December 28, 2007

A Christmas Memory

Christmas with my side of the family can be a bit overwhelming. Every year, my mom and her two youngest sisters take turns hosting the celebration. This tradition began in 1981, as a way for my grandmother, Alice, to spend time with all seven of her children, their spouses and her grandchildren.

It’s hard to believe that we’ve been gathering every Christmas for the last twenty-six years. That first celebration was the smallest, because not all of my aunts and uncles were married, but as our families expanded, year after year, it became a challenge to cram almost forty people in one location.

My mother is the oldest, followed by her sisters, Judy, Donna and Mary, and her brothers, Michael, Carl and Paul. Out of seven kids, only two are unmarried. In order to understand the insanity in my family, I’ll give you a little back-story.

My mom and her sister Judy are very close, and my aunts, Donna and Mary are inseparable. Besides being sisters, they are best friends and very often exclude my mom and Aunt Judy from conversations and events. I could even say that there’s a small rivalry between families.

Both aunts were stay-at-home parents, married to husbands with high-paying mill jobs. Both Donna and Mary each have five children that are very close in age to the other’s kids, and the two families have been known to spend a lot of time together.

It should be said that I’m the firstborn grandchild, followed by my cousin, Hedy, who is two years younger than me. Hedy and I were “best friends” until our high school years when we drifted apart. We really didn’t have much in common as the years went by.

Hedy and her sisters have gone to prestigious universities, they work for prominent companies, and they travel across the country, as well as internationally, and they usually date very good-looking boyfriends. It can be rather intimidating to listen to them speak of their latest accomplishment or amazing trip to Amsterdam (or was it Paris?).

I’ve never felt the need to compete with my cousins, but my aunts seem to measure a person’s “worth” by their social status, how much money they make, or the clothes they wear. They’ll never admit it, but sometimes I feel as though I’m being compared to their very gorgeous, thin, single, childless daughters.

This Christmas was held at my parents’ house. When my cousins arrived I felt the dread of having to make conversation with these very accomplished girls. I know it sounds like I’m jealous, but that isn’t the case. I’m very proud of my cousins’ successes – they’ve worked very hard to get where they are – but I find it difficult to listen to them brag about how “wonderful” they are and the “amazing” lives they lead. Are they trying to impress me? Are they insecure about one part of their lives so they embellish the details of another part? Who knows?

I tried to be polite and courteous, and I did my best to keep a smile on my face and be interested in their lives, but part of me thought, “Who cares?” Not one of my cousins asked me about my life, or about Dawson or about my job. It wasn’t until my sister brought up my blogging that they took an interest.

If I had a dollar for every time I was asked what a blog was, or what BlogHer was all about, I could afford my own trip to Amsterdam (or perhaps Paris?). My very liberal cousins were shocked to discover that I write about conservative politics. And my awesome sister did some bragging on my behalf.

“She writes for BlogHer.com,” Rachel said. “And, she’s really good at it. And she’s going to New York and San Francisco, too, for the blogging conferences.”

I laughed inside, because of the raised eyebrows and strange looks I was getting. Thankfully, my brother, Frankie, put on the videotape from Christmas 1989 (saved by the TV!), to break up the tension in the room. My uncle, Mike, had brought his VHS recorder and documented our holiday celebration that year. Frank thought it would be fun to watch that old video.

I smiled when I saw Grandma Alice on the screen. It’s been two years since her death (she died December 6, 2005) and I miss her terribly. It was amazing that everyone gathered around the television to reminisce the early Christmas parties we had. How fast time goes by.

The best part of watching this old tape was that it took place in the house I live in now. We bought my childhood home from my parents five years ago when they built their dream house. My husband had never seen our home prior to the addition my dad built to the back of the house in 1991.

It was so foreign to look at that old floor plan. I had forgotten about that ugly brown linoleum in the old kitchen, which is currently underneath the current flooring. I laughed when I saw the old deck door (which is now an open entry-way to our current dining room). I remember that the lock was broken, so my mother put a dowelling rod behind it, “just in case burglars try to get it.” It never occurred to her that they would probably just break the glass.

And then, I heard Grandma’s voice coming through the speakers and I started crying. As I write this, the tears are rolling down my cheeks. Eighteen years ago, on December 25, Grandma Alice was sitting in my living room, watching her grandchildren open their Christmas presents.

My Christmas tree is in the same spot my mother place our tree in 1989. If I close my eyes, I can see it all again – no VHS required. I can smell the real tree my father cut from the local Christmas tree farm. I can see the mountains of presents underneath it, the flashing multi-colored string of lights, the handmade ornaments my siblings and I made.

My youngest brother, Frank wasn’t even born yet, so my sister was the baby of the family. I remember painting her finger and toenails and crimping her hair for the Christmas party.

