December 23, 2011
Toboggan Pull
Suburban Chicago, December 1965. Our neighbor hitches a toboggan to his VW Minibus to take the kids for a spin. I am the little one on the far left.
Welcome to Marquette Park
Related by Marriage: Meet the Butcher
Mr. Irene and I visited an upscale grocery store today to pick up some additional items for our Kūčios table. We stopped at the meat counter to look at some of the unusual sausages for sale. While there, we asked the butcher whether he carried any potato sausages. A coworker asked the butcher what potato sausages were, and the butcher paused, explaining that they were a "Swedish" food. When Mr. Irene and I burst out that Lithuanians eat potato sausages too, the butcher laughed and told us that he, too, is Lithuanian.
It was nice to meet you today, butcher Paul. This post is for you.
Mr. Irene's maternal Grandfather, Stanley, was a Lithuanian butcher. For a time, he ran a butcher shop and small grocery store in Brighton Park, near the intersection of 44th and Fairchild. He owned the place for about ten years, but it went under during the Great Depression. In the mid-1930s, Stanley began working for Benjamin Moore, which then had a plant on Chicago's South Side. When Benjamin Moore relocated its operation to suburban Melrose Park, Stanley continued to work for the company, commuting daily from his home in Marquette Park.
After Mr. Irene's Parents married, Stanley helped Mr. Irene's Dad get a job at Benjamin Moore. My Father-in-Law mixed paint at Benjamin Moore for over thirty-five years.
When Stanley retired from Benjamin Moore, he again worked as a butcher, this time on a part-time basis in a Marquette Park shop.
Brighton Park, Chicago, 1925. Mr. Irene's maternal Grandfather, Stanley, stands behind the counter of the butcher shop. The man on the counter's other side is a distributor, and the men posed for this photo to commemorate the distributor's visit.
It was nice to meet you today, butcher Paul. This post is for you.
Mr. Irene's maternal Grandfather, Stanley, was a Lithuanian butcher. For a time, he ran a butcher shop and small grocery store in Brighton Park, near the intersection of 44th and Fairchild. He owned the place for about ten years, but it went under during the Great Depression. In the mid-1930s, Stanley began working for Benjamin Moore, which then had a plant on Chicago's South Side. When Benjamin Moore relocated its operation to suburban Melrose Park, Stanley continued to work for the company, commuting daily from his home in Marquette Park.
After Mr. Irene's Parents married, Stanley helped Mr. Irene's Dad get a job at Benjamin Moore. My Father-in-Law mixed paint at Benjamin Moore for over thirty-five years.
When Stanley retired from Benjamin Moore, he again worked as a butcher, this time on a part-time basis in a Marquette Park shop.
Brighton Park, Chicago, 1925. Mr. Irene's maternal Grandfather, Stanley, stands behind the counter of the butcher shop. The man on the counter's other side is a distributor, and the men posed for this photo to commemorate the distributor's visit.
Kūčios at the Žirgynas
Seligenstadt, Germany, December 24, probably 1946. The residents of the Žirgynas celebrate Christmas Eve.
Christmas Manners: The Cherished Gift
If you get a gift for Christmas that is exactly what you wanted, then show your joy by hanging onto the gift during dinner.
Suburban Chicago, December 24, 1966. Mom helps me out with some Kūčios choices. We are at my Godmother's elegant home. Santa Claus brought me this doll, which wears a pink, fleece onesie, because I expressed jealously after my Parents bought the identical doll for my Dad's Goddaughter. The instant I saw that doll, I wanted one. Santa obliged. I thought it was the most realistic doll I had ever seen.
Suburban Chicago, December 24, 1966. Mom helps me out with some Kūčios choices. We are at my Godmother's elegant home. Santa Claus brought me this doll, which wears a pink, fleece onesie, because I expressed jealously after my Parents bought the identical doll for my Dad's Goddaughter. The instant I saw that doll, I wanted one. Santa obliged. I thought it was the most realistic doll I had ever seen.
December 22, 2011
If you plan to take a nap, then cover up and go to sleep.
Suburban Chicago, Spring 1962. My paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, and I share a chaise lounge on the patio of the backyard.
College Kid
Evanston, Illinois, April 1978. I don't know what I was thinking here, and I don't remember who took this photo. I'm sitting in my dorm room, wearing a red, embroidered tunic that I bought in Greece in 1976.
Oh my.
Here's one of the snapshots my Dad chose to paste into the "little Irene" photo album. He decided I would appreciate this alligatorscape.
Dad knew I had some unusual, non-girly hobbies. He also was sure that I liked reptiles.
Brookfield Zoo, Illinois, 1962. My Dad and I visit the alligator exhibit.
