Spring Ritual

Kaunas, Lithuanian Soviet Socialist Republic, June 1973. Dora tends to the plot where Zigmunta (Dora's Mother), Jadzė (Dora's Sister), and Dora' first husband are buried.

Dora wrote, "Here I didn't know I was being photographed, but I liked this photo more than the other one."

A Closer Look (Part 35)

Mariampolis, Lithuania, 1927. This is my Great-Grandmother Zigmunta. Although she married a clever and curious man, Zigmunta remained unhappy. After the war, Zigmunta lived with her daughter, Dora, in the house my Mom's parents had built.

Here's the original post.

A Closer Look (Part 16)

Mariampolis, Lithuania, December 24, 1936. My Mom cherishes her Christmas gift. The doll may be wearing Polish folkdress; Mom's maternal Grandmother, Zigmunta, was Polish.

Here's the original post for this photo.

A Closer Look (Part 15)

Mariampolis, Lithuania, December 24, 1936. My Mom's maternal Grandmother, Zigmunta, holds one of the "Pupsikas" dogs.

Here's the original post for this photo.

A Closer Look (Part 8)

Mariampolis, Lithuania, 1927. This is Edvardas, my Mom's maternal Uncle. Edvardas was a pianist (like his father, Silvestras). He graduated from the Königsberg Sondershausen music conservatory. After finishing school, Edvardas did not find a job as a professional musician in Lithuania. He instead worked as a secretary at the Army College where his sister Jadzė's husband—my maternal Grandfather, Jake—was an officer.

One evening, when the family gathered for dinner at the home of my Mom's maternal Grandparents, Edvardas complained of a stomach ache. Jake thought the problem was not serious and insisted Edvardas drink a shot of brandy spiked with ground black pepper to alleviate the pain. Edvardas suffered a ruptured appendix and died shortly after that meal. He was 29 years old.

A Closer Look (Part 4)

 

Mariampolis, Lithuania, 1920. This is my Mom's maternal Grandmother, Zigmunta. She's here, in her later years. Here's the original post.

We celebrate Kūčios together.

Mariampolis, Lithuania, December 24, 1936. I posted this photo earlier here, but it's the one that comes to mind for me on Christmas Eve. We'll be sharing the Kūčios meal later tonight.

Memorial Visit

  

Kaunas, Lithuanian Soviet Socialist Republic, June 25, 1973. My Mom's maternal aunt, Dora, and her second husband visit the grave of her Mother Zigmunta, her Sister Jadzė, and her first husband.

On the back of the photo, which Dora mailed to my Mom, Dora wrote a detailed explanation of what flowers she had planted at the grave. She particularly noted the ferns and provided a narrative about why they didn't seem to be growing well.

Dora lived for another twenty years.

"We all were together; everyone was happy then."

That's what my Mom's maternal Aunt, Dora, wrote* on the back of this photo when she mailed it to my Mom later, in the 1960s. Dora, of course, was shading a memory with the taint of future events.

My Mom's family traveled every Christmas from their home in Kaunas to Mariampolis, where my Mom's maternal Grandparents lived. The family made the trip by train. Back then, the 51 kilometer journey seemed like a long haul. My maternal Grandmother, Jadzė, packed sandwiches for the trip, and the train rattled along for over three hours, stopping at every small station on the way.

My Mom's maternal Grandfather, Silvestras, greeted the family as it arrived at the Mariampolis station. Silvestras rented a horse-drawn sleigh for the occasion, and he tied bells to the reins.

The visit to Mariampolis was a chance for Mom again to spend time with her friend Joy. My Mom's family and Joy's family celebrated Christmas Day together.

Mariampolis, Lithuania, December 25, 1936. In the center of the shot stands my Mom, with her hair in braids and her eyes partially closed. Jadzė is in front of Mom and quickly turns to her left to look at her uniformed husband, Jake. Joy is behind my Mom's right shoulder, stepping up on her toes and looking to her left over everyone. Dora is directly to my Mom's right; she's easy to identify because of her dimple. The other folks are Joy's Parents and relatives.

*     *     *     *    *

* "Čia Marijampolėje pas mus Kalėdos; visi buvome kartu, visi laimingi …"

Cheer up everybody; Kūčios is almost here.

Kūčios, or Christmas Eve, is a magical time of traditions and love. Santa Claus delivers gifts to Lithuanian children on the evening of Kūčios because Lithuanian boys and girls are extra special.

Mariampolis, Lithuania, December 24, 1936. Kūčios evening. My Mom, with braids, holds a doll outfitted in folkdress. That doll likely was her Christmas gift that year. Seated from left to right are my maternal Grandfather Jake, my Mom's maternal Grandfather Silvestras, my Mom's maternal Aunt Dora, my Mom's maternal Grandmother Zigmunta, and my Maternal Grandmother Jadzė.

