30 years ago today, on December 13, 1981, Martial Law was imposed on Poland. We had just fled Poland a couple of short weeks before.
I cannot imagine what my parents must have been going through. I was born in June of 1980. The following month, general strikes began to ripple their way across Poland. Wroclaw was an important center of this movement.
I know in the textbooks in Amerika, Gdansk is the city mentioned in regards to Poland's Solidarity movement. But the textbooks like to sum things up in a neat one to two sentence note about anything having to do with Poland and that summary really doesn't do the movement, that historical movement, or Poland for that manner, any justice.
Perhaps you have never heard of the Orange Alternative or Pomarańczowa Alternatywa. Let me give you a brief tidbit about it.
The Orange Alternative was a new option that made it easier and safer for more people to peacefully protest the Communist regime. Basically, they drew graffiti art and slogans referring to dwarfs (krasnoludki) and wore orange hats like dwarfs in mass gatherings and other such activity. None of it was illegal and if they were arrested, it made the arresting officers look like ridiculous because they would be arresting people for wearing dwarf hats. It was a brilliant idea...
I cannot imagine how my parents must have felt, watching events unfolding around them with a brand new baby girl.
I plan to share some photos tomorrow that I found which were sent to us by family and which I believe have to do with that movement.
Na razie...
Links You Might Find Useful:
New York Times Article: "Dec. 13, 1981 | Poland Cracks Down on Solidarity Movement"
Poland Cultural Institute of New York article about film "The Orange Alternative"
Not An Alternative
Wikipedia's Orange Alternative
Wikimedia's Dwarves in Wroclaw (photos)
A Mama born in Poland with "Gypsy Blood" living on the American Prairie with her daughters, two future Miss Poland and Nobel Peace prize recipients :: Food, Travel, Life...
Showing posts with label Poland. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poland. Show all posts
13 December 2011
21 October 2011
Green in the USA versus Green in Poland and Europe
I recently read the article In Regards to Being Green, which, while being a beautiful read, doesn't quite have the same perspective as my family has about the "Older Generation" and the "Green Movement".
My husband is an American who's grandparents were all born and raised in America shortly before WWII. His grandfather on his mother's side, I never met but heard he was a wonderful man and I don't doubt it. His grandmother who just passed away a couple of years ago I looked to as a 3rd Babcia and was very close to. But they were different when it came to convenience/disposable/"green" than my own family.
My family all was born and raised in Poland. My grandparents were all born shortly before WWII.
While all involved have memories of the WWII era, the memories were very different.
And the upbringing was very different. Because the hardships were just as different.
While Americans went home after WWII and started their lives without much issue, finding good blue collar jobs and working, raising families, buying new houses and cars, my family had a different experience.
The aftermath of WWII was there for my grandparents and others their age in Poland and the rest of wartorn Europe to deal with firsthand. The mess didn't go away with the Yalta Conference. It continued with the USSR controlling food production and distribution, the rebuilding of housing for a displaced war torn population, and so many other issues that America did not have to deal with.
Americans simply went home. I am not claiming that they had no right to, I am merely stating that they went home. The mess did not follow them. In some ways, it even helped them.
The German and Japanese auto industry was devastated and the American auto industry thrived in that vacuum. So did the American steel industry and countless other industries.
My grandparents stood in long lines to buy food and had to carefully calculate every single bite the family enjoyed. Food was a necessity, the fuel to face yet another day of rebuilding and recovering. Nutrition was important, it was the reason for eating. Cost was important and extremely limiting as was the supply of the food. Convenience was not an option.
My husband's grandparents cooked what they wanted to and if there were leftovers, they would be enjoyed but not stressed over. Hands were not wrung while trying to think where the the next meal would come from. There were no long lines only to find out the store had only a rotten bag of potatoes on their empty shelves to sell.
My grandmothers both carefully grew their own vegetables in small patches of war-devastated dirt just outside their village and city, some of which could have potentially held unexploded bombs dropped by both the Allies and the Axis. This was not for a "Green Movement", this was to be able to eat. Food was canned because how else do you make your summer cucumbers, strawberries, cabbage or currents last through the winters? Weeds were pulled by hand.
My grandparents built relationships with local farmers and bought their meat and other items from them because the Russian Communist government attempted to control the farmers so tightly that the food supply was limited. To eat meat was to buy a small amount and make as many meals from it as possible. Vegetables and carbohydrates dominated the meal.
My husband's grandparents went to the local grocery store. Certainly, for a time they could walk because the local corner store was still around for a while, but then the fashion of going to a large national chain to buy everything at once was embraced by that generation and the local corner stores began to close. They drove their affordable bought-new large American made vehicles to the stores and bought whatever they wanted to eat, including foods like frozen dinners, meats that would be the center of the meal, instant mashed potatoes, potato chips, fresh baked breads and milk bought in plastic jugs that would be thrown away after being emptied. The local bakers and specialty stores also began to fade into the past during this time.
My grandparents did not receive free plastic bags when they would purchase bread at the local baker to take home and throw away or with which they could line the bathroom trashcan. The local baker continues to thrive as a business to this day. Tote bags are a way of life.
My grandparents watched their towns, Warsaw, and later Wroclaw, be destroyed during WWII. They had to live for a time with their in-laws but not in order to save money. But, rather, because Warsaw was approximately 84% destroyed and Wroclaw had been declared a Festung by the Germans and had half of it's buildings destroyed, the damage displacing thousands, if not more.
In Poland, the dead had to be buried, the buildings rebuilt, housing had to be made for necessity's sake. You didn't throw litter in the street because everyone knew it didn't go away. Because everyone had to clean it up, along with countless dead bodies and the rubble of collapsed buildings and destroyed hopes and dreams.
My husband's grandparents had homes built in the suburbs during the period of "white exodus" from the cities because it was the fashion to do so. If they wanted pink carpet, they got pink carpet. If they wanted a brick porch, they got one or later built it themselves. They all had their own backyards with grass for the children to play in. If a garden was not grown to raise the family's food, it was not a big deal. In fact, the gardening was often considered a "waste of time", socially. The only limitation was how much money one made, how hard one chose to work, and how they chose to handle their finances.
My grandparents on my father's side were lucky to have a balcony window to grow their herbs in and to dry their clothes on lines.
My grandparents on my mother's side hung their clothing in the breeze of the Polish countryside. Herbs were grown in the kitchen window.
Herbs were not bought predried and packaged in the grocery store on a whim to "try something different" like my husband's grandparents side.
My grandmothers would go for a walk in a park or would bake a small cake if the times allowed and they wanted to have a nice time. Talking with friends was their "mommy time". Bingo and going to buy another new hat just didn't happen.
If my husband's parents made a mistake on a piece of paper, it was not the end of the world if that paper was thrown away. If my parents made a mistake on a piece of paper, it would be carefully corrected in their tiny space saving print because paper for a while was hard to come by.
Christmas on my family's side involved one gift per child. Only one. And it was treasured.
Glass jars were washed by my grandparents to use for pickling something else. Because there was no store to buy new jars. Aluminum jars were washed and used to hold pencils and other items because the idea of buying a special pencil holder was just plain impossible. If it could be fixed, it was. If not, whatever parts could be scavenged and stored for "just in case", were. Balls of twine were used and reused over and over.
Both of my grandmothers worked. They had to. There was no option, the family had to eat. The children were watched by the older generation, if they were lucky enough to have survived the War, or were placed in daycare. Meals were made from scratch everyday. There was no option.
Trans fats? What trans fats in my family's food? What artificial growth hormones for cows? What mega farms raising thousands of chickens in crowded unsanitary inhumane conditions? My mother remembers her mother raising and killing their own chickens for meals, the ducks they were lucky to have to raise.
Cleaning by my grandmothers involved elbow grease, scrubbing with old rags, white vinegar, hot water, soap that was carefully measured and fresh air. If a room did not smell fresh, there was no air freshener to spray into the air full of plastics and neurodisruptors and "perfume". The window was opened, the furniture dusted with damp rags, and the fabric washed. There was no other option to make the room smell nice. It smelled nice if it was clean and that was that.
My grandparents did not buy 20 different products to clean their house. There were no carcinagenic fumes wafting around the house.
My husband's parents were diapered in disposable diapers. My parents diapered my brother and myself in cloth diapers that were handwashed and line dried, because that was the option and that was what their parents had done.
If my grandparents and parents could not afford something, it was not for lack of work and trying. It was simply not able to be bought. They were not frugal for some "green" reason, they were frugal to survive. There was no family to ask for help. They were dead or in the same situation.
Post Tramatic Stress Disorder affected the entire population, men, women and children. Faith had to keep them going. Hope had to sustain them. The Future had to be strived for.
Children's innocence had been destroyed. The next generation of children were told to retain their innocence because the older generation knew what it meant to have that taken away. To be raped by Russian or German soldiers as children or young women. To see things that nobody should have to see. To know Death.
I could list continued differences in lifestyles. But I think you get the point.
My grandparents were green. But it was not that my husband's family wasn't. They just didn't have the problems and worries to need to be green. And there was no public knowledge about what harsh chemicals destroyed your health or the environment. After all, the generation before my husband's grandparents were essentially green, so the devastation of the disposable convenient way of life was not immediately apparent as it was still new. And shiny.
There are two different "Green Movements". There is the "Green Movement" of those who are facing the after effects of the 1950's, which to some still is not that apparent. And there are those of us who were just raised that way because that is just what you did.
I hope that one day the two will merge and that everyone will live green because it is just what you do.
What did your grandparents do that would be considered "Green" today? Do you still do the same things? Why or why not?
Na razie...
Don't forget to enter my first Green Living Giveaway...
My husband is an American who's grandparents were all born and raised in America shortly before WWII. His grandfather on his mother's side, I never met but heard he was a wonderful man and I don't doubt it. His grandmother who just passed away a couple of years ago I looked to as a 3rd Babcia and was very close to. But they were different when it came to convenience/disposable/"green" than my own family.
My family all was born and raised in Poland. My grandparents were all born shortly before WWII.
While all involved have memories of the WWII era, the memories were very different.
And the upbringing was very different. Because the hardships were just as different.
While Americans went home after WWII and started their lives without much issue, finding good blue collar jobs and working, raising families, buying new houses and cars, my family had a different experience.
The aftermath of WWII was there for my grandparents and others their age in Poland and the rest of wartorn Europe to deal with firsthand. The mess didn't go away with the Yalta Conference. It continued with the USSR controlling food production and distribution, the rebuilding of housing for a displaced war torn population, and so many other issues that America did not have to deal with.
Americans simply went home. I am not claiming that they had no right to, I am merely stating that they went home. The mess did not follow them. In some ways, it even helped them.
The German and Japanese auto industry was devastated and the American auto industry thrived in that vacuum. So did the American steel industry and countless other industries.
My grandparents stood in long lines to buy food and had to carefully calculate every single bite the family enjoyed. Food was a necessity, the fuel to face yet another day of rebuilding and recovering. Nutrition was important, it was the reason for eating. Cost was important and extremely limiting as was the supply of the food. Convenience was not an option.
