Is it possible to die for one letter?

Looking for news in internet, I noticed an announce of a site about suicides. The title was something like this: don't you know how to suicide? As a teacher I'm very contrary the provoking bad thoughts advertising. Persons are too strange today. It's enough to see something in TV and there are many persons who repeat any gesture.

The site despite my worse foresight was about the ways to prevent stress and suicide thoughts. It was nice. But the theme remembered me one story from the times of Stalin. There is not need to explain who was this character. Everybody knows that he was able to send thousands of persons in GULAG etc.

But one story was special.

One journalist was send on "executioner's block" for only ONE letter.

The journalist wrote an article about the achievements of the Soviet people building the light future and about the leading role of the Father of the Nation in reaching all the picks on this way. In the only word Stalin, there was a misprint: not t but r. The misprint however changed the meaning of the word completely. Not "Made from Iron" but something like Shittipants.

Stalin could not stand such an insult, and the journalist paid his misprint with his life. I don't think the man did that mistake consciously. And, it's possible that he even did not notice it. So, all we, bloggers, know how is easy the print one letter for an other. Specially, if we are distracted.
Well, we are fortunate that the times change and we live in an other period...

Dragonflies of my Childhood's Memories

This summer I met the memories of my childhood.

When I was a little girl, we lived in Lithuania. There were forests and a river under our town situated on the high bank of it.

We, children, passed all our time near that river. In the places, where the forest was near the river, there were many romantic corners. There, you could see aquatic and paludal plants and flowers, there were little -and, maybe, not too little- fishes, too, since all the bank was always occupied by numerous fishers with their rods and spinnings.

And, there was very special smell, near the river. That smell, when I sniff it, awakes particular feelings in my soul. My heart contracts and I begin to look for SOMETHNG... And then I undertand that it's only the smell of the river I grew up nearby.

I loved to observe the life of the creatures that lived near the river. Among them, there were different kinds of dragonflies. They were a part of the river. Inseparable part of it.

Now, for 17 years, I live in the South of Italy. This place is hot. Too hot for my tastes. And this summer was particularly dry. Just in July, the shepherds began to burn the dry grass of the hills. There was not high wind maybe, so our poor hill was set on fire even two times this year.

I went for a walk with my "fille" to our "lake" and I told her how fortunate we are to have the possibility to stay near the water in this hot afternoon.

Suddenly, I saw it. A big dragonfly.It was flying here and there over our pond. If you look on the photo where is the fountain, you can see it - big and azure. I was excited. I did not see them for so long time! The feelings, the memories of my childhood rushed into my mind.

The dragonfly went away. Than turned back. It was not alone. They were two, than three, than more...
I was delighted to see them. Where came they from???

Then, I understood what were they doing there, near my "lake". They wanted to place their eggs! And there were real air battles over the pond.The battles for those two clumps of herb situating in a proper position. Who knows, how they choose the right one??? For me all the leaves were equal...

Sitting on a stone and observing them, absorbed by my memories, I forgot my "duties". We have a great herd of wild hens now. :-))) They do not want to recognize anybody and live absolutely for their own. Sometimes, we can't even see them: they are little and light and fly very well. So, they like to sit on the trees and, when you near the tree, you can see hens falling down from the crown...

Don't you think, it's strange that our memory has so surprising ways to turn us back to our origins?