Kirov Lyceum of Natural Sciences. Electronic diary Klen Kirov Contacts Kohau Len
Coordinates: 58°37′43″ n. w. / 49°38′19″ E. d. / 58.6286; 49.6387 58.6286° N. w. 49.6387° E. d.
(G) (I) "Kirov Lyceum» natural sciences(FLEN, MAPLE) - a state secondary educational institution with in-depth study of natural science subjects in the city of Kirov. MAPLE ranks first in Russia in terms of the number of student winners at the final stages All-Russian Olympiad
schoolchildren in biology.
Story In 1989, a school with in-depth study of biology was founded in Kirov. In 1990, it was renamed a school with in-depth study of biology and chemistry. In 1991, the school was reorganized into the Chemical and Biological Lyceum. In 1996, the lyceum became an experimental site for the Department of Education of the Kirov Region under the program “Environmental education as regional component school education " In 1998, the lyceum became a laureate of the all-Russian competition “School of the Year - 98”. In 2001, the Chemical and Biological Lyceum was renamed the Lyceum of Natural Sciences of the city of Kirov. In 2003, the Lyceum Library for winning All-Russian competition “BibliObraz” was awarded a grant from the President of the Russian Federation in the amount of 600 thousand rubles. From 2004 to 2007, the lyceum was the venue for the city tournament in geography - the “Autumn Marathon”. In 2006, the lyceum became a diploma winner in the “Water on Earth” competition of the Ministry of Education and Science of the Russian Federation. In the same year the lyceum was admitted to the Regional non-profit organization "Association of Innovative Educational Institutions of the Kirov Region." Since 2007, the lyceum has hosted the All-Russian Tournament of Young Biologists, co-organized by the center additional education “Gifted Schoolboy”, permanent organizer international competition Russian linguistics “Russian Bear Cub”, as well as the Vyatka Center for Continuing Education. In 2009, the building was transferred to the lyceum high school
No. 15 Kirov, the school itself was abolished. In 2010, as part of the program to support gifted children in the Kirov region, KLEN and four more educational institutions
were transferred from the Department of Education of the city of Kirov to the Department of Education of the Kirov Region and changed the form of ownership from municipal to state.
In December 2013, a covered passage between the lyceum buildings was put into operation.
- Chemical and biological profile
- Socio-economic profile
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Notes
Links
- [kirovlen.rf official website of the lyceum]
- in the project letopisi.ru
- Vergina Matevosyan.. State Television and Radio Broadcasting Company Vyatka (September 2, 2011). Retrieved October 4, 2011. .
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An excerpt characterizing the Kirov Lyceum of Natural Sciences
“Tell them what to give to the devils,” he shouted. Denisov, apparently in a fit of ardor, shining and moving his coal-black eyes with inflamed whites and waving his unsheathed saber, which he held with a bare little hand as red as his face.- Eh! Vasya! – Nesvitsky answered joyfully. - What are you talking about?
“Eskadg “onu pg” you can’t go,” shouted Vaska Denisov, angrily opening his white teeth, spurring his beautiful black, bloody Bedouin, who, blinking his ears from the bayonets he bumped into, snorting, spraying foam from the mouthpiece around him, ringing, he beat his hooves on the boards of the bridge and seemed ready to jump over the railings of the bridge if the rider would allow him. - What is this? like bugs! exactly like bugs! Pg "och... give dog" ogu!... Stay there! you're a wagon, chog"t! I'll kill you with a saber! - he shouted, actually taking out his saber and starting to wave it.
The soldiers with frightened faces pressed against each other, and Denisov joined Nesvitsky.
- Why aren’t you drunk today? – Nesvitsky said to Denisov when he drove up to him.
“And they won’t let you get drunk!” answered Vaska Denisov. “They’ve been dragging the regiment here and there all day long. It’s like that, it’s like that. Otherwise, who knows what it is!”
- What a dandy you are today! – Nesvitsky said, looking at his new mantle and saddle pad.
Denisov smiled, took out a handkerchief from his bag, which smelled of perfume, and stuck it in Nesvitsky’s nose.
- I can’t, I’m going to work! I got out, brushed my teeth and put on perfume.
The dignified figure of Nesvitsky, accompanied by a Cossack, and the determination of Denisov, waving his saber and shouting desperately, had such an effect that they squeezed onto the other side of the bridge and stopped the infantry. Nesvitsky found a colonel at the exit, to whom he needed to convey the order, and, having fulfilled his instructions, went back.
Having cleared the road, Denisov stopped at the entrance to the bridge. Casually holding back the stallion rushing towards his own and kicking, he looked at the squadron moving towards him.