My husband's grandparents cooked what they wanted to and if there were leftovers, they would be enjoyed but not stressed over. Hands were not wrung while trying to think where the the next meal would come from. There were no long lines only to find out the store had only a rotten bag of potatoes on their empty shelves to sell.
My grandmothers both carefully grew their own vegetables in small patches of war-devastated dirt just outside their village and city, some of which could have potentially held unexploded bombs dropped by both the Allies and the Axis. This was not for a "Green Movement", this was to be able to eat. Food was canned because how else do you make your summer cucumbers, strawberries, cabbage or currents last through the winters? Weeds were pulled by hand.
My grandparents built relationships with local farmers and bought their meat and other items from them because the Russian Communist government attempted to control the farmers so tightly that the food supply was limited. To eat meat was to buy a small amount and make as many meals from it as possible. Vegetables and carbohydrates dominated the meal.
My husband's grandparents went to the local grocery store. Certainly, for a time they could walk because the local corner store was still around for a while, but then the fashion of going to a large national chain to buy everything at once was embraced by that generation and the local corner stores began to close. They drove their affordable bought-new large American made vehicles to the stores and bought whatever they wanted to eat, including foods like frozen dinners, meats that would be the center of the meal, instant mashed potatoes, potato chips, fresh baked breads and milk bought in plastic jugs that would be thrown away after being emptied. The local bakers and specialty stores also began to fade into the past during this time.
My grandparents did not receive free plastic bags when they would purchase bread at the local baker to take home and throw away or with which they could line the bathroom trashcan. The local baker continues to thrive as a business to this day. Tote bags are a way of life.
My grandparents watched their towns, Warsaw, and later Wroclaw, be destroyed during WWII. They had to live for a time with their in-laws but not in order to save money. But, rather, because Warsaw was approximately 84% destroyed and Wroclaw had been declared a Festung by the Germans and had half of it's buildings destroyed, the damage displacing thousands, if not more.
In Poland, the dead had to be buried, the buildings rebuilt, housing had to be made for necessity's sake. You didn't throw litter in the street because everyone knew it didn't go away. Because everyone had to clean it up, along with countless dead bodies and the rubble of collapsed buildings and destroyed hopes and dreams.
My husband's grandparents had homes built in the suburbs during the period of "white exodus" from the cities because it was the fashion to do so. If they wanted pink carpet, they got pink carpet. If they wanted a brick porch, they got one or later built it themselves. They all had their own backyards with grass for the children to play in. If a garden was not grown to raise the family's food, it was not a big deal. In fact, the gardening was often considered a "waste of time", socially. The only limitation was how much money one made, how hard one chose to work, and how they chose to handle their finances.
My grandparents on my father's side were lucky to have a balcony window to grow their herbs in and to dry their clothes on lines.
My grandparents on my mother's side hung their clothing in the breeze of the Polish countryside. Herbs were grown in the kitchen window.
Herbs were not bought predried and packaged in the grocery store on a whim to "try something different" like my husband's grandparents side.
My grandmothers would go for a walk in a park or would bake a small cake if the times allowed and they wanted to have a nice time. Talking with friends was their "mommy time". Bingo and going to buy another new hat just didn't happen.
If my husband's parents made a mistake on a piece of paper, it was not the end of the world if that paper was thrown away. If my parents made a mistake on a piece of paper, it would be carefully corrected in their tiny space saving print because paper for a while was hard to come by.
Christmas on my family's side involved one gift per child. Only one. And it was treasured.
Glass jars were washed by my grandparents to use for pickling something else. Because there was no store to buy new jars. Aluminum jars were washed and used to hold pencils and other items because the idea of buying a special pencil holder was just plain impossible. If it could be fixed, it was. If not, whatever parts could be scavenged and stored for "just in case", were. Balls of twine were used and reused over and over.
Both of my grandmothers worked. They had to. There was no option, the family had to eat. The children were watched by the older generation, if they were lucky enough to have survived the War, or were placed in daycare. Meals were made from scratch everyday. There was no option.
Trans fats? What trans fats in my family's food? What artificial growth hormones for cows? What mega farms raising thousands of chickens in crowded unsanitary inhumane conditions? My mother remembers her mother raising and killing their own chickens for meals, the ducks they were lucky to have to raise.
Cleaning by my grandmothers involved elbow grease, scrubbing with old rags, white vinegar, hot water, soap that was carefully measured and fresh air. If a room did not smell fresh, there was no air freshener to spray into the air full of plastics and neurodisruptors and "perfume". The window was opened, the furniture dusted with damp rags, and the fabric washed. There was no other option to make the room smell nice. It smelled nice if it was clean and that was that.
My grandparents did not buy 20 different products to clean their house. There were no carcinagenic fumes wafting around the house.
My husband's parents were diapered in disposable diapers. My parents diapered my brother and myself in cloth diapers that were handwashed and line dried, because that was the option and that was what their parents had done.
If my grandparents and parents could not afford something, it was not for lack of work and trying. It was simply not able to be bought. They were not frugal for some "green" reason, they were frugal to survive. There was no family to ask for help. They were dead or in the same situation.
Post Tramatic Stress Disorder affected the entire population, men, women and children. Faith had to keep them going. Hope had to sustain them. The Future had to be strived for.
Children's innocence had been destroyed. The next generation of children were told to retain their innocence because the older generation knew what it meant to have that taken away. To be raped by Russian or German soldiers as children or young women. To see things that nobody should have to see. To know Death.
I could list continued differences in lifestyles. But I think you get the point.
My grandparents were green. But it was not that my husband's family wasn't. They just didn't have the problems and worries to need to be green. And there was no public knowledge about what harsh chemicals destroyed your health or the environment. After all, the generation before my husband's grandparents were essentially green, so the devastation of the disposable convenient way of life was not immediately apparent as it was still new. And shiny.
There are two different "Green Movements". There is the "Green Movement" of those who are facing the after effects of the 1950's, which to some still is not that apparent. And there are those of us who were just raised that way because that is just what you did.
I hope that one day the two will merge and that everyone will live green because it is just what you do.
What did your grandparents do that would be considered "Green" today? Do you still do the same things? Why or why not?
Na razie...
Don't forget to enter my first Green Living Giveaway...
31 August 2011
Wordless Wednesday: A Collection of Kings and Lech I
My Babcia brought this on one of her trips to America to visit us when she was younger. It is a collection of the Kings of Poland.
I always loved looking through it but was always told I wasn't allowed to touch it.
The price was 450 zloty. Because I am not sure exactly what year this was from, I cannot tell you how much that cost in US Dollars at the time.
This is a description page of the collection of cards. There is a list of the kings up until Stanislaw Poniatowski.
And here is the card of the first King of Poland, Lech I.
The text below his picture reads: "Lech I. Family name of Slowianczyk (sort of like a Dynasty), first King of Poland, The city of Gniezno from a nest of an eagle that he found he created [the city]; Lived around the Year 550. Christian Era._" Poland was not at that time Christian, however, the years mentioned are from the Christian calendar.
Here is a link to a beautifully written version of the legend of Lech and Gziezno.
And here is another about the Legend of the Polish Eagle. The red fields they talk about I have seen for myself and they are a beautiful color.
This video is a favorite of mine. In the very beginning, you see an eagle flying and then a man stab his spear into the ground and a town grows from nowhere. That is Lech and Gziezno. The video is worth watching all the way through.
Na razie...
I always loved looking through it but was always told I wasn't allowed to touch it.
The price was 450 zloty. Because I am not sure exactly what year this was from, I cannot tell you how much that cost in US Dollars at the time.
This is a description page of the collection of cards. There is a list of the kings up until Stanislaw Poniatowski.
And here is the card of the first King of Poland, Lech I.
The text below his picture reads: "Lech I. Family name of Slowianczyk (sort of like a Dynasty), first King of Poland, The city of Gniezno from a nest of an eagle that he found he created [the city]; Lived around the Year 550. Christian Era._" Poland was not at that time Christian, however, the years mentioned are from the Christian calendar.
Here is a link to a beautifully written version of the legend of Lech and Gziezno.
And here is another about the Legend of the Polish Eagle. The red fields they talk about I have seen for myself and they are a beautiful color.
This video is a favorite of mine. In the very beginning, you see an eagle flying and then a man stab his spear into the ground and a town grows from nowhere. That is Lech and Gziezno. The video is worth watching all the way through.
Na razie...
11 August 2011
The US Becoming Old Poland? Let's Get Serious
Article first published as The US Becoming Old Poland? Let's Get Serious on Technorati.
I read an article yesterday on the Washington Post comparing the current US political climate to Old Poland. This article is one day old and includes an explanation by Mieczyslaw B. Biskupski, author of Hollywood's War with Poland, 1939-1945 (which I am currently reading and highly recommend to anyone interested in any of the following: the political history of Hollywood, Communism and the US government and/or Hollywood, Communism's affects on our society and/or political agendas during and after WWII, corruption in US politics and Hollywood, propaganda used on Americans by Hollywood, an indisputable event of racism in Hollywood and US government, etc.).
I have to react a bit to this article. The idea of comparing the US political situation to "Old Poland" seems a bit far fetched to me. But then, I am not a historian or political analyst.
Here is what I do know:
The Liberum Veto was first used in 1652.
The world's countries were, at that time, run by kings who were given the right to rule by being born into it. They would tell their subjects what to do, spend the taxes (which they set the amount based on what they wanted, roughly) how they saw fit, and expected loyalty with punishment of death for those who opposed. Kings then were also plotted against by those who could politically, and through family connections, outmaneuver and kill the King and hopefully seize power for themselves. Nobility were the only ones who remotely stood the chance of accomplishing this.
There typically was no middle class.
The extremely vast populace of any given kingdom were peasants, poor hard working people who labored under the abuse of the nobility (and typically under their protection in the case of an invading army, but also had to fight in such wars and were first to lose their lives as they were "expendable"), paid taxes for the "privilege" of working the lands owned by the nobility and were lucky to not go hungry daily.
Also, 1652 and into the 18th century, the world was in the middle of the "Little Ice Age" (mid 13th century to the 1800s).
The Liberum Veto is considered by many to be one of the precursors to the voting power of Senates the world over. And it came early. The Age of Enlightenment was in the 18th century with origins in the 1650s-1700, when intellectuals began creating ideas like this of people having more control over a kingdom besides one King.
Sure, the Liberum Veto wasn't the best idea in the world. But, considering how most Kings were ruling their kingdoms with no input from those around them, well, let's just give credit where credit is due. This was the beginning political experiment, and you cannot succeed without some measure of failure.
Also, the Partitions of Poland were not primarily caused by Liberum Veto. They were caused by Russia, Austria, and Germany. Blaming the disappearance of Poland from the maps of Europe and the subsequent subjugation of it's peoples, and the abuses that followed, is like blaming the rape victim because she had a few drinks. Like blaming the victim, not the bully.
Like others, I find it irritating that in the current state of the US political climate, the media pays no attention to Poland, especially considering what can be learned from Poland.