Dad knew I had some unusual, non-girly hobbies. He also was sure that I liked reptiles.
Brookfield Zoo, Illinois, 1962. My Dad and I visit the alligator exhibit.
Passport Photos
I realized that I'd let my passport expire. I used to travel often, but in the last twenty years, I've not ventured overseas. Now that we can't cross into Canada with just a driver's license, I'll have to get an updated passport.
Our old photo stash contains multiple versions of passport photos for each member of the family. Why did Lithuanians regularly keep valid passports? When one lives in a small country that historically has been subject to frequent occupations, it's a good idea to have a passport: you never know when you'll have to leave.
Seligenstadt, Germany, 1947 or 1948. This is the passport photo my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, used when she emigrated to the United States.
Our old photo stash contains multiple versions of passport photos for each member of the family. Why did Lithuanians regularly keep valid passports? When one lives in a small country that historically has been subject to frequent occupations, it's a good idea to have a passport: you never know when you'll have to leave.
Seligenstadt, Germany, 1947 or 1948. This is the passport photo my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, used when she emigrated to the United States.
Share a Toast with Friends
Seligenstadt, Germany, 1946. My maternal Grandfather, Jake, raises a glass with his friend Karl, the tailor. The men sit in someone's room in the DP camp's barracks for single men, the Žirgynas. There's a photo of a woman on the wall, but I can't make out who it is.
December 21, 2011
The Winter Solstice …
… arrives here at 11:30 pm CST.
We look forward to Spring as the days grow longer.
Verona, Wisconsin, 2008. Sunrise over snow.
We look forward to Spring as the days grow longer.
Verona, Wisconsin, 2008. Sunrise over snow.
Would you like to watch TV?
My Parents moved into my childhood home shortly before I was born. They were its first owners.
The home was part of a new development of split-level homes. My Mom remembers that people laughed when the homes first went up for sale. Old timers in the area thought the homes were cheaply built, and they believed the homes would not last very long. As the years passed, however, the development came to be considered the more "affluent" part of our working-class community.
Young families rushed to buy the houses. When the homes first went up for sale, people stood in line, overnight, to sign purchasing contracts. My Parents missed that queue, but they bought a home whose initial offer had fallen through.
Suburban Chicago, Winter 1957. My Mom admires the television. It must be brand new because the packet of instructions hangs on the back of the set. Mom stands in a corner of the living room.
Related by Marriage: Birthday Party
Children born during the holiday season—any time between Thanksgiving and the Feast of the Epiphany—make out well with birthday gifts. Parents and relatives worry that the holidays will overshadow the child's special day. They consequently celebrate the winter birthday in style.
Suburban Chicago, Winter 1964. Mr. Irene (the little guy with the bowtie and suspenders) enjoys his Birthday. From left to right are Aunt M, Aunt M's husband Wally, and Mr. Irene's Mom. Some cars with "fin" fenders appear through the window.
Suburban Chicago, Winter 1964. Mr. Irene (the little guy with the bowtie and suspenders) enjoys his Birthday. From left to right are Aunt M, Aunt M's husband Wally, and Mr. Irene's Mom. Some cars with "fin" fenders appear through the window.
Tea Party with the Gentlemen
My Parents threw a dinner party, and they found it reasonable for me to host a tea for the men before the meal got under way.
Indulge me!
Indulge me!
Suburban Chicago, December 1961. The Lithuanian men-folk gather around my play table. The phonograph lid is open. That means there will be dancing in the Rec Room later in the evening.
Christmas Manners: The Expected Gift
If you get a gift that you anticipated, then feign surprise.
Suburban Chicago, December 24, 1966. I squeal with delight as I open a gift from my Godmother. It's a child-sized, zippered, red suitcase. She probably gave it to me because our family was about to make its first summer trip to Glacier National Park. We traveled to Glacier based on my Godmother's recommendation, and she and her family joined us in Montana for part of our vacation. My Godmother's father sits behind us.
The little red suitcase lives on. We use it to pack books and magazines when we take road trips.
Suburban Chicago, December 24, 1966. I squeal with delight as I open a gift from my Godmother. It's a child-sized, zippered, red suitcase. She probably gave it to me because our family was about to make its first summer trip to Glacier National Park. We traveled to Glacier based on my Godmother's recommendation, and she and her family joined us in Montana for part of our vacation. My Godmother's father sits behind us.
The little red suitcase lives on. We use it to pack books and magazines when we take road trips.