Transparent sounds of hooves were heard along the boards of the bridge, as if several horses were galloping, and the squadron, with officers in front, four in a row, stretched out along the bridge and began to emerge on the other side.
The stopped infantry soldiers, crowding in the trampled mud near the bridge, looked at the clean, dapper hussars marching orderly past them with that special unfriendly feeling of alienation and ridicule that is usually encountered with various branches of the military.
- Smart guys! If only it were on Podnovinskoye!
- What good are they? They only drive for show! - said another.
- Infantry, don't dust! - the hussar joked, under which the horse, playing, splashed mud at the infantryman.
“If I had driven you through two marches with your backpack, the laces would have been worn out,” the infantryman said, wiping the dirt from his face with his sleeve; - otherwise it’s not a person, but a bird sitting!
“If only I could put you on a horse, Zikin, if you were agile,” the corporal joked about the thin soldier, bent over from the weight of his backpack.
“Take the club between your legs, and you’ll have a horse,” responded the hussar.
The rest of the infantry hurried across the bridge, forming a funnel at the entrance. Finally, all the carts passed, the crush became less, and the last battalion entered the bridge. Only the hussars of Denisov's squadron remained on the other side of the bridge against the enemy. The enemy, visible in the distance from the opposite mountain, from below, from the bridge, was not yet visible, since from the hollow along which the river flowed, the horizon ended at the opposite elevation no more than half a mile away. Ahead there was a desert, along which here and there groups of our traveling Cossacks were moving. Suddenly, on the opposite hill of the road, troops in blue hoods and artillery appeared. These were the French. The Cossack patrol trotted away downhill. All the officers and men of Denisov’s squadron, although they tried to talk about outsiders and look around, did not stop thinking only about what was there on the mountain, and constantly peered at the spots on the horizon, which they recognized as enemy troops. The weather cleared again in the afternoon, the sun set brightly over the Danube and the dark mountains surrounding it. It was quiet, and from that mountain the sounds of horns and screams of the enemy could occasionally be heard. There was no one between the squadron and the enemies, except for small patrols. An empty space, three hundred fathoms, separated them from him. The enemy stopped shooting, and the more clearly one felt that strict, menacing, impregnable and elusive line that separates the two enemy troops.
Sunday, November 06, 2005 01:23 + to quote bookAfter having breakfast with the remnants of former luxury, drinking tea, I set off to wander around pine forest, which was located on several low hills. It was always dry there, a thick layer of fallen pine springs under my feet, it smelled of resin and raspberries, I stopped, lay on my back and looked into the sky at the white clouds, sometimes falling asleep, lulled by their inexorable running, as well as by the warm breeze and sun. In our area, Indian summer can sometimes be very warm. I woke up because Lada poked my cheek with her nose when she got tired of watching over me. Getting up and shaking off the pine needles and cobwebs, we continued on our way. Further on there were several small lakes, separated by manes. There were paths along the top of these manes, and from these paths, through binoculars, lakes were clearly visible, where there were always ducks. Having noticed a flock of ducks on one of the lakes, and remembering the landmarks of the part of the lake where they were swimming, I avoided this lake far away so as not to scare away the ducks. The approaches were good, dry, and if you managed to approach quietly, then with a successful combination of circumstances, you could see that same flock of ducks at shooting distance. How many times have I raised the gun to fire, probably hundreds, and so many times my heart was jumping in my chest so that it was ready to jump out of it, my hands were shaking, my breathing was intermittent. Before shooting, I had to take several deep breaths to calm down. Finally, I calmed down, took aim, slowly and gently pulled the trigger, the roar of a shot was heard, the butt hit my shoulder, and... then came the options.
Option number one, if Nikola the saint is the patron saint of hunters, fishermen and
travelers were kind to me, then Lada jumped into the lake with a run, swam to the duck stretched out on the water, grabbed it, swam to the nearest shore, threw it there and, shaking herself off, happily jumped around the duck, waiting for me.
Option number two – Lada barked hysterically at the flying prey, looked at me in bewilderment, while I scratched my head and read her a hunter’s poem.
Then you will be a hunter
When you go through it several times,
With a backpack full of hope, go there.
And with a fig, back in my purse.