Zigmunta is holding "Pupsikas," her little fawn Chihuahua dog. 

Do you go to Grandma's house for Christmas?

My Mom used to travel from Kaunas to Mariampolis to spend Christmas with her maternal Grandparents, Silvestras and Zigmunta.

Mom remembers the vividly colored, German-made, glass ornaments that hung on the tree.

Mariampolis, Lithuania, December 25, 1936. My Mom's maternal Grandfather, Silvestras, sits at his piano while his wife, Zigmunta, looks like she has something on her mind.

UPDATE: Recall that my Mom celebrated Easter with her paternal Grandparents.

Lifelong Friends

My Mom's closest childhood friend didn't live in the same city as Mom. She instead was from Mariampolis, the town in which Mom's maternal Grandparents, Silvestras and Zigmunta, resided.

As a result, Mom usually saw this friend only during the summers and Christmas holidays.

I'll call the friend "Joy."

Joy did not get out of Lithuania. She and her family were among those deported to Siberia in 1941. Joy spent seventeen years in Siberian exile.

When Joy returned to Lithuania, she reconnected with Dora, who by then had moved into the house in which my Mom had lived. Joy kept an eye on Dora until Dora died.

Joy, like Dora, was one of the people who mailed to us many of the old photos that I post here.

Panemunė, Lithuania, about 1927. My Mom—the child on the right, wearing dark tights—stands in front of my maternal Grandmother, Jadzė, as they visit with Joy and her family. Mom and Joy grew close because their mothers had been childhood friends.

Renaissance Man

Like his daughter Dora, my Great-Grandfather Silvestras was an intriguing character. Had he been born in my generation, then Silvestras would have been a visionary innovator poised on the edge of technological genius.

We aren't certain how Silvestras—literally—came to win Zigmunta's hand. Despite the peculiar start to their marriage, Silvestras and Zigmunta raised three children together: Edvardas, who died of a ruptured appendix on the cusp of his thirtieth birthday; my maternal Grandmother, Jadzė, who fell to cancer in her early forties, and; Dora, who lived into her mid-nineties, and who died one year after Lithuania regained its independence.

Silvestras first worked in a high school as a music and piano teacher. That profession grew less attractive once Silvestras saw that students don't take music and art teachers seriously. One afternoon—probably in the late 1920s—pupils started pummeling Silvestras with paper airplanes as he sat at his piano bench, his back to the class. That was the last day he taught in a school.

Silvestras then devoted the remainder of his career to piano tuning and repair.

My Mom spent summer vacations in Mariampolis, Lithuania, at the home of her Grandparents. She has textured memories of Silvestras. Silvestras grew his own tobacco. He dried the harvested leaves in the attic. On summer days, Silvestras sat at the dining room table methodically clipping the dried tobacco while he read Jules Verne's Around the World in Eighty Days aloud to my Mom.

Silvestras, like many Lithuanian men, exceled in the folk art of woodcarving. He created toys for my Mom and often crafted walking sticks—another form native art. Silvestras once carved a "špyga," a crude hand gesture, onto the head of a walking stick. Rattling a špyga is equivalent to "giving the finger" in the United States. When someone agitated Silverstras, Silvestras shook the walking stick in the offender's face, thereby avoiding making the impolite gesture himself.

Silvestras carved a violin. He also designed and built a working thermometer and barometer that seems to have been modeled on a cuckoo clock. When the weather was sunny, two wooden children would emerge from the device carrying flower bouquets. When it rained, they stepped out with umbrellas over their heads.

Finally, Silvestras was a master gardener. He grafted branches so that different varieties of fruit would mature on the same tree. Silvestras grew wonderful apples from which he fermented a sweet wine. He even kept a bee hive, and he designed a centrifuge to collect the honey.

Silvestras traveled alone in 1941 to spend Christmas with my Mom's family in Kaunas. Silvestras was in his mid-eighties, and the Nazis had just begun their occupation of Lithuania. Silvestras fell ill and, without antibiotics available to assist him, he acquired pneumonia and died.

Mariampolis, Lithuania, December 24, 1936. My Mom's maternal Grandfather, Silvestras, tunes a piano. The portrait on the top the piano is this one.

Dora and Zigmunta, Later

I introduced my Mom's maternal Aunt, Dora, and my Mom's maternal Grandmother, Zigmunta, in an early post.

After the Soviets occupied Lithuania in 1944, Dora and Zigmunta continued to live in Jadzė's and Jake's house.

Zigmunta and Dora loved little dogs. Dora wrote the dog's name, "Pupsikas" (pronounced "Poop-sick-us") on the back of this photo. "Pupsikas" is a Lithuanian diminutive for "Pupa," a word that means "little bean." It's an affectionate term.