The most we get is a quip about comparing a supposedly completely corrupt system of government by Poland's nobility (which, yes, to an extent, some of them were corrupt, but you have to really dig into the history of it and who those people were to better understand what happened and why). A quip doesn't cut it.
Some flaws in this thinking are the following:
The US people have the right to vote. Granted, trying to understand politicians gibberish during election time is like trying to understand a foreign language, and the voter turnout for the last election was a measly 64%.
But, let's be clear, supposedly the US government is set up that our politicians working in Washington, D.C. work for us, the People. We don't work for them. Depending on how you view the way things have been going lately.
The politicians have, according to just about everyone I have talked to, been doing whatever they want. But part of it is because, in the end, we would rather watch something entertaining on TV after a hard days work than paying attention to what they are doing and holding them accountable. Which, I can't blame anyone for feeling that way. After all, they are wealthy and making deals behind closed doors and speak "politician".
How to hold them accountable? Well, in my average-everyday-American opinion, for one, we can hold them accountable for our current budget situation and not allow them to be voted back into to office this coming year and then doing whatever they want with our budget. After all, there is the fiscal trigger.
We also have the right to assemble and tell Congress what we want. As in, we can go there and tell them, "You know, you basically failed, sooooo... We don't think you should get paid this year and, no, we aren't voting you in again."
Or, we can go there and say, "Hey guys, great job! High fives all around!" Or, whatever.
Europe, and the rest of the world, did not have these sorts of rights during "Old Poland".
Alright, I've basically proved that I have a passion for politics but am not versed in it (thank God!).
Here is the point I believe this article is insinuating:
If we don't start caring as voters, our rights will begin to be stripped away, until we are in the same situation as peasants in the 17th century.
Class segregation has become more and more prominent, with a quickly growing gap between the wealthy American and the average American. I haven't met a single person who sees this as a "good thing".
It is becoming harder and harder to understand what our politicians are up to anymore. Between entertainment distractions, an increasingly more and more complex government and it's laws, and a global economic crisis that just.won't.stop, it's no wonder some are feeling this way.
With books published like Third World America, by Arianna Huffington, which it can't hurt to read, it seems that it is not just a handful of individuals with this concern.
By the way, did you know that the term "Third World" does not mean a poor country but, rather, is a term coined during the Cold War to mean those countries who are not First World (on the side of America and "democratic-industry" or Capitalism) or Second World (on the side of the USSR and Communism)? I definitely believe Mrs. Huffington used those terms for the title of her book since many people associate "Third World" to mean a country with no clean running water, not enough food, and squalid living conditions.
In the end, what can the media actually pay attention to regarding Poland and maybe the US Congress can "learn themselves somethin'"? This paragraph:
This reminded me of the call by the Solidarity movement in Poland calling for "[the] bringing the country out of its crisis situation by the following means: a) making public complete information about the social-economic situation. b) enabling all social classes to take part in discussion of the reform programme".
What do you think?
Notes:
If you follow me on facebook, you can read some people's reactions to the Washington Post article.
Google the words "parliament polish nie pozwalam" and see what you come up with. Here are some of the articles I found which were anywhere from two days old to a couple of years old, leading me to realize that this comparison is not a new idea:
A Republic, If We Can Keep It
Insejm in the Senate
Can Barack Obama kill the climate pirates?
26 July 2011
Church and What Polonia Could Be
On Sunday, my husband was working so my two daughters and I decided to dress up and go to church.
A woman from a mission spoke to the congregation about her recent trip to Mexico. I tried to pay attention, but also keep my older daughter focused on the proper etiquette of church and my younger daughter from hurting herself somehow, someway (toddlers have a natural talent for somehow trying to seriously damage themselves as soon as you turn your head to say one word to someone else, namely, their older sibling).
The main thing I learned was that the woman in front of us had a gigantic mole that she enjoyed picking at constantly (it was extremely difficult to ignore, the clicking of her fingernail against the scab echoed in the quiet church made me cautious and my older daughter even said something, "Mommy, why is she scratching her mole all the time?" but the woman still didn't stop), and that the missionary had lived for a time in a very violent city counseling poor women who were victims of domestic violence. "What did they do? They worked at it, it's all they could do. They couldn't afford to leave their husbands like we could if we were in the same situation." Thank god I'm not in such a situation but I have to wonder, what could those women do to "work on it"? What can that even mean?
After Mass, we stepped outside. I had by then already spotted several people in the pews who were Polish in our not-Polish town.
My suspicions were confirmed with two women. They stood in the shade of a tree, the older woman smoking a cigarette, both dressed fabulously. As we walked by to our car, I nodded to them and said "Dzien dobre."
They smiled and said the same, with a look and a smile. I knew the look. How could you tell?
In Polish, I told them I could tell because they were dressed so nicely.
They brought me into their conversation effortlessly, introducing themselves, one of the ladies telling me about her daughter, who coincidentally lives a block away from me.
The older woman wore a beautiful turquoise beaded necklace with a gold Polish eagle charm on it and rose earrings with the same materials. She was dressed the way I hoped I would know how to dress one day. I thought she was about 60 years old. It turned out, in talking to her, that she had lived through WWII. I hope to look that healthy at that age.
I had mentioned I was born in Poland and eventually, she shared that she remembered that because of the bombing in her city, Warsaw if I recall correctly, there were many large holes throughout the city where roads and buildings had stood before. Because the people were trying to clean up after all the devastation, the holes were used to hold trash and rubble people sorted through to try and find survivors and belongings.
She remembered a family she lived next to coming back to find their entire building leveled and a hole filled with rubble. They went digging through the hole, hoping, praying to find something anything of their life but found nothing.
These few sentences reminded me something I sometimes need to hear to be reminded of who I am, where I come from, where my family comes from. I am Polish. Polish American. We have overcome unimaginable trials and tribulations and come out stronger. That is what it is to be Polish American. When my daughters get older, I am going to remember this woman and this little story she shared with me and I am going to tell them this. I promise.
The conversation went on to teaching the children Polish and how difficult it is. That they will definitely learn English in school and with friends, that it is the parents duty to teach them Polish from the beginning, when it is easiest for them and able to be taken in by them as something naturally a part of them. Another lesson I knew but needed reminding.
The conversation felt so natural. And I know a large part of it was because the women felt proud to be Polish, Polish American, and that they knew it was natural for another Polish American woman to want to connect with them.
We all left for our separate destinations, having introduced ourselves and stating that we would all see each other next week for Mass and that perhaps we could all get together since we were all so close to each other.
This is the potential strength that Polonia could have. If we all realized and accepted that Poles should connect with other Poles, on the principle that we do have something in common, being Polish no matter how many generations back or the linguistic skills of one Pole versus another, we could do wonderful things.
I remember at my old job visiting a conference for Jewish people who were moving back to Israel. Being in awe that they were so organized, so supportive of one another. Entire buildings built and dedicated to their use, affordable classes for teaching the children their language, religion, culture, history. Classes for recent immigrants to learn English and find work and have a successful transition into American living. Information on various political candidates, both American and in Israel, so that the community can make well informed voting decisions. Classes for those wanting to move back to Israel, complete with resources for moving companies, what the legal details would involve, so much information that it was amazing right there for someone to just ask. Support for those in the local Jewish community who all lived around this area.
I remember the Greek community in our area also had this. Affordable Greek classes, information about living in Greece, support for the local Greek community. The same as the Jewish community has for themselves.
There were as many, if not more, Polish Americans in my old state. This was feasible. Some tried for this. But not enough.
I remember looking at the strong Jewish and Greek communities around me. And thinking, The Polonia could do this. But many, too many, don't. This is what my father has always told me, that if Polonia could tap into it's own resources, acknowledge that it is Polish, Polish American, what we could do as well.
If people in the media spotlight who are Polish American would embrace and publicly acknowledge that they are and publicly support the Polonia, this could be a turning point.
If Poles weren't like this.
If, as Classy Chaos reminded me (thank you), more of us were like the Polish Americans of Chicago, the Polonia of Chicago who embrace it. But here in the "sticks" as I call it, the Polonia seems silent. In my old state, out of over 7 Polish churches, 2 barely stand. There, the Polonia is silent, spread out, moved.
You are no less American if you acknowledge your Polish roots. You are no less Polish if you acknowledge that you are also American. You can be both. And you can do amazing things.
If you embrace both.
A woman from a mission spoke to the congregation about her recent trip to Mexico. I tried to pay attention, but also keep my older daughter focused on the proper etiquette of church and my younger daughter from hurting herself somehow, someway (toddlers have a natural talent for somehow trying to seriously damage themselves as soon as you turn your head to say one word to someone else, namely, their older sibling).
The main thing I learned was that the woman in front of us had a gigantic mole that she enjoyed picking at constantly (it was extremely difficult to ignore, the clicking of her fingernail against the scab echoed in the quiet church made me cautious and my older daughter even said something, "Mommy, why is she scratching her mole all the time?" but the woman still didn't stop), and that the missionary had lived for a time in a very violent city counseling poor women who were victims of domestic violence. "What did they do? They worked at it, it's all they could do. They couldn't afford to leave their husbands like we could if we were in the same situation." Thank god I'm not in such a situation but I have to wonder, what could those women do to "work on it"? What can that even mean?
After Mass, we stepped outside. I had by then already spotted several people in the pews who were Polish in our not-Polish town.
My suspicions were confirmed with two women. They stood in the shade of a tree, the older woman smoking a cigarette, both dressed fabulously. As we walked by to our car, I nodded to them and said "Dzien dobre."
They smiled and said the same, with a look and a smile. I knew the look. How could you tell?
In Polish, I told them I could tell because they were dressed so nicely.
They brought me into their conversation effortlessly, introducing themselves, one of the ladies telling me about her daughter, who coincidentally lives a block away from me.
The older woman wore a beautiful turquoise beaded necklace with a gold Polish eagle charm on it and rose earrings with the same materials. She was dressed the way I hoped I would know how to dress one day. I thought she was about 60 years old. It turned out, in talking to her, that she had lived through WWII. I hope to look that healthy at that age.
I had mentioned I was born in Poland and eventually, she shared that she remembered that because of the bombing in her city, Warsaw if I recall correctly, there were many large holes throughout the city where roads and buildings had stood before. Because the people were trying to clean up after all the devastation, the holes were used to hold trash and rubble people sorted through to try and find survivors and belongings.
She remembered a family she lived next to coming back to find their entire building leveled and a hole filled with rubble. They went digging through the hole, hoping, praying to find something anything of their life but found nothing.
These few sentences reminded me something I sometimes need to hear to be reminded of who I am, where I come from, where my family comes from. I am Polish. Polish American. We have overcome unimaginable trials and tribulations and come out stronger. That is what it is to be Polish American. When my daughters get older, I am going to remember this woman and this little story she shared with me and I am going to tell them this. I promise.
The conversation went on to teaching the children Polish and how difficult it is. That they will definitely learn English in school and with friends, that it is the parents duty to teach them Polish from the beginning, when it is easiest for them and able to be taken in by them as something naturally a part of them. Another lesson I knew but needed reminding.