And we moved on, not really upset if I missed. But most often I got it, I threw a duck into my backpack, and sometimes two, this meant that in the evening we would have a roast. Then we went into the aspen grove, but I didn’t stay there, I didn’t like this place, I don’t like aspen, it’s cold, icy. Having collected a dozen and a half boletuses, in September there were a lot of mushrooms there, we went back to the hut. I didn’t pluck the ducks, I was too lazy, I just peeled off the skin along with the feathers. Having set one of them to cook, if there were two of them, I went away to chop more firewood for the night; by night it became cool. Having chopped and brought firewood to the hut, I began making duck mushroom soup; I poured the soup from the bag into the pot with the duck and mushrooms, added whatever spices I had, and the result was a wonderful soup. By this time, the firewood was burning out, leaving behind a lot of coals, so in these coals I buried the second duck, wrapped in foil, previously rubbed with salt, I put cloves of garlic and onions into the cuts. We had this duck for breakfast in the morning. After this, dinner began, Lada got the whole neck, wings, and bones after me. After dinner, washing the pot with sand in the stream, Lada and I went to see off the sun. I had a favorite place on the slope of a hill, there grew a large pine tree of an unusual shape, its trunk was very thick, intricately twisted and curved, with numerous growths and sagging, as if it came from the paintings of Salvador Dali, local hunters called it “devil’s tree.” It was a kind of landmark, the hunters said, I was hunting (near the devil's tree, behind the devil's tree, to the north of the devil's tree). At its roots there were several large stones - boulders, and a little further away a very deep and steep cliff began, such that the trees growing below did not even reach its edge with their tops. You approach a cliff, you look down and a chill appears in your chest, and you get goosebumps on your back, it’s scary, you throw a stone down and after a while, from there, from this depth, knock... knock... knock... . Below it was always dark and cold, the sun didn’t shine there, and there wasn’t much to do there, there were only stones, the animals didn’t go there. Once, I went down there out of curiosity, nothing interesting, complete darkness even at noon. But up above, by the pine tree, it was a different matter; from this place it was good to watch the sun set. When the sun went below the horizon about halfway, shadows appeared from the trees in some places. In one place where there was a bald spot in the taiga (the taiga once burned), on its edge stood a huge spruce, a kind of sundial. When the shadow from this spruce reached a small birch grove, it meant that it was eight o’clock and thirty-thirty-five minutes, and if the aspen was broken, then nine-twenty, and it was time to stomp into the hut if you want to get there before dark. I came there very often, sat down on the largest boulder, putting my army pea coat under me, placed a gun next to me, and looked at the taiga that spread out under my feet. In September the taiga is very beautiful, so beautiful that words cannot be found, you just have to see it.
To be continued …
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No matter how much we were in a hurry, we arrived at the lake in the dark, and there, on the high bank, a dugout was dug in three steps (it was dug according to all the rules of fortification, by two grandfathers who were front-line soldiers). In the dugout there were wooden bunks with hay, and a stove-stove made from a 200-liter iron barrel. I no longer had the strength to light the stove, so I poked around with a stick in the hay and under the bunks to drive out the snakes, placed a gun at the head of the bed, and went to bed. Speaking of snakes, there were a lot of them there, on the shores of this lake. Rising early in the morning, I went to the shore of the lake to look for a boat; usually there were 2-3 dugouts (a dugout is a boat hollowed out of a whole tree, usually aspen). They are also called gas chambers, they are very fidgety, unstable, almost something goes wrong, and you, like the cruiser “Varyag”, blowing bubbles, go to the bottom, naturally, I was not going to sail on such a boat, but was looking for shortcuts. A Korotni is two small dugouts connected to each other, a kind of catamaran, a very stable boat, although it is significantly slower than a dugout in speed. Having loaded all my belongings onto these shorts, shouting at the dog not to spin, I set off on the road. Of course, I could have walked along the shore, but I would have had to carry a backpack, and the shores were swampy in places.
The lake was called Mother-in-Law's Tongue. It was long and winding, and at the end it forked like the tongue of a snake. I had to take the right branch; the swim was quite far, 1.5 kilometers. At first, Lada carefully looked around, sitting in the front of the shorts, but she quickly got tired of this, she began to bark loudly, spin around, rocking the shorts, in general, behaved ugly. But, against this behavior, I had an effective remedy: I hit the water with an oar, doused it with water, after which it immediately calmed down, shook itself off the water, wrinkled its nose, sneezed deafeningly, and after stomping a little, lay down on its nose, curled up into a ball, and Subsequently our journey proceeded quietly and peacefully. The day was just beginning, the water was murmuring under the short trees, the forest was quietly rustling, the former fog, dispersed by a light breeze, was moving away. The bright sun, reflecting from the water, blinded my eyes, and I, patting the pockets of my Afghani, found sunglasses, put them on, saving my eyes from this sea of light. After swimming for about a kilometer, turning right and putting down the oar, I lit my pipe, and the shorts, slowly circling, drifted intricately across the lake, and eventually landed on an aspen fallen into the water by beavers. The right bank was high, and the left was low, the distance between them was small, twenty-five meters, on both banks tall, dark green spruces and light yellow-trunked pines grew almost out of the water. Above them there was only the sky and a few ragged clouds. Having smoked and knocked out a short pipe on the side, I dragged my backpack towards me, took out a flask of cognac and, having taken a good sip, said to myself: “Well, with the opening of the hunt!” Then, taking the gun out of the case, he collected it, loaded it and, placing it on his knees, sailed on. Finally, the moment came when the shorts with a quiet rustle floated onto the flat, sandy shore of the lake. At this point, the stream flowing into the lake washed a fairly large sandy beach. Lada, jumping off the boat, ran barking through the shallow water, raising fountains of splashes, then jumped out onto the shore, made several circles, and, falling on the sand, raising her paws to the sky, fidgeted on her back, growling loudly. Jumping up, shaking herself off, she “cut” a couple more large circles, capturing the shallow water. She ran up to me, breathing heavily, sticking out her tongue, poked her wet nose into my hand, then jumped back, falling on her front paws, as if inviting me to run with her. And I, forgetting about my years, throwing off my boots, bandolier, jacket, raced along with her until they (the years) reminded me of themselves, shortness of breath and pain in the sternum. After sitting for a while, I went to the shorts, pulled them further ashore and, shaking off the sand, loaded all the equipment on myself, and Lada and I stomped further up the stream, fortunately there wasn’t much left to go, about three kilometers. When they arrived at the place, Lada immediately, with a businesslike look, ran to check her old stash, naturally there was nothing there, since for last year the animals ate everything.
