Thursday, December 26, 2013

The voice of my sister - a mountain stream falling into a silver jug. Sonorous beauty of it gives a

Creek in a silver jug. Amy Bloom
The voice of my sister - a mountain stream falling into a silver jug. Sonorous beauty of it gives a cool and takes up - from the heat of the body, from the body. Sister was fourteen, I was twelve, and we went to "La Traviata" and then in the parking lot she took me aside and told him: "Listen." She opened her mouth unnaturally wide, and his voice broke - crystal grammys performances clean and clear, and opera patrons froze the machines, unable to sit down and start the engine. They listened with bated breath, and then we had an ovation.
I want to remember it is a Rose, and this particular episode I told her all psychotherapists. To also learned grammys performances what it is, my sister grammys performances to understand that what to them, not a real rose. After all hits to commonplaces, to tune out advertising were Puccini and Mozart, and the pleasant hymns, and lurked in them such power that seemed to Jesus is about to come down from the cross and clapped her hands in delight. Let 'em know before becoming a mountain of fat that sways in the hospital corridor in sweatpants and baggy razmahaykah for pregnant women, Rosa was the prettiest girl arrandeylskoy primary school, grammys performances the first beauty lendmarkskoy average ... Maybe there were other beauties, but I do not notice. For me, the ideal was Rosa, my blond defender and mentor, the conductor of the sacraments "Tampax" and change her mother's moods. The first failure occurred in her fifteen years. Then she came home in tears and sadness, then quietly beaming; eventually stopped back at all. Right behind our house the forest began, and there she sat out until dusk, while mom, trekked through the prickly heather, not looking her in the most dense thickets and led home - detachment, with dry leaves on a blue sweater, with dirt on white jeans. After three weeks of this life mom, a musician by profession and, admittedly, a woman with a very fragile psyche, said his father, a good man and sad, a psychiatrist by profession:
They are still a bit poprerekalis, then my father for several hours trying to talk to Rose, and she sat, licking the hair just above the wrist, first one side, then the other. Mom looked at them from the corridor, pale, dry-eyed. She had already grammys performances packed her things, grammys performances and when three of his father's colleagues called in to advise us - for friendship, for free - with mom Rozin suitcase was already sitting in the car. She hugged me and promised to return in the evening, only without the Roses. And she added, anticipating grammys performances the worst of my fears: grammys performances
In clinics, large and smaller, Rose spent the next ten years. grammys performances Her therapists treated a lot of creepy, but there were also good. In one clinic did not have no windows, no pictures on the walls, and shuffled in the same patients with hospital slippers stigma. Mom did not even go to the emergency room. She opened Rosa, and they resolutely headed for the door, and his father, apologizing to his colleagues, walked behind. Psychiatrists, social workers and nurses ignored the mother, and for patients played Handel grammys performances and Bessie Smith - on what is necessary. In some clinics was a real "Steinway" - a gift from grateful relatives or hopeful in others she happened to bludgeon "Give me a beer roach yes" on an old scratched piano that are not configured for a hundred years, because in the hospital long forgotten, Why are musical instruments. Father talked with administrators and heads of seriously-respect, and with clinicians was friends even tried. But family therapists we all unanimously hated.
Worst of all, who fell to our lot over the years, was sitting in the office with pale green walls. Tenacious eye he appreciated his mother's unearthly beauty, faded T-shirt and jeans narrow grammys performances girly, my father's jacket grammys performances crumpled and dirty, streaked with tie and calling all my seventeen-year grammys performances appearance. Rose was in the same year as never far from fashion: pants-Rassam very large and baggy "ballroom" dress. She was like a teddy bear. We sat in silence, and Dr. Walker browsing history. grammys performances When Rose beginning invitingly whining, knead her breasts, he looked at us with undisguised grammys performances alarm. My mom and I laughed. Even my father smiled. This often tricks Rose began meeting new doctors.
- Hey, ferret sharp-nosed, what the hell are you talking about? - Angry, Rose pondered much better than usual. Doctor really resembled a blond ferret. We laughed. Do not resist even the father who always tried to - from a sense of brotherhood guild - not to interfere in the work of colleagues.
Day, when we met with the best therapist for Rosina century, grammys performances began almost as badly. We are frightened to death vrachihu-intern resulted in utter confusion its curator, and so on-and then let loose on us Dr. Thorne: etak hundred thirty kilos of Texas, abundantly watered sauce "chili", stuffed corn tortillas, inflated beer "Lone Star" all in black high

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