I laughed when Grandma Alice said, “Honest to God, Mikey!” to my uncle as he videotaped her. She didn’t want to be on camera, but thank the Lord she was! I’m so grateful we could look back on that Christmas, eighteen years ago. I still can’t get over how fast time goes by…

I remember that Grandma made Polish sausage (kielbasa), and how the awful smell of sauerkraut wafted through the air when someone lifted the lid on the crock-pot.

I remember Aunt Judy getting a little tipsy from eggnog – or maybe she was just sugared up on Diet Pepsi (it wasn’t caffeine-free at that time) — and telling us she once ran naked through the woods on the farm.

I remember saying my prayers with Grandma — the “Our Father” and the “Hail Mary” — and how proud she was that I prayed with her. I remember the nativity, and how we celebrated the birth of our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ.

As we watched that videotape, I began to realize that it doesn’t matter what clothes we wear, or how much money we make, that proves whether we are a worthy person.

We must cherish the reason we gathered together in the first place. We gathered to celebrate the birth of Christ. We celebrated with our loved ones, our families. We gathered to cherish the many blessings we’ve been given. We gathered together to treat each other with kindness, respect and love. That’s what it’s all about. That is what really matters.

July 24, 2007

Because We’re Polish, People

He was a tall man with very gray hair.  I’d guess his age was about seventy-five.  He wore tan pants and a white short-sleeved dress shirt.  A pair of suspenders completed the ensemble and I suspect kept his pants from falling off as he danced.

She was a young woman, no older than thirty and she wore a black skirt and red tank top.  As she twirled around the dance floor, her blond hair whipped across her shoulders.

The smiles on their faces were the most genuine I’ve seen in quite a long time.  To witness the joy on the old man’s face as he danced with her brought a smile to my own face.  The woman was adorable as she danced, and she smiled and nodded at her partner with each twirl.

This display of friendship between two very different generations was beautiful and it always makes me feel wonderful to know that Polka music brings people together.

This past weekend I spent my time at the 29th Annual Pulaski Polka Days celebration.  It’s been a tradition in my family to attend this event for the past eight years or more.  My parents, my siblings and now my son enjoy listening and dancing to polkas. 

I’ve had a love for polka music since I was a young girl.  My father played bass guitar in a polka band and my mother played the concertina as a teen.  Polka music is part of my Polish heritage and frankly, it’s in my blood.  As the Polka Family Band says, “The love for the music binds us together; all of us are part of one big polka family.” 

I can’t think of a truer statement.

Pulaski, Wisconsin is a town of 3,000 residents.  People travel near and far to hear the sounds of the Polka Family Band, the Polka Country Musicians, the Dynabrass, Eddie Blazoncyk’s Versatones, The Knewz, New Phaze, Dennis Polisky & The Maestro’s Men, Chad Przybylski, Aaron Socha’s Livewire, The Maroszek Brothers, The New Generation and so many more of the nation’s top polka bands.

In years past, John Gora & Gorale, Lenny Gomulka & Chicago Push, Change of Pace and Charm City Sound and the former Toledo Polkamotion have also performed at Pulaski Polka Days. 

The talented musicians that make up a polka band put so much time and effort into their craft, their music; just to put a smile on our faces and a spring in our dance step.  Many of these musicians have been members of several different bands.  They truly are a polka family.  I’d give you a timeline, but it is insanely difficult to keep up with polka gossip.  (You don’t believe me?  It’s true.  Trust me. Some of you polka maniacs reading this know exactly what I’m talking about.) 

I know that many people roll their eyes at the mention of Polka music, but it’s only because they’ve never experienced a Polish festival.  It’s an experience beyond compare.  The rumor that Polish people know how to party is true.  We do it well.  We party hard.  We party like rock stars except no one gets hurt because no one fights in the presence of Polka music!  I suppose we should rephrase that to say, “We party like polka stars.”

One of the best memories I recall of Polka music is when my father played his bass guitar along with a vinyl recording of Eddie Blazonczyk, Sr.’s song “Polka Hero”. 

The song is truly my favorite and it’s the inspiration for my own love of polkas.   

I leave you with a few photos from this year’s Pulaski Polka Days celebration!

More photos here.

June 23, 2007

Jak Sie Masz (How Are You)?

See y’all Monday!  We’re off to Polish Fest!  Polkas, Polish food, beer and Polish Vodka, Lake Michigan, fireworks, and tons of fun!  Dzień dobry e NaZdrowie! (Good day and Cheers!)

June 17, 2006

A Polish-Catholic Girl Like Me – Part Two

Here’s a list of things that pretty much define my heritage. I can honestly tell you that every single one of these things is true in my family (My notes are in bullets):

If you come from Chicago, Buffalo, Cleveland, Hamtramck, or Milwaukee there is a large church called “Saint Stanislaus,” or “Saint Hedwig,” within one block of your childhood home (that is, unless you’re one of those suburban exiles, in which case the church is within one block of your babcia’s house!)