I began to collect firewood to light the stove in the hut, and she, tired of jumping, dozed under the nearest tree. Then, having broken the fir branches, I began to sweep away the garbage that had accumulated over the past year, light the stove, peel potatoes, in short, prepare, so to speak, a festive dinner. Lada, having begged for a bone taken specially from the house, settled down on the trestle bed, quickly dealt with it, and then watched me with her black eyes, sometimes growling quietly, as if giving advice. Then, late in the evening, by candlelight, we sat down with her for dinner, she got baked potatoes, which she loved very much. And I, having boiled a pot of potatoes, made mashed potatoes, added stewed meat to it, and after drinking a glass of cognac, I began to have dinner, looking at the dark square of the window on which there were two burning candles. Lada fumbled under the trestle bed, scratching something with her paw.
Having finished dinner, she and I went out of the hut into the fresh air, I lit a pipe, sat down on the dead wood and looked into the night taiga. Night taiga is a special thing, by the way, it is never quiet, sometimes the breeze rustles, sometimes the trees creak, sometimes a night bird screams something. Lada hovered nearby, often glancing in my direction, then, having become accustomed, she ran into the night forest to the stream, wandered along it, came running wet at my call, and always tried to shake herself off next to me, so that the splashes flew at me. Over all the years that I was there, I understood one thing: the starry sky in the taiga is special, fascinating, it attracts you, you can look into it endlessly, it is different. Then I went to the hut, lay down with my back to the hot stove and fell asleep instantly, slept soundly, without dreams. Sometimes Lada really woke me up because she quietly climbed onto my trestle bed, stomped on my feet like an elephant, made herself comfortable and fell asleep, warming my feet no worse than a stove. I woke up quite late, when the day was already in full swing, probably due to the fact that before that I was in the city, I was pretty nervous and tired. But I always woke up full of strength and Have a good mood. I almost never have such a state now.
Then he went to the stream to wash, there was an old copper washstand nailed to a tree, there were inscriptions on it with yats. I poured water from the stream into it and, clanking with the heavy nipple, I caught a thin stream of water in my hands. The water in the stream was surprisingly clean and transparent, sand and small pebbles were visible at the bottom, small fish scurried back and forth.
To be continued...
I
Taiga.
