Childhood stories (III): Stealing Roses (La furat … trandafiri)

(EN) The village I spent my childhood, Recea, is situated 15 km more or less from the city where we lived. I love that village and everything in there is so familiar, other villages don’t look so interesting to me, this is of course understandable since I spent almost 15 summers in Recea. My grandma’s house is located in the center with the gates giving in the main street. We had neighbors around us while on the other side of the street we had a couple of offices and some markets. The neighbors were a lot of fun, because we would spy on them and we would know exactly what they are growing. One of these neighbors planted and grew roses for sales. His garden would share a fence with our garden, and the fences we had were usually from wires and you could see easily what other people have in their gardens. One day we made a plan, more precisely a very crazy and full of harm plan. I guess we did not realize what the consequences would be… and how angry our parents would be. The idea was to steal roses and to bring them to our house.

We invited over the woman that lived in that house, she was the godmother of my grandma. While they were sitting and talking we went to the garden and my cousin jump over the fence and with a scissor started to cut roses. He would pass them to my sister, while my other cousin would spy when our neighbor was ready to leave. When there was none in the courtyard we brought the roses in the house, and we were thinking how to  hide them since our parents would not be happy with this. In some cartoon boxes we found small vases and the best spot to hide the roses would be the attic. Hahaha…we climbed up to the attic everything, the flowers, the vases and a bucket with water to our for the roses.

When our parents came for the weekend and my mom saw the attic, I am sure she almost had a heart attack. She saw 40 vases spread wide over the entire attic with 5 roses each, which were cut very short like maxim 10 cm.  We didn’t understand that this costed a fortune that time. The 200 roses that time would cost like 200 dollars or even more. Our parents were upset with us so they punished us. Now this story became one of the favorites to tell at family reunions, back then wasn’t much fun.

(RO) Recea este satul copilariei mele. Se afla la 15 km de orasul Straseni unde de obicei am locuit atunci cind mergeam la scoala ori gradinita. Am indragit satul Recea si mereu mi s-a parut cel mai interesant satuc din regiune, poate pentru ca ma legau atitea amintiri de el si cit de familiar mi se parea de fiecare data cind ma aflam acolo. Casa bunicii se afla pe strada principala, iar peste drum era o cladire cu oameni care lucrau acolo (nu stiu cu ce se ocupau, pentru ca s-a inchis cind eram inca un copil) si un magazin mare. Aveam vecini pe care ii spionam si stiam exact ce bunataturi cresteau. Nana Veghenea avea stupuri si deseori ne dadea miere de albina, chiochea Masa avea cires si coacaze, iar Nasica Ifima avea trandafiri de vinzare.

Intr-o zi am decis sa furam trandafirii de la nasica Ifima pentru ca sa avem si noi flori in casa. Cind Nasica Ifima a venit la bunica (ii spuneam nasica, deoarece era nasa bunicii mele) sa mai stea la vorba, am zis noi ca atunci era momentul. Verisorul meu a sarit gardul si cu un foarfece a inceput sa taie cit mai multi trandafiri, iar sora mea ajuta sa-i treaca peste gard. Dupa ce verisoara ne-a anuntat ca Nasica Ifima pleaca (fiecare isi avea un rol in aceasta “Misiune Imposibila”), am dus florile in casa. Erau foarte multe, am cautat veze si le-am ascuns in podul casei, ca nimeni sa nu afle ce am fcaut. Am dus si apa ca sa nu se usuce. Mare nebuneala!!! Cred ca pe atunci toate florile au costat o avere, si nici macar noi nu ne-am bucurat de ele, ca verisorul le-a taiat de vreo 10 cm, foarte scurte.

In weekend cind parintii au venit sa ne vada, iar mama a vazut ce era in pod- sunt sigura ca ii mai trebuia putin si facea infarct. Ne-au tot zis ca n-am facut bine si ne-au pedepsit, dar ce poti sa-i faci unui copil, cred ca si bataie am primit. Dar totul s-a uitat cu timpul, iar aceasta istorioara a devenit una din cele mai povestite de fiecare data cind ne intilnim cu totii la Craciun sau de Pasti. Asa cum Ion a fost la furat cirese, am fost si noi la furat…trandafiri. Ce sa zic offf copilarie, dulce copilarie!! 🙂

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