The conversation felt so natural. And I know a large part of it was because the women felt proud to be Polish, Polish American, and that they knew it was natural for another Polish American woman to want to connect with them.
We all left for our separate destinations, having introduced ourselves and stating that we would all see each other next week for Mass and that perhaps we could all get together since we were all so close to each other.
This is the potential strength that Polonia could have. If we all realized and accepted that Poles should connect with other Poles, on the principle that we do have something in common, being Polish no matter how many generations back or the linguistic skills of one Pole versus another, we could do wonderful things.
I remember at my old job visiting a conference for Jewish people who were moving back to Israel. Being in awe that they were so organized, so supportive of one another. Entire buildings built and dedicated to their use, affordable classes for teaching the children their language, religion, culture, history. Classes for recent immigrants to learn English and find work and have a successful transition into American living. Information on various political candidates, both American and in Israel, so that the community can make well informed voting decisions. Classes for those wanting to move back to Israel, complete with resources for moving companies, what the legal details would involve, so much information that it was amazing right there for someone to just ask. Support for those in the local Jewish community who all lived around this area.
I remember the Greek community in our area also had this. Affordable Greek classes, information about living in Greece, support for the local Greek community. The same as the Jewish community has for themselves.
There were as many, if not more, Polish Americans in my old state. This was feasible. Some tried for this. But not enough.
I remember looking at the strong Jewish and Greek communities around me. And thinking, The Polonia could do this. But many, too many, don't. This is what my father has always told me, that if Polonia could tap into it's own resources, acknowledge that it is Polish, Polish American, what we could do as well.
If people in the media spotlight who are Polish American would embrace and publicly acknowledge that they are and publicly support the Polonia, this could be a turning point.
If Poles weren't like this.
If, as Classy Chaos reminded me (thank you), more of us were like the Polish Americans of Chicago, the Polonia of Chicago who embrace it. But here in the "sticks" as I call it, the Polonia seems silent. In my old state, out of over 7 Polish churches, 2 barely stand. There, the Polonia is silent, spread out, moved.
You are no less American if you acknowledge your Polish roots. You are no less Polish if you acknowledge that you are also American. You can be both. And you can do amazing things.
If you embrace both.
05 July 2011
My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland: In the Mountains With Chickens
I had been writing about my older daughter's first trip to Poland when she was 3 years old in a sequential order but have decided at this point to just write about it as the memories come back to me.
We are in the mountains of Poland visiting my Wujek's property. My Wujek, Ciocia, my middle cousin with her husband and two children, youngest cousin and her boyfriend, my Tato (Father), my daughter and myself have been spending the day enjoying the day.
All around, trees whisper in the breezes and in the meadow, the grasses bend their stalks gently rippling in the summer air.
The slopes are calling us all quietly. It's time for a spacer (pronounced Spah-tser, and meaning walk in Polish).
My Ciocia, middle cousin, her daughters, one wrapped in a baby wearing wrap safely snuggled against Mama and the other holding my daughter's hand, and myself all start the walk up the road. The road is gravel covered and winding up the mountain.
We pass an old stone structure. It is a Kiln from ages ago used by the villagers further down the slopes. There is finally a plaque in Polish about it's history. My borrowed camera batteries fail as I attempt to take photos.
Walking on, we are embraced by shadows. The hazelnut and pine trees whisper to each other about the people walking in their midst. I tell my daughter to keep her eye out for Krasnolutki and other fairy folk that live in these ancient woods. Her eyes flit left and right in excitement, hoping to find some.
The girls chatter together, one in English, the other in Polish, as they have since they met each other, the adults walking together and just enjoying each other's company and laughing that the girls can communicate together since neither speaks the others language.
The true test of this will come soon, we are to find out.
After a short walk, both start getting tired but more so my daughter. She is very used to long nature walks but the 6 hour time difference is affecting her energy constantly. We turn around to walk back down the mountain.
A bit down the trail, coming out from the cool summer shadows, the girls look down the road and see chickens from the house next door walking around as is common. They both begin to run. And keep running.
I start yelling to my daughter, "Stop running! Slow down!" but she keeps running. I start to run after her but my pregnant belly moves strangely from the motion, uncomfortably, something hard bouncing around inside and I stop running immediately. I call again, "Stop running!" The girls keep running.
Further down the road, brown and white chickens roam freely, chasing bugs in the sunlight without a care in the world. They look as though from the many bajki I read as a child and the folk art drawings my mother always treasured.
"Chickens! Get out of there! Come on (cousin), we have to stop them!" my daughter calls.
My daughter's cousin calls the same words, in Polish.
Running. Running. We start walking quickly behind, by now all of us calling for them to stop. I start envisioning chickens attacking my daughter. Not that chickens are mean, but provoked who knows how they could react to two small running assailants like our children.
Both Dziadeks to the girls, my father and Wujek, come running out onto the road, looking around and finding the girls. They are quickly snatched up and lectured on running away from their mommies and asked why they did so.
A moment later, both "Dziadek"s are laughing loudly. Even though the girls don't speak the same language, their stories completely match up. They were trying to stop the naughty chickens from going into my Wujek's yard. For the next few minutes, the girls are treated to hugs and kisses from the adults and we all discuss how amazing children are to not speak the same language yet be able to think along the same paths and communicate so well.
My Wujek then tells of the time he battled the rooster next door. While I love chickens, he does not. But then, he was awoken by this rooster for several years and it regularly enjoyed patrolling his yard and causing more grief than a rooster has the right to cause.
The two girls walk over to the overgrown fence and yell at the chickens for trying to enter my Wujek's yard, both in English and Polish. The chickens argue back. Both girls flap their arms like chickens and attempt to speak in "Chicken" to them and an argument between the chickens and the two girls occurs. The girls end with a well timed "Buck buck!" and walk away, satisfied that they had lectured the chickens about trespassing into this yard.
The girls run around trees bordering the meadow, chasing each other and pretending to be wood fairies. And the mountains look on in their ancient wisdom at us.
Related Post: My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland: Coming to Poland
We are in the mountains of Poland visiting my Wujek's property. My Wujek, Ciocia, my middle cousin with her husband and two children, youngest cousin and her boyfriend, my Tato (Father), my daughter and myself have been spending the day enjoying the day.
All around, trees whisper in the breezes and in the meadow, the grasses bend their stalks gently rippling in the summer air.
The slopes are calling us all quietly. It's time for a spacer (pronounced Spah-tser, and meaning walk in Polish).
My Ciocia, middle cousin, her daughters, one wrapped in a baby wearing wrap safely snuggled against Mama and the other holding my daughter's hand, and myself all start the walk up the road. The road is gravel covered and winding up the mountain.
We pass an old stone structure. It is a Kiln from ages ago used by the villagers further down the slopes. There is finally a plaque in Polish about it's history. My borrowed camera batteries fail as I attempt to take photos.
Walking on, we are embraced by shadows. The hazelnut and pine trees whisper to each other about the people walking in their midst. I tell my daughter to keep her eye out for Krasnolutki and other fairy folk that live in these ancient woods. Her eyes flit left and right in excitement, hoping to find some.
The girls chatter together, one in English, the other in Polish, as they have since they met each other, the adults walking together and just enjoying each other's company and laughing that the girls can communicate together since neither speaks the others language.
The true test of this will come soon, we are to find out.
After a short walk, both start getting tired but more so my daughter. She is very used to long nature walks but the 6 hour time difference is affecting her energy constantly. We turn around to walk back down the mountain.
A bit down the trail, coming out from the cool summer shadows, the girls look down the road and see chickens from the house next door walking around as is common. They both begin to run. And keep running.
I start yelling to my daughter, "Stop running! Slow down!" but she keeps running. I start to run after her but my pregnant belly moves strangely from the motion, uncomfortably, something hard bouncing around inside and I stop running immediately. I call again, "Stop running!" The girls keep running.
Further down the road, brown and white chickens roam freely, chasing bugs in the sunlight without a care in the world. They look as though from the many bajki I read as a child and the folk art drawings my mother always treasured.
"Chickens! Get out of there! Come on (cousin), we have to stop them!" my daughter calls.
My daughter's cousin calls the same words, in Polish.
Running. Running. We start walking quickly behind, by now all of us calling for them to stop. I start envisioning chickens attacking my daughter. Not that chickens are mean, but provoked who knows how they could react to two small running assailants like our children.
Both Dziadeks to the girls, my father and Wujek, come running out onto the road, looking around and finding the girls. They are quickly snatched up and lectured on running away from their mommies and asked why they did so.
A moment later, both "Dziadek"s are laughing loudly. Even though the girls don't speak the same language, their stories completely match up. They were trying to stop the naughty chickens from going into my Wujek's yard. For the next few minutes, the girls are treated to hugs and kisses from the adults and we all discuss how amazing children are to not speak the same language yet be able to think along the same paths and communicate so well.
My Wujek then tells of the time he battled the rooster next door. While I love chickens, he does not. But then, he was awoken by this rooster for several years and it regularly enjoyed patrolling his yard and causing more grief than a rooster has the right to cause.
The two girls walk over to the overgrown fence and yell at the chickens for trying to enter my Wujek's yard, both in English and Polish. The chickens argue back. Both girls flap their arms like chickens and attempt to speak in "Chicken" to them and an argument between the chickens and the two girls occurs. The girls end with a well timed "Buck buck!" and walk away, satisfied that they had lectured the chickens about trespassing into this yard.
The girls run around trees bordering the meadow, chasing each other and pretending to be wood fairies. And the mountains look on in their ancient wisdom at us.
Related Post: My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland: Coming to Poland
09 June 2011
My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, Our Departure
The day of our trip was nearing and my father had told me that he would be accompanying us from Washington, D.C. After all, this was his father and he should be there for the funeral. My relief was immense. And then, I had to begin reminding him to purchase his ticket and renew his passport quickly. My father is extremely intelligent and driven but what daughter doesn't worry and make sure her father takes care of his non-work related business.
The relief, the night before the trip when my father arrived on my doorstep to come with my older daughter and myself, was immense. The sound of my daughter's sleepy voice the next morning finding her Dziadek awake on our sofa was priceless. "Dziadek! Are you coming to Poland with me and Mommy?" And the gigantic hug she threw around his neck when he confirmed her suspicions was a moment I think my father will always hold in his memories.
A few minutes later, my house was filled with a flurry of activity. My daughter was dressed and her hair tossed into two "Kitki" (piggie tales), we adults pulled ourselves together and my husband was hugged and kissed by "his two girls", as he called us.
We pulled away in my father's car to the airport and the adventure began...
After a drive filled with my father's techno music and a million questions and giggles from the backseat by my older daughter, we arrived at the airport. My father smoked a cigarette while I put the teddy bear book bag with lease on my daughter and we all took a shuttle from the parking lot to the airport.
As we sat down, my daughter announced to the driver and everyone else on the shuttle that "we are going to Poland where my Mommy and Dziadek are from! And, guess what? I'm Polish too!" Her 3 year old eyes widened as she saw airplane after airplane take off and land on the airstrips. My father pointed out a Lufthansa plane and said "See that biiiig plane? That is the kind you will be on shortly."