• Grandma Alice and Grandpa Adolph lived in Chicago for two years. Alice worked for the Sun Beam Coffe Pot Factory and Adolph worked for the Campbell’s Soup Co. My mother Monica was born in Nov of 1951 and they moved back to Wisconsin and bought a farm. They liked going to church at St. Stanislaus-Kostas church which was the largest Polish Catholic church in Chicago until the Kennedy Expressway was built directly behind it causing many Polish immigrants to move to other parts of the city.

The neighborhood you grew up in is called “Little Warsaw,” “Slavic Village,” “Polish Hill,” “Polonia” or something of that sort.

• There is a town near where I live called Polonia. My great-great Uncle Andrew Landowski was a priest at the Sacred Heart Catholic Church in Polonia which was a predominently Polish town.

You like to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day but only because “the Irish are oppressed too”!

• We drink on St. Patty’s (I was born on that day) and eat a traditional kielbasa and kraut dish as opposed to corned beef and cabbage. I know, we’re backwards.

Your knowledge of the Polish language is limited to ‘naughty’ words (e.g., dupja, glowno, gaczki, etc), names for food (e.g, pierogi, kapusta, etc), and drinking toasts (e.g., nazdrowie, sto lat, etc).

You occasionally add the suffix “-ski” to English words for no apparent reason (e.g., “I’m gonna go put the car-ski in the garage-ski”).

If you also happen to know a few basic conversational phrases in Polish, you are considered “old school” by friends and relatives.

You call your grandma “babcia” or “buszia” and your grandpa “dziadzia.”

• All I can say is this: “Dupja tisz! Jak sa wy? Niech tanczyc” Which is “Dumb ass, How are you? Let’s go dance!” (and several other phrases that I can’t write – I never learned to write in Polish)

You know how to dance the polka, but you only do it at weddings after kicking back a few generous shots of vodka. You like to drink. Especially beer. Especially cheap beer.

• I dance the Polka anytime. I’m not shy. I know several different styles of Polka dancing.
• Yes, we love our beer. You can even find my relatives drinking Schlitz, Blatz and Old Milwaukee sometimes!

When frustrated, you slap your forehead, shake your head, and say “O Yezus Marija!”

• Grandma Alice would say this often and then say a prayer for taking the Lord’s name in vain.

You have one grandma that wears a babushka and galoshes every single day of the year and another grandma that wears a lot of jewelry and too much make-up.

You have a grandma who uses every single part of animal carcasses to make sausages , soups, dumplings, etc. (eg Czarnina – Duck’s Blood Soup)

• Grandma Alice never left the house without her “rouge” and “eybrows” on or her hair done. And she wore lots of bangle bracelets.
• Grandma Helen wore her babushka and galoshes every day unless she was going to a wedding. She also made czarnina and put everything but the kitchen sink in there.

You have at least one uncle named “Stan,” “Stash.” or “Franek”

• There’s a bar in town called “Stash & Rosies”
• My father’s name is Frank but my grandmother called him “Franek”.

You have at least one relative who works, or used to work, for the Big Three.

• Great-great uncle was a priest and grandma’s cousin was a nun.

Your relatives have a sincere devotion to saints, the Blessed Virgin, the Pope, the Democratic Party (until old age when they convert to Republicans), the U.S. Steelworkers, etc.

• You should have seen the celebration when Pope John Paul II became Pope! He was from Poland!

Your grandma has a shrine complete with votive candles and a picture of the “Our Lady of Czestochowa” or “Infant of Prague.”

• Not to mention the statues of the Virgin Mary and St. Frances in the garden outside.

Your parents have at least one crucifix or religious picture mounted on a wall in their house with palms tucked behind it. Your grandparents and other relatives habitually kiss everyone they meet.

• All my relatives have “The Last Supper” picture hanging on the wall by the dining table. Yes, even me. And yes, there are palms tucked behind it. -nodding-

You refer to your two dozen or so cousins by childhood nicknames (e.g., Stannie, Nicky, Louie, Joey, Chickie, Honey, Kasia, etc.) irrespective of their ages.

You refer to aunts by pet names (e.g., Aunt Honey, Aunt Chickie, Jo-Jo, Aunt Czucz, etc).

• I can’t even tell you how many crazy names we call our relatives by. Aunt Flasher, Uncle Guber, Cousin Crank. Uh huh. I know.

You regularly attend Friday fish fries, harvest festivals, parish festivals, Vegas nights, and/or bingo.

You bowl regularly and/or on a team sponsored by a local bar.

• I’ve been to two church picnics so far and danced with all my second and third cousins.
• I’ve played softball, volleyball, darts and bowled on bar league’s – sponsored by my dad’s bar.