I traveled a lot around Russia and former USSR, wherever I was on business trips, I was even in the Far East, I traveled by train for 11 days, however, I later felt sick at the words carriage, compartment, Railway, and if it weren’t for the gurgling tranquilizer... So I saw all sorts of lands, but I will say one thing, there is no better place than ours, the Russian North is the Russian North. Although our winters are sometimes harsh, minus 40 for a couple of weeks every winter, and minus 45 every other winter, but they are tolerated quite easily, there is little wind, taiga. The forests are vast, there are a lot of animals in them, and there are countless berries and mushrooms... It’s difficult to die of hunger in the taiga, especially in the summer, only the super lazy will die, but to get lost in them is a sneeze, they will search for ages and will not find it. During the summer, 2-3 people, as we say here, go to the taiga forever. When my health allowed, and when I had not yet changed my attitude towards hunting, I spent 2-3 weeks in the taiga. I had my own hunting hut, which was given to me by an old (now deceased) hunter, it was a refuge from everything, if you understand me. I went there alone (I’m a loner by nature), prepared supplies ahead of time, loaded about a hundred cartridges, 50 pieces with shot No. 5 for duck and hazel grouse, 30 pieces with shot No. 3 for black grouse and wood grouse, 6 pieces of grapeshot cartridges and the same amount bullets just in case. I bought buckwheat porridge - concentrate, 15 packs, sugar - always in lumps, you can’t spill it. Salt, pepper, bay leaf, seasoning bags. I used to dry crackers, but then I started using flour and adapted to the stove (in the hut), baking flat cakes. You knead the dough, take two frying pans, put the dough in one, cover it with another smaller frying pan and put it in the oven, under the coals, and the resulting flatbread is a sight for sore eyes, very tasty, especially when you’ve walked twenty to twenty-five kilometers on your heels. In the hut, by the way, there were all kinds of dishes - piles. The radio receiver is small, a friend gave it to me, he was interested in radio design, I really appreciated this receiver for its light weight and clear reception. I smoked then, and in order not to take packs of cigarettes with me, I took a pipe and tobacco, as I remember now “Neptune”. The pipe loves peace and leisure; you can’t smoke it while running, which means you’ll burn less tar. Now I don't smoke at all. A soldier's flask (800 grams) of Armenian cognac, take fifty grams at night, it helps a lot with sleep. And although everything was thought out several times over the winter and summer, about a hundred times, the backpack turned out to be heavy, and as my hunter friend used to say (sweaty), that is, it made you sweat. But you can’t bear your own burden, you walk slowly, puffing.
In short, the time for vacation came, and, having finished all my work at work and around the house, I began to get ready, usually it was September 5-6. I still remember that joyful feeling of getting ready, and how happy my dog was, in my opinion, she was more happy than me. Then I had a hunting dog, her name was Lada, it was a Russian-European husky, black and white, very kind, and very smart. When I started to get ready, absolute bedlam began in the apartment. Lada rushed around the apartment, collecting our things, she knew perfectly well where everything was. She pulled my rubber boots out from under the sofa, then stuck her nose into the backpack, so much so that she got all in there and, entangled inside the backpack, rolled around the room in a sort of big bun, growling loudly, until I shook her out of there. Then she dragged her bowl, tried to put it in her backpack, I didn’t let her, but she didn’t take offense, dragged some other thing, for example her rug, and also tried to put it in, in short, she showed the greatest participation and zeal. Finally getting ready, she and I walked to the bus stop. On the way, she behaved very loyally towards all the dogs she met, she simply did not notice them. At other times, she would have gotten involved in at least three fights, but here, there was no time for trifles.
Lada ran next to me, looking up at me, sometimes sniffing the backpack with concern, like, did we take everything. Then we rode the bus, and Lada, sitting on a backpack that stood at my feet, looked out the window. The final stop of the bus was at the narrow-gauge railway station Verkhniy sklad, and I had to go to the station Nizhny sklad, and my dog and I patiently waited for five in the evening, when the working day ended, and people went home on such a small train (probably worthy of a place in museum). When I first saw this locomotive, I thought that it probably came from the hands of the Cherepanov brothers, it was so old. The locomotive puffed steam, blew clouds of black smoke from the chimney, but surprisingly quickly pulled a train of 5-6 platforms with timber and a so-called gondola car. A gondola car is a wooden car without a roof, but along the edges there was a side at the level of the shoulders of a sitting person; it was always attached to the locomotive in front, so the view was excellent. Linda sat next to me on a wooden bench and carefully looked ahead, sometimes barked at flying birds and, turning to me, poked my cold and wet nose into my cheek, because... This miracle of technology swayed strongly while driving, the path was completely broken. Sometimes the locomotive would stop by a river, and the fireman and his assistant would drag a thick, corrugated hose and throw it into the water. The pump churned, water gurgled into the tank, and passengers sometimes had to load firewood into the tender (a tender is a type of trunk on a steam locomotive in which it carries fuel, in this case firewood and water). It also happened that a locomotive with a terrible grinding sound, tilting strongly, went off the rails and then the locomotive crew, using two crowbars, one sledgehammer, one jack and a lot of profanity, quickly put it back on the rails. The locomotive, tapping its wheels, drove on, the tipsy men loudly bawled “Our locomotive, fly forward,” and how not to bawl when they smear carbonated moonshine from the siphon, you won’t start singing. Then I tried this drink for the first time, take half a liter of moonshine, (it’s already 70 degrees) pour it into a siphon, and put two cans of carbon dioxide in there. This drink was called “Sledgehammer” - the effect on the body was the same, especially if you were not used to it. You drink a glass, your stomach feels like napalm is burning, your head feels like a plane taking off, your eyes suddenly lose focus, in short - sheer horror, I only tried it once and never drank again. I would like to remind you that this happened at the height of the anti-alcohol campaign started by M. S. Gorbachev, there was such a political figure. Well, okay, I digress.