Getting off the shuttle, she turned to the driver and waved, "Good bye! Thank you very much!" and the driver smiled as she closed the door.
I wondered, "Is she going to talk to everyone she sees? Is she going to be this happy on the plane? How will this work?"
The sky above us turned dark, clouds blowing in quickly and bringing a massive thunderstorm. My father smoked one more cigarette before we went inside. The wind blew our luggage down and my daughter squealed as it blew against her forcefully. Lightening flashed across the sky and I started my usual pre flight panic in my mind.
My hand nervously kept squeezing the handle of the leash, reassuring myself that she was a good listener and that I had the leash as well, in case she was fidgety. She smiled up at me, knowing that she had on a leash and the reasons why as she held my hand and watched as thousands of thousands of travelers walked through the airport.
We checked in and she noticed that the woman taking our passports had a Polish accent. "Mommy! Mommy, she's Polish, too!" I explained that the woman was German, as we were flying through Lufthansa. "Oh! Cooool!" The woman smiled at her but you could tell this was not the first time a child with an American accent and her mother had said this. Perhaps, she did not realize this was no novelty but rather my daughter becoming worldly in a way many kids are never fortunate enough to experience.
We went through security and she stayed close to me the whole time. Not out of fear, but out of an awareness I always thought she had about such situations but which we had never tested out before. She removed her shoes and handed them to the TSA worker, smiling up at her and saying "Thank you!" The TSA employees were all very patient and calm with us, smiling at her contagious joy at the entirely new experience.
I kept her informed during the whole experience in the airport about what we had to do in each section and answered all her questions and she drank up every detail. This child was a born traveler. Did she have "Gypsy Blood"? Very much so.
A mother with two children looked at my leash and commented what a great idea it was, with all the bustle of airports. I knew I had made a wise decision but it would not yet become entirely clear why.
When we arrived at our departure gate, she asked more questions and began to play with a little German boy while we parents watched on, trying rather successfully to communicate to one another about our children.
My father and I watched out the large windows as the storm raged outside. I asked him in Polish if the flight would be affected and he shrugged, trusting the pilot to know how to perform his job safely. My daughter showed no fear at the storm, after all, the angels in Heaven were holding a party!
A plane taxied over to the terminal next to ours and passengers poured out, she watched fascinated. "That is going to be like us, Mommy!" Our plane was loaded with luggage and she watched, hoping to catch a glimpse of her luggage.
When it was time to board the plane and hour and a half after schedule, we were allowed to get on earlier than other passengars as we had a child with us. She handed her ticket to the flight attendant and said, "Hi! I'm going to Poland!" The flight attendant told her, "Wow! That's so nice! I hope you have fun!" She nodded and said "Thank you! Oh, I mean, Dziekujem!"
We found our seats and she tried to help by looking at the numbers. She sat between her Dziadek and myself, smiling and looking all around, pushing buttons, and asking questions.
We buckled her in with a pillow between her stomach and her belt, her bottom completely against the back of the chair as the flight attendants double checked her twice. I was also instructed to do the same as I was at this point becoming noticeably pregnant.
I instructed my daughter to pay close attention to the flight attendants during the flight, not to jump around, cross herself and ask God for a safe flight and to behave the way I knew she could. She took a piece of candy from her Dziadek, smiled at us both and the plane took off.
We were off to Munich, Germany. Our stop on the way to Wroclaw, Poland.
And she said "Weeeeeeeeeee!"...
To Be Continued...
Related Articles:
The relief, the night before the trip when my father arrived on my doorstep to come with my older daughter and myself, was immense. The sound of my daughter's sleepy voice the next morning finding her Dziadek awake on our sofa was priceless. "Dziadek! Are you coming to Poland with me and Mommy?" And the gigantic hug she threw around his neck when he confirmed her suspicions was a moment I think my father will always hold in his memories.
A few minutes later, my house was filled with a flurry of activity. My daughter was dressed and her hair tossed into two "Kitki" (piggie tales), we adults pulled ourselves together and my husband was hugged and kissed by "his two girls", as he called us.
We pulled away in my father's car to the airport and the adventure began...
After a drive filled with my father's techno music and a million questions and giggles from the backseat by my older daughter, we arrived at the airport. My father smoked a cigarette while I put the teddy bear book bag with lease on my daughter and we all took a shuttle from the parking lot to the airport.
As we sat down, my daughter announced to the driver and everyone else on the shuttle that "we are going to Poland where my Mommy and Dziadek are from! And, guess what? I'm Polish too!" Her 3 year old eyes widened as she saw airplane after airplane take off and land on the airstrips. My father pointed out a Lufthansa plane and said "See that biiiig plane? That is the kind you will be on shortly."
Getting off the shuttle, she turned to the driver and waved, "Good bye! Thank you very much!" and the driver smiled as she closed the door.
I wondered, "Is she going to talk to everyone she sees? Is she going to be this happy on the plane? How will this work?"
The sky above us turned dark, clouds blowing in quickly and bringing a massive thunderstorm. My father smoked one more cigarette before we went inside. The wind blew our luggage down and my daughter squealed as it blew against her forcefully. Lightening flashed across the sky and I started my usual pre flight panic in my mind.
My hand nervously kept squeezing the handle of the leash, reassuring myself that she was a good listener and that I had the leash as well, in case she was fidgety. She smiled up at me, knowing that she had on a leash and the reasons why as she held my hand and watched as thousands of thousands of travelers walked through the airport.
We checked in and she noticed that the woman taking our passports had a Polish accent. "Mommy! Mommy, she's Polish, too!" I explained that the woman was German, as we were flying through Lufthansa. "Oh! Cooool!" The woman smiled at her but you could tell this was not the first time a child with an American accent and her mother had said this. Perhaps, she did not realize this was no novelty but rather my daughter becoming worldly in a way many kids are never fortunate enough to experience.
We went through security and she stayed close to me the whole time. Not out of fear, but out of an awareness I always thought she had about such situations but which we had never tested out before. She removed her shoes and handed them to the TSA worker, smiling up at her and saying "Thank you!" The TSA employees were all very patient and calm with us, smiling at her contagious joy at the entirely new experience.
I kept her informed during the whole experience in the airport about what we had to do in each section and answered all her questions and she drank up every detail. This child was a born traveler. Did she have "Gypsy Blood"? Very much so.
A mother with two children looked at my leash and commented what a great idea it was, with all the bustle of airports. I knew I had made a wise decision but it would not yet become entirely clear why.
When we arrived at our departure gate, she asked more questions and began to play with a little German boy while we parents watched on, trying rather successfully to communicate to one another about our children.
My father and I watched out the large windows as the storm raged outside. I asked him in Polish if the flight would be affected and he shrugged, trusting the pilot to know how to perform his job safely. My daughter showed no fear at the storm, after all, the angels in Heaven were holding a party!
A plane taxied over to the terminal next to ours and passengers poured out, she watched fascinated. "That is going to be like us, Mommy!" Our plane was loaded with luggage and she watched, hoping to catch a glimpse of her luggage.
When it was time to board the plane and hour and a half after schedule, we were allowed to get on earlier than other passengars as we had a child with us. She handed her ticket to the flight attendant and said, "Hi! I'm going to Poland!" The flight attendant told her, "Wow! That's so nice! I hope you have fun!" She nodded and said "Thank you! Oh, I mean, Dziekujem!"
We found our seats and she tried to help by looking at the numbers. She sat between her Dziadek and myself, smiling and looking all around, pushing buttons, and asking questions.
We buckled her in with a pillow between her stomach and her belt, her bottom completely against the back of the chair as the flight attendants double checked her twice. I was also instructed to do the same as I was at this point becoming noticeably pregnant.
I instructed my daughter to pay close attention to the flight attendants during the flight, not to jump around, cross herself and ask God for a safe flight and to behave the way I knew she could. She took a piece of candy from her Dziadek, smiled at us both and the plane took off.
We were off to Munich, Germany. Our stop on the way to Wroclaw, Poland.
And she said "Weeeeeeeeeee!"...
To Be Continued...
Related Articles:
My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, The Planning
My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, Wordless Wednesday
08 June 2011
My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, Wordless Wednesday
The picture with the first word my older daughter ever read besides her name...
The picture she points to, beaming with pride when people ask if we are Polish, "Yes, my Mommy is! See? I'm Polish, TOO!"...
The picture a friend bought in a yard sale for 50 cents many years ago, thinking of me, which was a bit torn and which my now husband framed in a cheap IKEA frame and hung on our wall...
The picture which which dominates and dictates our house and decor...
The picture she would point to when people would ask where she was getting ready to go, "Where my Mommy was born! POLAND! See? P-O-L-A-N-D! Poland! She's from (looks at me quickly) Wroclaw (with an adorable attempt to roll her "R" and her "V" sounds coming out as "F"'s.)."...
Where we were about to fly to, alone together, to bury my Dziadek...
The pictures on each side represent various "legends" from Poland, the people dressed in traditional regional costume, the card from my cousin which originally held a Wigilia wafer so that we could break it together and be closer to them in spirit during Christmas...
To Be Continued...
Related Articles: My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, The Planning
The picture she points to, beaming with pride when people ask if we are Polish, "Yes, my Mommy is! See? I'm Polish, TOO!"...
The picture a friend bought in a yard sale for 50 cents many years ago, thinking of me, which was a bit torn and which my now husband framed in a cheap IKEA frame and hung on our wall...
The picture which which dominates and dictates our house and decor...
The picture she would point to when people would ask where she was getting ready to go, "Where my Mommy was born! POLAND! See? P-O-L-A-N-D! Poland! She's from (looks at me quickly) Wroclaw (with an adorable attempt to roll her "R" and her "V" sounds coming out as "F"'s.)."...
Where we were about to fly to, alone together, to bury my Dziadek...
The pictures on each side represent various "legends" from Poland, the people dressed in traditional regional costume, the card from my cousin which originally held a Wigilia wafer so that we could break it together and be closer to them in spirit during Christmas...
To Be Continued...
Related Articles: My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, The Planning
07 June 2011
My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, The Planning
My older daughter was then 3 years old when my Dziadek passed away from a heart attack. I was pregnant with my second daughter and was just out of my first trimester. It was time to visit Poland and take her on her first trip to the place her mother always talked about.
Time to visit my birth country.
And time to bury a family member.
My husband had to work and couldn't take a vacation. Also, because we were buying tickets last minute, along with having to file for her first passport ever, we were in a time crunch and had to pay an exorbitant amount for our tickets and expedite the passport.
For her passport, I braided her hair into two plaits, which she proclaimed made her look like a "little Polish girl" as she smiled in the mirror and looked at her reflection. This was not the first time I had styled her hair this way.
At the post office, she was so proud strolling in to be getting a passport, that she announced to everyone present "My mommy's Dziadek died so I need a passport please so we can go to POLAND!" She stayed perfectly still as the woman took her photo. The first photo, she looked last second in my direction, pride on her face and my heart burst. The woman gave me the photo to keep since "her expression was so precious" but had to be looking straight ahead for the passport.