You get your food blessed at Easter and your house blessed at Christmas time. Your family has a wigilia meal on Christmas Eve at which you share oplatki.

You like to put sour cream, horseradish, and/or beer on everything you eat.

Your family likes to play card games like hearts and pinochle, and this often culminates in full-scale brawls.

You always prefer rye bread to white or wheat. Your dad has forced you to eat horseradish, claiming that it will “put hair on your chest” (even if you’re a female!).

• It’s mandatory to share oplatki. That’s all I’m sayin’.
• My father insists everything will put hair on one’s chest.
• And we have pinochle tournaments at every holiday gathering or family reunion.
• And rye bread is a must in our house. Dawson loves it more than white bread.

You like to go “mushroom hunting” and “berry picking”.

• Grandma Alice loved berry picking. Sometimes we’d go for a drive in the country and she’d demand we stop the car to pick asparagus on the side of the road, too.

People in your family have their wedding receptions at places called “Polish Legion Hall,” “Sacred Heart Center,” “Starlite Ballroom” or the Moose Lodge. etc.

You would never dream of having a dee-jay at your wedding reception and hire the most expensive “Chicago Style” Polka band, like Eddy Blazonczyk, Lenny Gomulka, Toledo Polka Motion or the Dyna-Brass.

You know the words to “Sto Lat” and sing it at all birthday parties. You can out drink all of your friends (and if you’re a woman, you can out drink most men).

• My wedding reception was at Starlite Ballroom and Norm Dombrowski & The Happy Notes played at my wedding.
• We go to a bar on our birthdays and drink shots of Jzewynowka which is Polish Blackberry Brandy.

You have waited in line at a church or bakery to buy pierogi or paczki (ponczka).

• Hell, we have Poncka dances here. Seriously. Dad likes to joke about dancing around the ponczkas.

You frequently add “dere” (there) and/or “ya know” to the end of sentences. Words like kiszka, kielbasa, and kolaczki actually mean something to you.

Your grandparents say things like “Youse two kids go outside and play” and the add an ‘s’ to everything. “I went to Walmart’s to get some goczka’s “(underwear).

You know the difference between Czechs, Slovaks, and Slovenes, and you think they’re all inferior to Poles despite the numerous glaring similarities.

You used to get a day off from school on Saint Joseph’s Day (March 19). You actually know who Kosciuszko and Pulaski are, and why they’re important.

• I still have relatives who speak with a Polish accent. And my mother remembers having no school for St. Josepth’s Day.

You have at least one relative who plays the accordion or concertina.

• My mom plays the concertina, my uncle plays the trumpet in a polka band, my father once played bass guitar in a polka band and my cousin played the accordian for a while.

You are inclined to blame all the world’s ills on Germans and Russians.

You have an easier time getting along with Irishmen and Italians than with non-Polish Slavs.

• My great aunt used to call her enemies “Nazis”. So politically incorrect, but back in the “old days” I don’t think she knew any better.

You’re either completely overdressed or completely underdressed for every occasion.

If you’re a woman, you wear make-up at all times – even if it’s 90 degrees outside and you’re 88 years old.

Your idea of “healthy” is boiled pierogi, light beer, and filtered cigarettes.

You walk into a crowd of people you don’t know and talk to them like they’re your best friends in the whole world.

You hoard vast amounts of money in your house, usually in your basement.

You have at least one bar in your house – usually in the basement.

Your family always has an excuse to hold a “poprawinie” – e.g., when someone dies, or when someone gets married.

You’ve never been to Poland, but you have mysterious relatives there to whom you send gifts and money every Christmas.

Your front yard is filled with lawn ornaments – e.g., pink flamingos, jockey, Mary in the halfshell, old clawfoot tubs used as flower beds, etc.

You have relatives who are priests and nuns.

You collect “prayer cards” from funerals. You or someone in your family owns highly outdated Dodge or Plymouth.

• My mother has every prayer card from every funeral she’s attended and prays for them by saying the rosary once or twice a week.

You regularly attend Mass but spend most of the ceremony sleeping and/or looking at the parish bulletin.

You’re haven’t been a practicing Catholic for years but everyone in your family insists that it’s “just a phase.”

You often visit cemeteries, light votive candles for dead relatives, and generally spend an unhealthy amount of time obsessing about death.

You like to gossip and generally talk too much and too loud.

People often have trouble pronouncing your last name.

Your family is so loyal that even a second cousin would take a bullet for you.

You drink your coffee black and take your liquor straight up.

• All I can do is nod, laugh and smile at the rest of thoe above. I keep picturing various relatives who do all of these things. I’d be here for days if I started talking about them!

There you go – the lengthiest definiton of my family and heritage ever. I hope you’ve at least had a laugh or two, or else I’ve bored you silly.