

So, summer. Heat. I want ice cream, but I have only four kopecks of money.

You can, of course, rummage through all the pockets. But this is unlikely to bring results. Summer is not the first day and all the pockets have long been gutted.

I handed over the milk dishes yesterday. And for some reason, children do not accept glass containers from under soda water.

Parents at work, grandmother in the garden. Where to go, who to go to?

There is only one way out - to cooperate with a friend. The case for small, go up to her floor. But it turned out that she was broke. For two - six cents. And even for one serving of "Fruit" - you need seven.

It is possible that under the influence of the film “12 Chairs” recently watched in the cinema, the idea was born to beg for the missing penny from passers-by. Remember: “Alpine begging. Holy work!" True, it didn’t come to dancing!

As an object for begging, a young man of decent appearance was chosen. Closing her eyes in fear and holding out her six kopecks in her palm, she asked in a plaintive voice: “Uncle, add it to ice cream. The penny is missing. You are welcome!" The young man grinned and gave as much as five kopecks with the words: “For dairy.! It is healthier.”

A milk briquette cost eleven kopecks. And we could already enjoy ice cream, but the ease with which we received as many as five kopecks pushed us to a new adventure. Now we need fourteen kopecks - two for seven!

Piglet in a sandal. And on a sweaty palm all the same six kopecks. And choosing the next victim. There are few people on the street. The working population at work.

The sweaty aunt picks her purse for a long time and gives exactly as much as they asked for. We extract the patch. Now we have two times six kopecks. We split up and stand on different sides of the street.

Probably, in me the talent, at least Maretskaya, disappeared. I so dramatically asked for a penny that another young man gave ten kopecks and said: “No change!”

A friend also gave a penny. Twenty-three kopecks for two is already two ice creams for eleven and a penny for a glass of soda without syrup!

Naturally, ice cream was bought and eaten, and the penny took its place of honor in the sandal. And she stayed there until the moment when we needed money again!

Not knowing about Simoron, we simoron to the fullest, enjoying life in all its manifestations.

These are just a few stories from different periods of my life. How much more can be said!

In the meantime, a reminder for tomorrow: We exchange small money for one coin with a face value of ten rubles and put seventeen coins in each ruble.

Good luck to all of us!

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