When we left the post office, every employee at the front desk had by then heard her story and was waving goodbye to us and wishing her luck. She waved goodbye to everyone and skipped to the car, holding my hand.
This moment was precious and I needed it as I was mourning the loss of my Dziadek.
I went through my maternity clothes and saw yellows, flowers, pinks and decidedly not-for-a-funeral clothing. This also required a trip to the maternity store to snatch up whatever blacks I could find.
Can I say I do not wear black? Others can wear it. But I have learned something about myself as I have gotten older. I don't look quite "right" in black. Maybe it's the color against my medium blonde hair. Maybe it's the fact that I don't exactly ooze black clad martini sipping designer handbag socialite but instead seem more natural in "bohemian peasant" style clothing. Maybe it's because I don't style my hair. It is straight and if you try to do anything with it, it doesn't seem to want to cooperate. So, I keep it clean, brushed and parted straight. So, black does not go well with my "aura", if you will.
But for a funeral, what do you wear? Black, of course.
This was June and the only clothing on the racks were for overheated pregnant moms who were sweating even in air conditioning in June. In Poland, the week I went? It was cold.
After spending money for funeral appropriate maternity clothing, we had to pack my daughter's bag. Her obsession at the time was Disney Princess t-shirts, the color purple and bright sparkles. Again, not funeral attire. In Poland, and I would imagine in the US as well, you especially do not wear purple to a funeral.
Of course, children her age are exempt from having to wear black head to toe. But still. Sparkles and Princesses don't fly. Another trip to the store and we bought her a navy blue skirt, 2 pair of Capri chinos in black and brown, 4 peasant style shirts in brown, navy blue, black and white, a red button coat which screamed "adorable girl from Europe", black Maryjane's to match Mama, and a navy blue long sleeve shirt. Just in case. Thank goodness I thought of the just in case.
Toys were purchased for my cousin's children which I couldn't wait to give to them. My daughter kept pulling them out and staring at the Sleeping Beauty doll asking about her cousins' names and any details I could give them. She couldn't wait to meet them.
The trip total cost us over $3,000 for the two of us with all expenses.
I started panicking between all the rushed planning that I had not taught my daughter Polish. She knew a few safety words in Polish and how to express love and affection and a song. How was this going to work? How was she going to play with my cousin's children?
In the meantime, my daughter was telling everyone she saw, even strangers, that she was going to visit "the country my Mommy is from! POLAND!" with such squeaks of joy, I couldn't understand it.
I stressed that there would be no macaroni and cheese, no chicken nuggets and french fries, nothing she was used to on a daily basis. And that she would eat whatever people gave her because it would be rude otherwise. Eye widened at this information, she would nod and say "Yes, Mommy."
In my stomach, butterflies were turning while the baby was beginning her first signs of movement inside me.
A teddy bear book bag with leash was purchased. I received strange and often disapproving looks as we carried it to the register and purchased it. Look, stare, and judge however people wanted to, I was going to be a pregnant Mama on my own with my child travelling from Washington, D.C.'s Dulles airport to Munich, Germany to Wroclaw, Poland. To bury my Dziadek.
It turned out, there was nothing to worry about....
To be continued...
Related Articles: My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, Our Departure
Time to visit my birth country.
And time to bury a family member.
My husband had to work and couldn't take a vacation. Also, because we were buying tickets last minute, along with having to file for her first passport ever, we were in a time crunch and had to pay an exorbitant amount for our tickets and expedite the passport.
For her passport, I braided her hair into two plaits, which she proclaimed made her look like a "little Polish girl" as she smiled in the mirror and looked at her reflection. This was not the first time I had styled her hair this way.
At the post office, she was so proud strolling in to be getting a passport, that she announced to everyone present "My mommy's Dziadek died so I need a passport please so we can go to POLAND!" She stayed perfectly still as the woman took her photo. The first photo, she looked last second in my direction, pride on her face and my heart burst. The woman gave me the photo to keep since "her expression was so precious" but had to be looking straight ahead for the passport.
When we left the post office, every employee at the front desk had by then heard her story and was waving goodbye to us and wishing her luck. She waved goodbye to everyone and skipped to the car, holding my hand.
This moment was precious and I needed it as I was mourning the loss of my Dziadek.
I went through my maternity clothes and saw yellows, flowers, pinks and decidedly not-for-a-funeral clothing. This also required a trip to the maternity store to snatch up whatever blacks I could find.
Can I say I do not wear black? Others can wear it. But I have learned something about myself as I have gotten older. I don't look quite "right" in black. Maybe it's the color against my medium blonde hair. Maybe it's the fact that I don't exactly ooze black clad martini sipping designer handbag socialite but instead seem more natural in "bohemian peasant" style clothing. Maybe it's because I don't style my hair. It is straight and if you try to do anything with it, it doesn't seem to want to cooperate. So, I keep it clean, brushed and parted straight. So, black does not go well with my "aura", if you will.
But for a funeral, what do you wear? Black, of course.
This was June and the only clothing on the racks were for overheated pregnant moms who were sweating even in air conditioning in June. In Poland, the week I went? It was cold.
After spending money for funeral appropriate maternity clothing, we had to pack my daughter's bag. Her obsession at the time was Disney Princess t-shirts, the color purple and bright sparkles. Again, not funeral attire. In Poland, and I would imagine in the US as well, you especially do not wear purple to a funeral.
Of course, children her age are exempt from having to wear black head to toe. But still. Sparkles and Princesses don't fly. Another trip to the store and we bought her a navy blue skirt, 2 pair of Capri chinos in black and brown, 4 peasant style shirts in brown, navy blue, black and white, a red button coat which screamed "adorable girl from Europe", black Maryjane's to match Mama, and a navy blue long sleeve shirt. Just in case. Thank goodness I thought of the just in case.
Toys were purchased for my cousin's children which I couldn't wait to give to them. My daughter kept pulling them out and staring at the Sleeping Beauty doll asking about her cousins' names and any details I could give them. She couldn't wait to meet them.
The trip total cost us over $3,000 for the two of us with all expenses.
I started panicking between all the rushed planning that I had not taught my daughter Polish. She knew a few safety words in Polish and how to express love and affection and a song. How was this going to work? How was she going to play with my cousin's children?
In the meantime, my daughter was telling everyone she saw, even strangers, that she was going to visit "the country my Mommy is from! POLAND!" with such squeaks of joy, I couldn't understand it.
I stressed that there would be no macaroni and cheese, no chicken nuggets and french fries, nothing she was used to on a daily basis. And that she would eat whatever people gave her because it would be rude otherwise. Eye widened at this information, she would nod and say "Yes, Mommy."
In my stomach, butterflies were turning while the baby was beginning her first signs of movement inside me.
A teddy bear book bag with leash was purchased. I received strange and often disapproving looks as we carried it to the register and purchased it. Look, stare, and judge however people wanted to, I was going to be a pregnant Mama on my own with my child travelling from Washington, D.C.'s Dulles airport to Munich, Germany to Wroclaw, Poland. To bury my Dziadek.
It turned out, there was nothing to worry about....
To be continued...
Related Articles: My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, Our Departure
29 May 2011
"Warsaw Hearts New York" But Does America Heart Warsaw?
I really have never read an article before and decided to write about it until today. Actually, the article itself I had no issues with. It was short, informative, and accurate. Decent reporting. I am referring to the article by Fox News (shared by a friend) called Warsaw Hearts New York; Poles Hope for Visa Waiver to Shop Fifth Avenue.
What was called to my attention and which frankly disturbed me was the comments. Such as:
OK, there is just so much wrong in this statement and I am going to conclude that it stems from a lack of education and an upbringing filled with racism and NO interest in facts. But, I'll try to tackle it with class.
First, the US was founded on "foreigners". You, sir, are a Xenophobe.
Second, they don't all drain the system. They keep the system going. Again, country founded on "foreigners".
Third, maybe there are some that do. I won't argue that. But most don't. My father worked over 80 hour work weeks when I was young just to barely feed us and we never went for assistance. I would say, perhaps the issue of the system being abused should be taken up with the crackheads, drug addicts, parents who don't care for their children, gang members and criminals. Now, I've never met a "foreigner" who was any of those things. Just saying.
Fourth, the Polish tourists and others coming here to visit are doing it legally. Perhaps you have an issue with another group of "foreigners" who you feel are coming over illegally. But what you are unaware of, is that people from Poland must take a plane to fly over to the USA and without doing it legally, they can't do that. There's no sneaking over. It's called the Airport. You know, TSA and Customs and Border Protection.
Fifth, your grammar and spelling are atrocious.
I am going to sum this one up with "Apparently, VERY apparently, you have never travelled anywhere on a plane before and certainly never to another country. Enjoy your trip to Walmart." Yes, I went there. I am very repulsed right now.
I can't even tackle this one without spending all day explaining tourism, VAT, duty, global economy, a breakdown of economic growth by country, and so on. I will just say, go get an actual education. I see you know how to use the Internet a little bit to get some facts (hence why you had to comment twice, the second time with a bit of facts), but you still have no clue. And, again, I notice the grammar and spelling really could use some working on.
Also, we former Easter Bloc country citizens are not communists. Again, know your history. After our populations were devastated by the Nazis in WWII and also by the Soviets during their "liberation" (but it's not considered a war crime because the treaty signed by good ol' Uncle Sam and England with Russia), we were handed over as consolation prizes to the USSR to with what they pleased. And they did exactly that. 25 years later, Poland's economy was the LEAST affected by the world economic crisis and in fact had positive growth.
I find it shameful that while I live in the US (coming over LEGALLY, thank you very much) on my wedding day, none of my family from Poland could be here. Not one. Because they couldn't afford to pay for the visas and wait the long period to see if maybe MAYBE nice America would let them come to see me be married.
Poland is the strongest support of America with Afghanistan and Iraqi conflicts. There is a lot going on mutually between the two countries which BENEFIT the USA.
Poland and her people are NOT your issues with illegal immigrants. Trust me. You have an open border just south of you and are not able to monitor it and if you find someone who is here illegally from you-know-where it is discrimination. Open your eyes.
Since Poland is not a threat but rather an ally of the USA, there is no reason for the Visas. Trust me, my family in Poland does NOT want to come here to live. It's too expensive and there is nothing to do but work and come home and sit around the house or spend money. The lifestyle over there is much easier for travel, entertainment, family, etc. They just want to come over and pump their money into our economy by being tourists.
Trust me, they DON'T want to live here. Poland has a really good thing going on right now. So, take your racism and narrow mindedness and go yell at a tree for being a tree instead. Or hey, I have an idea, get educated and learn who is taking advantage of your welfare programs here or who is staying illegally and get rid of them instead. You know, the people you actually have a problem with but you can't figure out who to blame because of your racism.
But then, why should I be surprised at some bigoted comments? After all, I have heard it all my life. Even from my own in-laws, who are grandchildren of immigrants and making comments about how "foreigners" are ruining this country. No, the thing that will ruin this country will be racism and a lack of proper education and global perspective.
If this doesn't make things clearer, I suggest listening to a country song by Brad Paisley called "American Saturday Night". It's about as American as you can get.