My Mom, for example, has called me "Pupulė" for much of my life.

We've raised two dogs,  Pupa and Poppy, who had similar names. I once told a friend that my dog's name means "little bean" in Lithuanian. He responded, "In English, it just means 'shit'."

Kaunas, Lithuanian Soviet Socialist Republic, August 10, 1957. Dora sits with her Mother, Zigmunta, and the Chihuahua / Miniature Pinscher dog, Pupsikas.

She wasn't left behind; she stayed behind.

My Mom's maternal Aunt, Dora, did not flee Lithuania when my Mom and her Father left in 1944. We are not sure why Dora stayed behind.

Dora remained in Kaunas. She lived in the house that Jake and Jadzė had built in the early 1930s. Dora's Husband, her Mother, Zigmunta, and a series of Chihuahuas and Miniature Pinschers shared the home with her. Dora lived into her nineties, and so did Zigmunta.

You may recognize these steps from an earlier post:

Kaunas, Lithuanian Soviet Socialist Republic, 1956. Dora sits with her doggie, "Pupkė," on the front steps. My Mom's maternal Grandmother, Zigmunta, rests in the back, on the bench.

Click on the "Dora" tag below to get a better picture of her story.

I fill in a missing link.

I  don't have many images of my Great-Grandparents, and I've posted most of them here. Early on, I talked about photos of my Mom's maternal Grandparents and her paternal Grandparents.

I also introduced my Dad's maternal Grandparents.

Here is my Dad's paternal Grandfather, Ambrose. He was born in 1838, and I think this photo dates from the late 1870s: 

 

Ambrose, like his son, Vytautas , served in the Russian Imperial Army during the years when Lithuania was part of the Russian Empire. I have two modern-day relatives who are dead ringers for Ambrose.

Here is Ambrose's wife, my Dad's paternal Grandmother, Salomea. She was much younger than Ambrose; she was born in 1859. I believe she sat for this photo in about 1905:

 

When I first saw Salomea's photo, I said, "Check out that fur vest." Next, I thought, "Wow! What an exotic name." I then looked up its meaning. It's a Polish name that means "peace." My name, "Irene," means "peace" in Greek. That's a connection that never came to mind.

I wish my name were "Salomea" instead of "Irene."

Sometimes a winning hand is a losing proposition.

My Mom's maternal Grandmother, Zigmunta, was Polish. When she was about sixteen years old, her father challenged a young buck visiting from Lithuania to a card game. Her father, his confidence likely fueled by vodka, declared that if the Lithuanian won the game, then he would surrender his daughter's hand in marriage to the foreigner.

Later that night, Zigmunta learned that she would be the wife of Silvestras. She packed her dolls and moved to Lithuania. And so began a lifetime of bitterness and disappointment.

Mariampolis, Lithuania, 1905. Zigmunta sat for this formal portrait perhaps six or seven years into her marriage with Silvestras. My Mom recalls that Zigmunta, her maternal Grandmother, always called my Mom "Paršiva Litewka." That's a combination of (rather coarse) Lithuanian and Polish that means "nasty Lithuanian girl."

Dora Gets Her Wish

My Mother's maternal Aunt, Teodora ("Dora"), liked it when people paid attention to her. An auburn filly with green eyes and a porcelain complexion, Dora was a rare beauty in the mousy Baltic States. Her fashion sense was keen, and photos show her transforming from Gibson Girl to Flapper to Glamorous Vixen. Even in the steely, Soviet 1950s, Dora looked like an unpracticed double for Joan Crawford.

Dora also was, as relatives whispered delicately, "ahead of her time." In the 1920s and 1930s, she worked full time as a paralegal in a large notarial office whose most important clients were British. At night, Dora played the background keyboards in cinema houses for silent movies. In dour Lithuania, she wore sleeveless dresses sewn in bright colors. She waited until her thirties to marry. When she did wed, she married a twice-divorced man, and she chose not to have children.

Mariampolis, Lithuania, 1920. This is my Mother's maternal Grandmother, Zigmunta, and my Mother's maternal Aunt, Dora.

Nothing Here is Chronological

I have hundreds of family photos dating back to the 1860s. How they land here will depend on what interests me. I can't be tied to a linear path. That would keep me from posting snapshots that date from a year or decade that this blog already covered.

Besides, I don't think in a linear way. The stories will fit together once I've exposed more pieces.

For example:

Mariampolis, Lithuania, 1927. My Mother's Maternal Grandparents (Zigmunta and Silvestras), her wild Aunt Dora, and her Uncle Edvardas, who died at the age of 29 from a ruptured appendix (that appendix problem seems to run on both sides of the family). Flapper!