Further, from the Nizhny warehouse station we walked, walking, hurrying, we had to reach the lake before dark. Periodically, I took breaks because the backpack, the further we walked, the more it weighed. During the entire journey there were three stops, about fifteen minutes each; during the stops I lay with my feet on my backpack and looked at the sky. Well, Lada, having found a piece of birch bark and grabbed it with her teeth, jumped around me, shaking her head so hard that it seemed like her head was about to fall off. And then, tired of jumping, she lay down on the ground and, holding the birch bark with her paws, began to tear it into thin, narrow strips.
To be continued.
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Lesson.
My friends' dogs didn't bark when the doorbell rang. She barked at incoming calls, but did not answer the call. And they decided to conduct a demonstration lesson. The husband (who occupies a respectable position in the city administration) - a man with a bald head and a paunch, weighing over 100 kg, got down on all fours near the door, the wife went out and rang the doorbell, the husband barked, the wife came in and gave the husband a piece of cheese. The husband, teasing the dog, tasted delicious ate cheese and smacked his lips. The dog looked at them as if they were idiots, but with great interest. When the cheese ran out, they switched roles. The wife, a slender and graceful woman, got down on all fours at the door, and the husband came out and began to ring the doorbell. The wife barked. The husband opened the door, gave his wife pieces of sausage, while he also scared the dog, and at the same time his wife bit his leg. The dog, hanging its head to the side, continued to look at them with great interest, but still as if they were idiots. When the wife ground a kilogram of raw sausages, cut into small pieces, and became hoarse from barking, the husband, pulling the dog by the ear, said, “No, it’s useless.” , she will never learn to bark,” he helped his wife get up, and they both went into the room. The dog ran to the kitchen, dragged out his bowl of dry food, placed it in front of the couple, barked loudly and sat down on the rug, apparently demanding that the show continue.
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Cited
I had the opportunity to visit one of the orphanages on business. I looked at the drawings of children 2.5-3 years old and made a discovery. These are not scribbles, it turns out - this is a whole world, and it took me 47 years, 4 months and 21 days to understand this. There are no children in the drawings mixed colors. Pay attention here. The sky in their drawings is blue, the grass is green, the sun is red, people are also multi-colored, but of the same color, yellow, blue, red. Children don't have gray. They have no shades. And their trouble is black. And only after 4-5 years does the gray color appear in their drawings. When they drink our fucking life to the fullest. Probably when they begin to realize that they have been scammed, literally and figuratively. Well, in our life everything is gray, solid shades, damn it, more than this, more than that, no pure white, he left our lives, and there is no black one. Our whole life is a complete compromise.
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It's not true that all soldiers are like hatchery chickens, even everyone chicken egg have their own faces, not to mention human ones.
I’m not your dog here to croak at everyone!
I've been telling you for a long time: "Cover your backside."
I look deep and I look wide.
I think that 5 and 5 are just 10.
I told him “No!” First there, and then here.
I walk along the parade ground and hear people smiling in the barracks.
I don’t suffer from memory or vision yet.
I feel well, but not well.
I've been running around in a daze all day today!
For a soldier, a subbotnik is a voluntary matter, and not so that if you want, you participate, but if you want, you don’t.
Today we will sing a cheerful song as we snack on our hike.
Stop muttering!
Political officer, kick this idiot out of the Komsomol! Why not a Komsomol member? Adopt and kick out!
Remember: swearing from a commander’s tongue is a catchphrase, from a subordinate’s language it’s obscene language and the outfit is out of turn!
Don't look down the barrel of a loaded tank!
Shutting up doesn't mean talking nonsense.
I go into the storeroom and see someone’s ass sticking out from under a sheepskin coat. Well, I think the fighters are testing me.
I go into one nightstand, the salt has been spilled there, which means the fighters drink tea at night.
One day I go into the nightstand. I see the slippers there are knee-deep in mud. Well, I think these slippers will go with my outfit tomorrow!
We will pass the test with an average score of 5.2, as agreed.
Here you are not at home in Moscow, waist-deep in dust on the Arbat.
In winter, that is, at night, the guard changes twice a day.
We know how it's done! They will gather in groups of three, and then the mechanisms will rust.
I know you are scratching your tongues behind my back, saying that the ensign is an oak tree. What did you personally do to make me become a different tree?!
You shouldn’t be doing this to me, comrade soldiers! You'll regret it! After all, they say don’t spit in the well until you jump over it.
And there must be muscles in the head.
And remember, comrade cadets, once and for all, that universal human logic means nothing where general military regulations apply.
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I had a chance to visit Chernobyl, this is about what happened there.
House.
The earth was formless and empty, and darkness...