My last comment on this is that I love this country. I mean, I live here. So, let me share with you what the Statue of Liberty reads:
What was called to my attention and which frankly disturbed me was the comments. Such as:
 | chunkyscratch  16 hours ago |
OK, there is just so much wrong in this statement and I am going to conclude that it stems from a lack of education and an upbringing filled with racism and NO interest in facts. But, I'll try to tackle it with class.
First, the US was founded on "foreigners". You, sir, are a Xenophobe.
Second, they don't all drain the system. They keep the system going. Again, country founded on "foreigners".
Third, maybe there are some that do. I won't argue that. But most don't. My father worked over 80 hour work weeks when I was young just to barely feed us and we never went for assistance. I would say, perhaps the issue of the system being abused should be taken up with the crackheads, drug addicts, parents who don't care for their children, gang members and criminals. Now, I've never met a "foreigner" who was any of those things. Just saying.
Fourth, the Polish tourists and others coming here to visit are doing it legally. Perhaps you have an issue with another group of "foreigners" who you feel are coming over illegally. But what you are unaware of, is that people from Poland must take a plane to fly over to the USA and without doing it legally, they can't do that. There's no sneaking over. It's called the Airport. You know, TSA and Customs and Border Protection.
Fifth, your grammar and spelling are atrocious.
I am going to sum this one up with "Apparently, VERY apparently, you have never travelled anywhere on a plane before and certainly never to another country. Enjoy your trip to Walmart." Yes, I went there. I am very repulsed right now.
I can't even tackle this one without spending all day explaining tourism, VAT, duty, global economy, a breakdown of economic growth by country, and so on. I will just say, go get an actual education. I see you know how to use the Internet a little bit to get some facts (hence why you had to comment twice, the second time with a bit of facts), but you still have no clue. And, again, I notice the grammar and spelling really could use some working on.
I'm really surprised at some of the comments on this story. Before you comment, please know your facts. The Euro is destined to fail without the "Former Eastern Bloc" countries finally taking up that currency, in fact, that is a huge controversy in Europe right now. Those who know want Poland and other countries to finally start using the Euro.
Also, we former Easter Bloc country citizens are not communists. Again, know your history. After our populations were devastated by the Nazis in WWII and also by the Soviets during their "liberation" (but it's not considered a war crime because the treaty signed by good ol' Uncle Sam and England with Russia), we were handed over as consolation prizes to the USSR to with what they pleased. And they did exactly that. 25 years later, Poland's economy was the LEAST affected by the world economic crisis and in fact had positive growth.
I find it shameful that while I live in the US (coming over LEGALLY, thank you very much) on my wedding day, none of my family from Poland could be here. Not one. Because they couldn't afford to pay for the visas and wait the long period to see if maybe MAYBE nice America would let them come to see me be married.
Poland is the strongest support of America with Afghanistan and Iraqi conflicts. There is a lot going on mutually between the two countries which BENEFIT the USA.
Poland and her people are NOT your issues with illegal immigrants. Trust me. You have an open border just south of you and are not able to monitor it and if you find someone who is here illegally from you-know-where it is discrimination. Open your eyes.
Since Poland is not a threat but rather an ally of the USA, there is no reason for the Visas. Trust me, my family in Poland does NOT want to come here to live. It's too expensive and there is nothing to do but work and come home and sit around the house or spend money. The lifestyle over there is much easier for travel, entertainment, family, etc. They just want to come over and pump their money into our economy by being tourists.
Trust me, they DON'T want to live here. Poland has a really good thing going on right now. So, take your racism and narrow mindedness and go yell at a tree for being a tree instead. Or hey, I have an idea, get educated and learn who is taking advantage of your welfare programs here or who is staying illegally and get rid of them instead. You know, the people you actually have a problem with but you can't figure out who to blame because of your racism.
But then, why should I be surprised at some bigoted comments? After all, I have heard it all my life. Even from my own in-laws, who are grandchildren of immigrants and making comments about how "foreigners" are ruining this country. No, the thing that will ruin this country will be racism and a lack of proper education and global perspective.
If this doesn't make things clearer, I suggest listening to a country song by Brad Paisley called "American Saturday Night". It's about as American as you can get.
My last comment on this is that I love this country. I mean, I live here. So, let me share with you what the Statue of Liberty reads:
"...Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
Happy Memorial Day to you and may God Bless America and the other countries of the world. Because America is the commingling of all the countries and cultures of the world.
Writers Edit: I found this article after writing the above and find it very interesting. The Polish Tiger "With its newfound economic and political clout, Poland is increasingly leaving the United States out in the cold."
24 May 2011
The Hussar in 15th Century England
Last year, we went to a Renaissance Festival near us. Our older daughter fell in love with the Fairies who spent lots of time with her and our younger daughter was just happy to see lots of colors and people since she was still a baby.
At one point, my husband was looking around while I got water and suddenly called something that could only make me, and people who know, stop and turn around.
"Hussar!"
My jaw dropped. Here I was surrounded by 15th century England in the middle of America, wondering how in a place with such a high concentration of Polish immigrants and their descendants and I had not seen anyone have the brilliant idea to dress as someone coming to visit from the Polish courts to England. Am I the only one to think that would have been awesome?
And yet, there he was.
At one point, my husband was looking around while I got water and suddenly called something that could only make me, and people who know, stop and turn around.
"Hussar!"
My jaw dropped. Here I was surrounded by 15th century England in the middle of America, wondering how in a place with such a high concentration of Polish immigrants and their descendants and I had not seen anyone have the brilliant idea to dress as someone coming to visit from the Polish courts to England. Am I the only one to think that would have been awesome?
And yet, there he was.
Talking to my husband. This man was as equally intrigued in how my obviously not Polish husband knew about Hussari as my husband was about how this man had his armor made. My husband explained that he had seen the armor in Warsaw on our honeymoon and had really developed an interest in the Hussars.
I was introduced and the Hussar and I began to talk. This man, who I wish I had gotten his name, had his armor made as authentically as possible and so had his son. In fact, they had just come back from Poland where they had participated in the reenactment in celebration of the 600th anniversary of the Battle of Grunwald (which I highly suggest checking out this YouTube video about Grunwald 2010). I believe he also said they participated in the reenactment of the Battle of Klushino of 1610 as well.
I feel I need to explain something about reenactments. They are not about people running around "pretending" to be someone just for the sake of "pretending". They are attempting to capture a moment in history and make it more real and tangible for others to understand. For some people, history is just a bunch of words on paper. But what they fail to grasp is that history is people like you and I who were going about their lives and have now passed away just as we will one day. Teaching children to appreciate and understand history is a step to them remembering us when we pass away, when we become a piece of history.
So, a reenactment helps people to remember a time in terms of living people doing something. The Battle of Grunwald was an important battle in European history and the Polish Hussari (or Hussars to English speakers) are worth remembering.
When this man was walking around quietly on a scorching summer day in a head to toe suit of armor at this particular festival, he reminded people like myself to teach my children about a piece of my history. He captured the interest of my older daughter, who asked about the wings and who was proud to learn about a piece of her history. It was a wonderful opportunity to teach my children to be proud to be Polish.
And it was a great example to my husband about why we Poles are so proud to be Polish and so proud of our history. History which is not taught in the USA.
I have a feeling that is why this nameless man had this expensive piece of armor painstakingly researched and recreated. One suit for himself and one for his son. So that they could also celebrate their heritage. Even though they both lived in the USA and had American accents, just like I do.
I wish I could thank that man. I hope to see him again this year.
05 May 2011
Nice to Meet You
I think it's about time a face was put to my writing....
I am 2 years old sitting on the stairs of the hotel we had been living in for a few months at this point.
I am currently a refugee fleeing Communism. Leaving behind friends and family to go into the wide world with my parents only.
I am living in Austria in a small village. We are waiting on possibly moving to either Australia or the USA. Waiting to hear whether all the legal paperwork is approved. And praying.
This smile is always on my face to this day...
Related Posts:
Wordless Wednesday: A Toy Train
Writing Me: Where I'm From
I am 2 years old sitting on the stairs of the hotel we had been living in for a few months at this point.
I am currently a refugee fleeing Communism. Leaving behind friends and family to go into the wide world with my parents only.
I am living in Austria in a small village. We are waiting on possibly moving to either Australia or the USA. Waiting to hear whether all the legal paperwork is approved. And praying.
This smile is always on my face to this day...
Related Posts:
Wordless Wednesday: A Toy Train
Writing Me: Where I'm From
03 May 2011
Guest Post: Ewa Kuc on Potato Pancakes and Being Polish in America
I have been following a fellow blogger for a few months now, Mom Photographer. She is a fellow Polish immigrant who came to the US just a few short years ago and takes amazing photos. I love her perspective because so many times I can either relate or learn from her. And her daughter looks remarkably like my younger daughter as well.
So, I asked her to do a guest post on my blog on whatever she wanted and here it is:
After I was asked if I want to write a guest post for Polish Mama I’d been thinking about the topic. I thought I’ll write something about being Polish in US (because I’m Polish as well), about dealing with everyday consciousness that I’m different.
Wherever I go, whatever I say the first thing people ask me is:
“Hm ... where are you from?”
“Hm... I’m from Poland”
“Oh ... from Holland, NICE”
“No, NOT HOLLAND. POLAND. I’m from POLAND” and I see the confusion in people eyes. Yes, just a few of them knew where Poland is, and no, it’s not in Africa. Why everybody knows where Holland is but they have such a big problem with Poland! That’s amazes me.
Anyway, I thought that I better write something about cooking. Much easier. I like to cook; I like to take pictures of what I cook; I like to share recipes and I wouldn’t have to write a lot because I’m not very good at that. Not in English at least.
I consider English as my SECOND language. Still. Polish is what I’ve been using since I was born, long time ago. English is what I’ve been using along with Polish for the last 3.5 years. It’s really hard to teach an old dog new tricks (don’t get me wrong I’m not THAT old).
I read and talk in English for most of my days. I’ve limited my Polish to minimum. Not because I don’t want to talk in Polish anymore, but because I wish I could speak English fluently. I’m getting tired of using very simple vocabulary when it comes to very serious conversations. I’m tired of people saying that I sound cute, when I want to sound and to be treat serious. It was cute at the beginning. Right now is frustrating. Right now I prefer to abandon the discussion than make myself look (or sound) even more silly and childish.
These days I feel like I’m in a middle of a transition between English and Polish and it frustrates me even more. Every time I talk with my parents or Polish friends I find myself looking for the right Polish words, and it happens that I can’t find them (I have to go around).
