Summer Sweater

Penza, Russian Soviet Socialist Republic, Summer 1962. My paternal Grandmother Tatjana's younger sister, Natasha, wrote, "On our little terrace."

Hopeful

Penza, Russian Soviet Socialist Republic, June 1969. My paternal Grandmother Tatjana's sister, Natasha, wrote, "Sashenka is fishing at our lake."

Happy Call

Suburban Chicago, January 1977. Mom does not seem to be engaged here in a work-related call. The throw pillow features Lithuanian motifs; the mother of my friend Ron made it for Mom (Ron's Mom also made the best Cepelinai I've tasted). The watercolor is by Murinas.

Here's the pillow today:

If you don't like it, then consider a Russian proverb: "In taste and colors, there are no friends." That's what I tell a friend each time I start (another) beige sweater.

The waiting began.

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Seligenstadt, Germany, August 15, 1945. This is the card with which my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, registered her intent to emigrate from postwar Germany. She sailed to New York three years later.

(Note that Tatjana recorded Lithuanian as her dominant language.)

Later in the Season

Penza, Russian Soviet Socialist Republic, 1965. Natasha, a younger sister of my paternal Grandmother Tatjana, wrote, "With Sashenka in our garden in late autumn."

Thanks to my dear friend D for translating the text from Russian to English.

Harvest

Penza, Russian Soviet Socialist Republic, September 1964. Natasha, a younger sister of my paternal Grandmother Tatjana, wrote, "Natashenka, with a pumpkin, and I, to our beloved one."

Thanks to my dear friend D for translating the text from Russian to English.

Summer Basket

Probably Penza, Russian Soviet Socialist Republic, August 1969. Natasha, a younger sister of my paternal Grandmother Tatjana, wrote, "To Tanechka, my darling! Shura is convinced that I am not as thin as I look here, and he is probably right: I am average."

Thanks to my dear friend D for translating the text from Russian to English.

September Table

Near Penza, Russian Soviet Socialist Republic, September 1963. Natasha, a younger sister of my paternal Grandmother Tatjana, wrote "To dear, always beloved Tanjusha. On our balcony."

Thanks again to my dear friend D for translating the text from Russian to English.

Russian Lake

Near Penza, Russian Soviet Socialist Republic, Summer 1956. Natasha, a younger sister of my paternal Grandmother Tatjana, wrote "To my dear sister Tanjusha, in the summer."

Thanks (again) to my dear friend D for translating the text from Russian to English.

What's new about language-immersion schools?

Today's edition of the Wisconsin State Journal features a story about language-immersion schools in Madison. I chuckled when I saw the heading, "The kids just love it," because there was little I liked about going to school on a Saturday.

I didn't see, at first, what was "new" about these schools; I had been familiar with them since the early 1960s. So: what's different about the Madisonian, language-immersion schools? They're not focused on keeping a threatened culture alive; they're "raising global citizens."

"Latvia Casts Wary Eye on Russia"

"A chief concern of the government—which is facing parliamentary elections in October—is the rise of what some officials call 'provocateurs,' people in the country believed to be spreading antigovernment sentiment on behalf of the Kremlin."

(See also here.)

"'We are non-citizens. They called us occupiers, but now they turn out [to be] occupiers themselves. This is Russia's land'."

Ethnic Russians living in the Baltic States speak out.

Eyes on Estonia

"Russia signaled concern on Wednesday at Estonia's treatment of its large ethnic Russian minority, comparing language policy in the Baltic state with what it said was a call in Ukraine to prevent the use of Russian."

See also here.

"He who would catch fish must not mind getting wet."

Yesterday's post about a Russian proverb sparked a search about other expressions (there's a particular, family favorite, I want to find, but it's not appearing yet). The saying about the fish is one of the proverbs illustrated here.

There's also a drawing there depicting Pushkin's Fisherman and the Fish.

На вкус и цвет това́рищей нет*

"In taste and colors, there are no friends." 

That's one of my Mom's favorite expressions. Mom grew up in a Lithuanian-speaking household. Her Parents, Jadzė and Jake, both spoke several languages, and Mom quickly picked up the Polish and German that occasionally slipped into conversations.

