Why we don't know much about Stalin.

"Americans might be less receptive because of our own mythology of the Second World War. Anything that detracts from that simplified portrait is often unwelcome. Tales of Nazi horrors inflate the American experience and place American efforts front and center. Discussion of the central role of the Soviet Union, and its 20 million dead, deflates American experience and pushes American efforts to the margins."

Romanticism

Between Naples and Rome, May 1984. People have visions of what European train travel looks like. This is how I remember it.

Class Notes (Part 2)

Kaunas, Lithuania, 1934. Friends weren't the only ones who wrote in Mom's memento booklet. Here, Mom's Dad, Jake, drew a "nykštukas" (elf) and wrote, "For memories! From your Dad."

Pooled

Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming, July 1966. This is not a pool for Narcissus.

We are fine.

I wrote earlier about my fear of tornadoes. I once drove into a tornadic storm on Interstate 57 between Champaign and Rantoul, Illinois. My fear of dangerous weather intensified when I lived in South Carolina and saw the damage created by Hurricane Hugo.

When I moved to Madison twenty years ago, locals assured me that tornadoes were not likely to hit this area because of the city's proximity to multiple lakes. Foolish myth!* Since we've lived here, tornadoes have hit near us three times: Madison's west side in 2004; Stoughton in 2005; and last night, in Verona.

Mr. Irene and I hadn't fallen asleep yet when the sirens went off yesterday. We're normally cautious when the National Weather Service issues a warning, but this one caught us off guard. We were about to head to the basement only as the storm hit, about three miles south of us.

Madison, Wisconsin, June 2004. This was the view near where Mr. Irene's Parents live.

*UPDATE: A meteorologist discusses the lake myth here.

Kelpies, rising.

"Kelpies are mythical Scottish water beasts, generally malevolent in nature, and able to assume many different forms. The Loch Ness 'monster' should perhaps be more accurately described as a kelpie, and in Scottish song, art and literature, kelpies most often take the shape of a horse."

The Legend of Wilhelm Tell

Tellskapelle, Switzerland, July 1971. We're observing the visitors at the Wilhelm Tell chapel.

That is a large snake.

Palanga, Lithuanian Soviet Socialist Republic, about 1964. My Kaunas Cousin visits the "Eglė Žalčių Karalienė" statue.

Visiting the Sculpture

Palanga, Lithuanian Soviet Socialist Republic, about 1964. My Kaunas Cousin sits next to the famous sculpture of Jūratė ir Kastytis.

Jūratė and Kastytis

The Lithuanian folk legend about "Jūratė ir Kastytis" is as famous as the story of "Eglė žalčių karalienė." A landmark statute of Jūratė and Kastytis stands in a square in the city of Palanga.

Like the sculpture of Eglė, Queen of the Grass Snakes, this monument is another celebrated spot for picture-taking.

Palanga, Lithuanian Soviet Socialist Republic, August 10, 1967. My Mom's maternal aunt, Dora, touches the sculpture. Dora writes,"Here I am next to the sculpture, 'Jūratė ir Kastytis,' which stands on the sunset walkway leading to the sea bridge in Palanga."

Eglė, Queen of the Grass Snakes

"Eglė žalčių karalienė" is a Lithuanian fairy tale grounded in Baltic mythology.

A sculpture of Eglė stands in the Palanga Botanical Park.

My Mom's maternal aunt, Dora, liked the sculpture. If you're new to the blog and don't know who Dora is, then click on the "Dora" label below.

Palanga, Lithuanian Soviet Socialist Republic, August 10, 1967. Dora—second from left—poses with two friends in front of the sculpture of Eglė.

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UPDATE: The sculpture remains a favorite spot for snapshots. My Toronto Cousin sent this photo of two of her children at the "Eglė žalčių karalienė" in August, 2011:

A School Play

My Dad sometimes pulled this photograph out as evidence that he and my Mom were once children. I used to be amazed by it because I couldn't imagine that my Parents ever were that young.

I don't know what play the children were staging here. But it's a happy scene, and the teacher—on the right, in the 1920s-style head scarf—seems to have everyone under control.

Let the sun shine in!

Kaunas, Lithuania, about 1928. My Dad sits in the front row. He's the second boy, from the left, wearing the beak mask that covers his face. My Mom is in the penultimate row, in the center, with her hands forming the "M" over her head.

The bearded elves in the front row are saluting the photographer, and the fairies have their arms outstretched. Could this have been a reenactment of some Lithuanian pagan myth?