Every time I drove through the village at night to my military unit, I remembered these words. Indeed, Egyptian darkness covered this Ukrainian village. I don’t remember the name of the village many years ago, 17 years have passed, but I still remember that incomprehensible feeling in my chest when I first saw this large village without a single light in the windows. The village lay in a small depression, located on both sides of the highway. Although they say that the Ukrainian night is dark, the light of the stars and the moon was enough to see him. Yes, I must say that I served as a military doctor at that time - as the head of the medical service of a military unit, and there were about 30 people under my command. My driver stopped on a hill, turned off the headlights, and we sat and smoked for a long time, opening the doors of our UAZ, and silently looked down, and below were these white huts without a single light in the windows. The night was quiet and warm, there was something crackling in the engine, and there was a smell of motor oil and gasoline. Sergei sat silently, with his hands on the steering wheel, then sighed heavily and looked at me, I silently nodded and he, without starting the engine, touched the lever, the car, rustling its tires, rolled down the hill. We drove quietly in the dark past these solid brick houses covered with grapes and hops, surrounded by apple and pear trees, and he quietly cursed, then braked and pointed to the right. I shined my searchlight and saw a large house made of flagstone, once whitewashed, with a tile roof, surrounded by a fence made of metal plates, about two meters high. Heart-shaped holes were punched in the plates, and they were concreted at the bottom. We got out of the car and walked up to the gate. The gate was also metal, very beautiful, made of forged iron rods depicting bunches of grapes. I lightly pressed the gate with my hand, and it opened surprisingly quietly. “On bearings,” Sergei said quietly; nearby there was a large metal gate, padlocked from the inside. The house stood somewhat deep in a small garden, with a wide, cracked concrete strip leading to it. We walked to the house; it was two-story. The first floor was low, the wide garage doors were visible, apparently there were only utility rooms on the first floor. The entrance to the house was through a wide glazed veranda; on the door there was a narrow white strip of paper. Seryozha flicked his lighter, something was written on it. I went to the car, took a flashlight, the inscription was very faded and was difficult to read, but somehow I read that “the house is guarded by the Ministry of Internal Affairs.” It was clear from everything that there was a strong owner and a large family. Everything was done firmly, thoroughly, for decades, if not centuries. I tried to go into the garden, but it was impossible to leave the concrete path; nettles were rampant in the garden; they were two meters high and were flocking desperately. “Some kind of triffid, not nettles”: Sergei muttered, scratching his hand (he was well-read). We stood in front of the house and were silent. “Look how they ruined the house,” Seryoga said, spitting, and showed me a broken window on which pieces of plastic film were hanging. The house was looted. The remaining windows were also covered with film to prevent radioactive dust from entering the house. “Apparently they were going to return,” he added. Next to the house there was a children's swing, welded from metal pipes, I shook it, it creaked quietly and then I heard voices, music, children's laughter. It was all so real that I shook my head to get rid of it. Then I thought that somehow this was all wrong, not right. People built nuclear power plant with the best intentions that it would work for them, give them heat, electricity, and then they brought it to the point where it exploded and poisoned this small world, and completely ruined life in this house. People left it forever. I took the KRBG dosimeter from my shoulder, which I almost never parted with, turned it on, brought the sensor to the wall, the dosimeter clicked, the arrow on the illuminated panel crawled to the right, the house was quite “phonic” with β-particles. Then Sergei called me, and I went, fastening the device’s case as I went, the clasp of the device stuck, I got distracted, and as fast as I could I flew into the nettle on my left side. Covering my eyes with my hand, almost suffocating from the burning pain in my left side, I barely got out of the nettles, saying... a few words. Sergei stood with his mouth open, then said: “Well, Doc, you give it!” I, hissing in pain and feverishly scratching my side, told him to start the engine.