When her Parents didn't want Mom to understand something, they spoke in a more difficult language—Russian. Mom's Parents also entertained each other in the evenings by reading Russian novels aloud. Mom grew frustrated with these practices. She decided to teach herself Russian. Mom secretly made a set of Cyrillic-alphabet flashcards, and she spent time in her bedroom learning to read Russian.

Mom's Russian came in handy after she got married because her Mother-in-law—my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana—was Russian. My Parents and Tatjana continued the practice of switching to Russian when they didn't want me to figure out what they were saying. I've picked up a few Russian expressions, but I did not learn the language.**

What did you teach yourself?

Near Wasaga Beach, Canada, July 1960. I take the wheel of "The Swan."

*Pronunciation: Na vkus i tsvet [tzv]arischey n[y]et.

**Tatjana often called me a "Чёрт полосатый," (chyort polosatyy) or "striped devil." The Russian language preserves the tradition of associating stripes with the devil.

Stalin World

Grutas Park.

(Interviews conducted in ... Russian.)

Language Lessons

My paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, tried to teach me her native Russian language. It was a struggle. I learned only a few phrases (blue-tongued insults and foodie terms), and I now regret that Russian is not among the languages I understand fluidly.

Perhaps my disinterest in the Russian lessons stemmed from the books Tatjana used to teach me:

The only thing familiar about this book cover is the set of bows in the girl's hair.

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The boys wear the mandatory red neckkerchiefs.

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Tatjana thought my understanding would improve if she penciled in the meaning of the words above them in Lithuanian.

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The last pages of the book remind children about what's really important. Look! The right-hand page is torn out. Was it a picture of Stalin that someone ripped up?
  

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A later edition in the same series is not more inspiring.

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It, too, has lessons for the little comrades.

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Here's the 1959 French language book with which Tatjana had much more success.

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That's one lurky wolf!

On the Menu

My paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, did most of the cooking when I was growing up because my Mom worked a full-time job. Mom liked to bake, and she usually pitched in with holiday party preparations. But Tatjana was in charge of the everyday meals.

Tatjana also loved to entertain, and little satisfied her more than a Sunday party. Her food was the center of attention at these gatherings, and she stepped up her cooking game whenever guests arrived. We started out with zakuski: Russian appetizers. A homemade soup, often a chicken broth accompanied by meat of cabbage rolls, followed the zakuski. Although the main course usually consisted of a simple beef roast (well done, of course!!), Tatjana occasionally made Scalloped Potatoes and "Russian Cauliflower"—a cooked cauliflower covered with a sautéed mixture of breadcrumbs, onions, and parsley. Dessert often consisted of a Pavlova shell filled with vanilla ice cream and topped with defrosted, frozen strawberries in syrup. For holidays, Baba baked Babkas, a walnut torte, and—my least favorite food—poppy seed yeast roll.

All of this hard work rightly gave guests the impression that Tatjana was an amazing cook. On a day-to-day basis, however, her cooking was mediocre. Tatjana often made soup for dinner using a beef chuck roast. Once the soup was ready, she made a "brown sauce" for the meat and served that sauced, boiled beef as the main course—with a side of boiled potatoes. I hated that meal, but I loved it when she covered a boiled chicken from a chicken stock preparation with béchamel sauce and served that over rice. The meatloaf was dry. The cube steak was dusted in Lipton's French Onion Soup mix. Dessert was usually Jell-O. It seemed like a celebration when we had instant pudding instead of Jell-O.

Tatjana prepared spectacular Koldūnai, but she made them rarely. She never cooked the two Lithuanian signature dishes, Kugelis and Cepelinai.

The one "traditional" dish that Tatjana made was one I disliked intensely: Cabbage Rolls.* Tatjana mixed ground beef with rice, stuffed the leaves, and poured canned tomato soup over the rolls.

This week, I decided to overcome my dislike of Cabbage Rolls. Over the last few days, I created a hybrid Cabbage Roll recipe. Mom and I set it up this morning. We'll see if I like the Cabbage Rolls any more than when I was a little girl.

Suburban Chicago, Spring 1960. Tatjana looks tired after cooking. My high chair is behind her.

*Lithuanians call Cabbage Rolls "balandeliai," or "little doves." But Tatjana was Russian, and she did the cooking. So we called Cabbage Rolls by their Russian name, "Golubsti." We added the Lithuanian declination to the noun, of course, so the word became "Golubstai."