Christina's name day

Once a year, the small Leningrad apartment on Petrogradskaya Storona would be overwhelmed by the joyful hustle and bustle of life. From early morning, Kristina polished the parquet floor until it shone, pulled apart the heavy table in the living room, and arranged the chairs. Candles were carefully tucked into the celebratory cake. Finally, the appointed hour struck, and the house instantly began to spin, filled with a crowd of noisy friends. The guests brought three essential things for the birthday girl: Roses—scarlet, tea, and white flowers, which Kristina hastily arranged in every available vase and mayonnaise jar. Books—hard-to-find volumes of poetry and novels, which were immediately stacked neatly on the sideboard. Oranges—bright orange balls that filled the entire apartment with the scent of celebration. At the very height of the festivities, a guy with a guitar named Lyoshka jumped right onto the windowsill of the open window. He strummed the strings with a flourish and shouted across the street, "Hey, Kristina! "Today I wish you long life and a life free from troubles!" The room erupted in applause, and records began spinning one after another on the record player. The dancing and laughter continued until midnight.