We got into the car, Sergei turned on the engine, we drove out onto the highway, the sides of which were watered with some kind of green rubbish, which seemed to reduce dust formation. Periodically, it was rolled up like a carpet and taken to the burial ground. We put on respirators (they were called Lepestok-2, the order at that time was that everyone traveling on the road must wear respirators). That’s when he broke through, heatedly, waving his arms, confused in his words, he almost shouted his monologue. I was tetanus, I just didn’t expect such words from him. For me, he was just a driver, and suddenly, I recognized him from a different side. He talked about the House, which should be, must be, so big, capital, that there would be many children in it, and that they would be noisy and cheerful, otherwise they would not be children. From this house their journey should begin, to Big world, to other countries and cities, but so that you can always return to it if you suddenly have trouble, and where you will always be welcome. There should be a father and mother in the house, to whom you can always come and ask for advice and receive this advice and help. The father in this house is the owner, thrifty, thrifty, counting every ruble, caring for his house and knowing every nail, every board in it. Mother is a Mistress who knows everything and can do everything, and her house is full. The house should be a family estate, a citadel, a stronghold of your family, you will have something to protect, therefore, you will never commit a bad deed. The honor of the family will not allow you to do this. I said: Yes, it turns out somehow Noble Nest. But just adding fuel to the fire, Sergei jumped up in his seat. Yes a nest, yes a noble one, yes they were the best people of his time, he shouted, they shot them in the seventeenth, but in vain, and he stopped short, ... it was not customary then, to say what you think, of course, it was not 1937, but if the political officer had heard, the stench would have been unbearable. He looked sideways at me, I waved my hand, he sighed with relief and, slamming his fist on the steering wheel, accelerated, in the light of the headlights, the gray highway began to creep under the wheels. Then we drove in silence, I looked into this dark night and unexpectedly fell asleep, only waking up in the machine park. I went to my first aid station to get some sleep, but already at 4.30 the paramedic took me up to put food in the boilers and conduct a medical examination of the next shift of cooks and kitchen workers. In short, my usual work day had begun, when suddenly a medical orderly came running after me and started jabbering that my driver had gotten some moonshine somewhere and was now in an extremely disgusting state.
When I arrived at the tent where my soldiers lived, Seryozha was already in a prostrate position. And since I needed him in the evening, for a trip to the PRC posts, I said to the paramedic accompanying me: Well, dig him out, bring him to his senses. I didn’t draw any organizational conclusions, as they said then, he was a great driver. Only much later did I understand why the men who drank little in their lives before Chernobyl drank there, “by the way, black.” Because each of them was a Master in their souls, and they missed their homes, and they were scared to look at these abandoned houses.
But in fact, when you drive into some evacuated village, you turn off the engine, move away from the car, and a chill appears in your chest, as if someone is looking at you from behind, you look around, but no one is there.
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Why am I writing this, I don’t know...
Does anyone need this, I don’t know...
Will anyone read this, I don’t know...
But I will write.
In our youth, we do not value time; we waste it, not realizing how priceless it is. In our youth we live in debt to time, we take out a kind of loan. The most interesting thing is that the percentage is very small at first. We'll party all night and go to school or work as if nothing had happened. Time is very loyal to us in our youth, it forgives us a lot, but forgets nothing. We sometimes spend time credit thoughtlessly and aimlessly, we part easily, cheerfully, but what do we have, we have a lot of it, this time, our whole life is ahead of us. And we fly forward headlong, love and hate come and go to us, we find and lose friends.
We want to try everything, tobacco, vodka, weed, snowball, or even heroic, some jump off this path in time, and some don’t, in which case he burns like a moth.
But time, oh this time, begins to rise interest rate, at first almost imperceptibly, but more and more.
When do we begin to understand its value? And then when we start paying off our debts. True, each to their own.
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Modern education is increasingly using advanced technologies that make it possible to make the current educational system better and more efficient. To verify this, just visit the electronic diary developed for KirovLEN students.
There is almost everything here that may interest schoolchildren and their parents. On the official portal of the Kirov Lyceum of Natural Sciences you can see the schedule and clarify homework, check academic progress and even make sure that the child regularly attends classes. A personal account allows parents to always stay informed latest news and monitor how the student receives and assimilates new knowledge. As a result, everyone benefits: the younger generation, adults, and teachers.
To understand how convenient and useful the virtual magazine KOGOAU LEN is, you need to understand its main functions.
Students and responsible adults should be aware that all registered users will have access to the following actions:
- viewing grades and monitoring progress;
- clarification of received homework;
- familiarization with the current schedule;
- receive important news and announcements;
- studying the regulatory framework and rules of the educational institution.
The easiest way to find out a complete list of all available functions is after you start working with the system. But it is important to note that there is even a special diary for preschoolers.
Registration
To start using the electronic diary MAPLE Kirov, you need to obtain a login and password, without which it is impossible to log in to the website diary.kirovlen.rf.
Considering the importance of online service and a large number of confidential information that will be stored in your personal account, login information can only be obtained from the lyceum employees responsible for the virtual journal.
Therefore, in order to monitor children’s progress via the Internet, you need to contact their to the class teacher and ask for your password. The same should be done if the secret combination is lost, since it is teachers who should help parents deal with all such difficulties.
Entrance
- visit the official portal of the educational institution;
- click the link to the virtual diary (located on the top panel of the start page);
- enter your password and login.
It is important to note that individual services are only available after receiving additional combinations issued by the persons responsible for these online services.
A striking example of this is the page “analysis and assessment of personal results”, the address and access to which can only be provided by a school psychologist.
Contacts KOGOAU LEN