At the same time I don’t want my family or friends to think: Oh, she’s been living there for only 3.5 years and she already forgot Polish [sigh]. How is she gonna teach our granddaughter to speak Polish? Then when I speak with my husband or I try to write a post for my blog (in English) I find it very hard to find the right words to describe something. I feel like I’m loosing something instead of gaining. I’m losing my Polish, but I’m not actually gaining much English, either. I know I know, I should just take the dictionary and start memorizing words. Yeah, right! My laziness is calling ;)
Somedays I think how much easier it would be to just go back to Poland, where everybody speaks your language, where you’re familiar with the food, and customs. Where going grocery shopping I won’t be asked “Where are you from?” or ...“HOW DID YOU GET HERE?” (based on true story!). I ran and swam to here in case if you want to know ;-)
Where french fries are made from potatoes and not from potato like substance. Where cherry, apple, plum, pear trees grow wild. Where you won’t see a single waisted fruit under those wild trees. That thought came to my mind while looking at all those rotten oranges, grapefruits, lemons, pomegranates in our neighborhood. Why would you want to have so much that you can’t even digest?! I go for walks and think that if I had those trees on my front/back yard I would be making all bunch of different jams, juices, fruit cakes and smoothies. If it’s still too many I would be giving it away to people.
In Poland if you have to much you share it with your friends, family, neighbors. I remember when I was a kid when we had bunch of plums and cherries from our summer garden I would go visit my friend and take with me bucket or two of those cherries or plums. The next day while visiting my friend again (she lived next door) I would get a piece of a fresh baked plum cake. If somebody was visiting us they wouldn’t leave without a basket of fresh picked fruits.
I know that there is many different opportunities here (in US), but sometimes I think: is it worth it. I know many Polish people that really don’t care about those kind of things, they would laugh at those silly questions at the store or simply snap back with an answer that is as silly as the question was. I’m not one of them. For me it was cute and funny two years ago but today it’s annoying. I really want to get my grocery and go home, and I do not need anybody to reminds me that I’m different, that I have an accent, or look original (whatever that means).
One more thing I want to talk about (did I say that I’m not good at talking about myself in English... hm... lol). When I left Poland I didn’t really expect how much I’ll be missing Polish food. Not all of it. Just particular dishes that reminds me of my childhood, that I call my comfort food.
It is even more difficult because my husband doesn’t like Polish food. He likes pierogi, but who doesn’t?! He doesn’t like cabbage and many Polish dishes that I like have cabbage in it. For example bigos, or cabbage rolls, or boiled cabbage with apples. He can’t stand the smell of boiling cabbage. So, I try to cook it once in a blue moon. Read: Never! That’s how good wife I am! :)
I love barszcz, he doesn’t. I love żurek, he doesn’t know what that is, and actually doesn’t want to know. I love potato pancakes, he definitely does not want to eat them, and so on! I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, but I wish he was a little bit more open to new food.
Today if I want something Polish I need to cook it myself rather than find it in a store or restaurant, and it’s a cooking 3 dishes for three people: Something different for my husband, something different for our Little One (thanks god she is getting to that age that she can eat what her dad or mom eats.. uff...), and something Polish for me.
So you can imagine how often I’m willing to cook something Polish for myself. I rather skip this part that stay in the kitchen for extra hour. My laziness again ;). If I want to go out to eat it’s hard to find a good Polish restaurant if any.
So when this day comes and I really feel like I can’t put my craving away anymore I like to make something what’s very easy and fast to cook. Placki ziemniaczane, potatoe pancakes. That’s what I actually was planned to talk about in this blog post, and only about this. Oh well, I hope you don’t mind my previous ramblings.
So, for this recipe I use:
3 medium size potatoes (You can use whatever potatoes you have.)
1 egg
1/2 medium yellow onion
1cup all purpose flour
1/4 cup corn (optional)
1/4 cup peas (optional)
1 stick of butter, (or 1/2 cup oil)
spices - sal, peper, marjoram, complete seasoning (if I use this I don’t use salt)
Peel them and cut into small pieces. I wash it after all to wash the starch out. So those pancakes are not very starchy.
I do not have food processor so I use blender. I have much easier that my parents anyway. When I was a kid I remember my parents grating the potatoes one by one using the old school shredder. When me and my siblings got older they would use us to do “if you want to help me cooking” part.
Move the batter to the bowl and mix in egg, chopped into really small pieces onion, and spices
Add all purpose flour. I remember my parents used to mix it half and half (potato starch and all purpose flour). I do not use the starch, because I like those pancakes not so starchy, and heavy.
Add corn and peas. This is optional. My parents would never do that, but I try to smuggle as many veggies to my cooking as it’s possible. I try not to overdo it, though. So sometimes I would grade one or two carrots, and use it instead of corn and peas, or in addition.
Heat oil in a large skiller over medium heat. Spoon the mixture into skillet. Fry, turning once, until golden brown. Transfer to paper towel to drain.
Eat
In Poland people eat it with sour cream, sugar, mushroom sauce or so called gypsy sauce. I eat it with ketchup! :)
So, I asked her to do a guest post on my blog on whatever she wanted and here it is:
After I was asked if I want to write a guest post for Polish Mama I’d been thinking about the topic. I thought I’ll write something about being Polish in US (because I’m Polish as well), about dealing with everyday consciousness that I’m different.
Wherever I go, whatever I say the first thing people ask me is:
“Hm ... where are you from?”
“Hm... I’m from Poland”
“Oh ... from Holland, NICE”
“No, NOT HOLLAND. POLAND. I’m from POLAND” and I see the confusion in people eyes. Yes, just a few of them knew where Poland is, and no, it’s not in Africa. Why everybody knows where Holland is but they have such a big problem with Poland! That’s amazes me.
Anyway, I thought that I better write something about cooking. Much easier. I like to cook; I like to take pictures of what I cook; I like to share recipes and I wouldn’t have to write a lot because I’m not very good at that. Not in English at least.
I consider English as my SECOND language. Still. Polish is what I’ve been using since I was born, long time ago. English is what I’ve been using along with Polish for the last 3.5 years. It’s really hard to teach an old dog new tricks (don’t get me wrong I’m not THAT old).
I read and talk in English for most of my days. I’ve limited my Polish to minimum. Not because I don’t want to talk in Polish anymore, but because I wish I could speak English fluently. I’m getting tired of using very simple vocabulary when it comes to very serious conversations. I’m tired of people saying that I sound cute, when I want to sound and to be treat serious. It was cute at the beginning. Right now is frustrating. Right now I prefer to abandon the discussion than make myself look (or sound) even more silly and childish.
These days I feel like I’m in a middle of a transition between English and Polish and it frustrates me even more. Every time I talk with my parents or Polish friends I find myself looking for the right Polish words, and it happens that I can’t find them (I have to go around).
At the same time I don’t want my family or friends to think: Oh, she’s been living there for only 3.5 years and she already forgot Polish [sigh]. How is she gonna teach our granddaughter to speak Polish? Then when I speak with my husband or I try to write a post for my blog (in English) I find it very hard to find the right words to describe something. I feel like I’m loosing something instead of gaining. I’m losing my Polish, but I’m not actually gaining much English, either. I know I know, I should just take the dictionary and start memorizing words. Yeah, right! My laziness is calling ;)
Somedays I think how much easier it would be to just go back to Poland, where everybody speaks your language, where you’re familiar with the food, and customs. Where going grocery shopping I won’t be asked “Where are you from?” or ...“HOW DID YOU GET HERE?” (based on true story!). I ran and swam to here in case if you want to know ;-)
Where french fries are made from potatoes and not from potato like substance. Where cherry, apple, plum, pear trees grow wild. Where you won’t see a single waisted fruit under those wild trees. That thought came to my mind while looking at all those rotten oranges, grapefruits, lemons, pomegranates in our neighborhood. Why would you want to have so much that you can’t even digest?! I go for walks and think that if I had those trees on my front/back yard I would be making all bunch of different jams, juices, fruit cakes and smoothies. If it’s still too many I would be giving it away to people.
In Poland if you have to much you share it with your friends, family, neighbors. I remember when I was a kid when we had bunch of plums and cherries from our summer garden I would go visit my friend and take with me bucket or two of those cherries or plums. The next day while visiting my friend again (she lived next door) I would get a piece of a fresh baked plum cake. If somebody was visiting us they wouldn’t leave without a basket of fresh picked fruits.
I know that there is many different opportunities here (in US), but sometimes I think: is it worth it. I know many Polish people that really don’t care about those kind of things, they would laugh at those silly questions at the store or simply snap back with an answer that is as silly as the question was. I’m not one of them. For me it was cute and funny two years ago but today it’s annoying. I really want to get my grocery and go home, and I do not need anybody to reminds me that I’m different, that I have an accent, or look original (whatever that means).
One more thing I want to talk about (did I say that I’m not good at talking about myself in English... hm... lol). When I left Poland I didn’t really expect how much I’ll be missing Polish food. Not all of it. Just particular dishes that reminds me of my childhood, that I call my comfort food.
It is even more difficult because my husband doesn’t like Polish food. He likes pierogi, but who doesn’t?! He doesn’t like cabbage and many Polish dishes that I like have cabbage in it. For example bigos, or cabbage rolls, or boiled cabbage with apples. He can’t stand the smell of boiling cabbage. So, I try to cook it once in a blue moon. Read: Never! That’s how good wife I am! :)
I love barszcz, he doesn’t. I love żurek, he doesn’t know what that is, and actually doesn’t want to know. I love potato pancakes, he definitely does not want to eat them, and so on! I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, but I wish he was a little bit more open to new food.
Today if I want something Polish I need to cook it myself rather than find it in a store or restaurant, and it’s a cooking 3 dishes for three people: Something different for my husband, something different for our Little One (thanks god she is getting to that age that she can eat what her dad or mom eats.. uff...), and something Polish for me.
So you can imagine how often I’m willing to cook something Polish for myself. I rather skip this part that stay in the kitchen for extra hour. My laziness again ;). If I want to go out to eat it’s hard to find a good Polish restaurant if any.
So when this day comes and I really feel like I can’t put my craving away anymore I like to make something what’s very easy and fast to cook. Placki ziemniaczane, potatoe pancakes. That’s what I actually was planned to talk about in this blog post, and only about this. Oh well, I hope you don’t mind my previous ramblings.
So, for this recipe I use:
3 medium size potatoes (You can use whatever potatoes you have.)
1 egg
1/2 medium yellow onion
1cup all purpose flour
1/4 cup corn (optional)
1/4 cup peas (optional)
1 stick of butter, (or 1/2 cup oil)
spices - sal, peper, marjoram, complete seasoning (if I use this I don’t use salt)
Peel them and cut into small pieces. I wash it after all to wash the starch out. So those pancakes are not very starchy.
I do not have food processor so I use blender. I have much easier that my parents anyway. When I was a kid I remember my parents grating the potatoes one by one using the old school shredder. When me and my siblings got older they would use us to do “if you want to help me cooking” part.
Move the batter to the bowl and mix in egg, chopped into really small pieces onion, and spices
Add all purpose flour. I remember my parents used to mix it half and half (potato starch and all purpose flour). I do not use the starch, because I like those pancakes not so starchy, and heavy.
Add corn and peas. This is optional. My parents would never do that, but I try to smuggle as many veggies to my cooking as it’s possible. I try not to overdo it, though. So sometimes I would grade one or two carrots, and use it instead of corn and peas, or in addition.
Heat oil in a large skiller over medium heat. Spoon the mixture into skillet. Fry, turning once, until golden brown. Transfer to paper towel to drain.
Eat
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