Rec Room Tree
My Dad created a photo album for me when I was little. The album differed from the two annual albums—one color and one black-and-white—into which he arranged the year's family photos. The "little Irene" album featured photos that my Dad thought I, as a little girl, would enjoy seeing repeatedly. For example, the album had a photo of my favorite toys. There was a snapshot of me hugging a cherished doll. Dad even included several photos that he took of the television screen while Dr. Kildare aired because he knew I had a crush on Dr. Kildare. The album had multiple black-and-white shots of zoo animals.
The "little Irene" photo album is in rough shape because I flipped through it a lot when I was a kid. Photos are missing, pages are frayed, and the cover is worn. But the album remains a goldmine because each time I spot a photo, I remember something about way back when. It also gives me a special feeling because it causes me to reflect on what my Dad found important and interesting in my childhood.
Today I ran across this photograph of a Christmas tree. The tree stood in our Rec Room before my Parents redecorated the room. It's easy to see the avocado-green floor tile and the hot-water heater registers. The lamp on the left had appliquéd butterflies on it. My Parents were tight with cash, and they couldn't spend money on artwork. So on the walls, they hung paint-by-number canvases that my maternal Grandfather, Jake, had done. I remember that one of the paint-by-numbers was of two Springer Spaniels alerting to some ducks in flight. I fixated on that image. After the Rec Room got updated, the paint-by-number artwork moved to the basement.
I don't remember that a Christmas tree ever stood in the Rec Room, so this photo didn't trigger any holiday memories. I think Dad included it because one of my little handpainted chairs from the play table stands in front of the tree. Who knows—maybe he was trying to get a picture of me sitting in the chair in front of the tree, and I bolted.
Suburban Chicago, December 1961. The next year, the tree stood in the living room.
The "little Irene" photo album is in rough shape because I flipped through it a lot when I was a kid. Photos are missing, pages are frayed, and the cover is worn. But the album remains a goldmine because each time I spot a photo, I remember something about way back when. It also gives me a special feeling because it causes me to reflect on what my Dad found important and interesting in my childhood.
Today I ran across this photograph of a Christmas tree. The tree stood in our Rec Room before my Parents redecorated the room. It's easy to see the avocado-green floor tile and the hot-water heater registers. The lamp on the left had appliquéd butterflies on it. My Parents were tight with cash, and they couldn't spend money on artwork. So on the walls, they hung paint-by-number canvases that my maternal Grandfather, Jake, had done. I remember that one of the paint-by-numbers was of two Springer Spaniels alerting to some ducks in flight. I fixated on that image. After the Rec Room got updated, the paint-by-number artwork moved to the basement.
I don't remember that a Christmas tree ever stood in the Rec Room, so this photo didn't trigger any holiday memories. I think Dad included it because one of my little handpainted chairs from the play table stands in front of the tree. Who knows—maybe he was trying to get a picture of me sitting in the chair in front of the tree, and I bolted.
Suburban Chicago, December 1961. The next year, the tree stood in the living room.
December 20, 2011
Christmas Shoppers on State Street
Chicago Loop, December 1962. Dad took this photo on the same day when he snapped Mom and me pausing at the subway stop.
UPDATE: Attention shoppers: Mr. Irene just did some homework for us. The store in the foreground, on the right, is Wieboldt's. Marshall Field's is to the north, in the next block, in front of the Chicago Theater.
Related by Marriage: We're Engaged!
Marquette Park, Chicago, December 31, 1957. Mr. Irene's Parents take a spin on the dance floor.
The Rockies in July
During one of our family vacations in Montana, we left Glacier National Park earlier than usual and drove north through Alberta, Canada, and into British Columbia. We made it as far as the Alaskan Highway in Mom's gold Buick LeSabre (with automatic transmission).
We had many memorable moments during this trip. Although many places were astonishingly beautiful, the spot that left me breathless was the Ice Fields Parkway. It's an impressive destination.
We decided that despite the beauty of the Canadian Rockies, we all still preferred to vacation in Glacier. So that is the spot to which we returned.
Logan Pass, Glacier National Park, Montana, July 1968. Mom and I negotiate a snow bank. I wear my kelly-green, Ranger Rick Jacket. Mom wears a nose guard, as she always does, to protect against sunburn.
We had many memorable moments during this trip. Although many places were astonishingly beautiful, the spot that left me breathless was the Ice Fields Parkway. It's an impressive destination.
We decided that despite the beauty of the Canadian Rockies, we all still preferred to vacation in Glacier. So that is the spot to which we returned.
Logan Pass, Glacier National Park, Montana, July 1968. Mom and I negotiate a snow bank. I wear my kelly-green, Ranger Rick Jacket. Mom wears a nose guard, as she always does, to protect against sunburn.
Are you studying for finals?
It's time again to study for exams.
Work hard and get plenty of sleep.
Erlangen, Germany, 1946. Mom does some medical-school homework.
Work hard and get plenty of sleep.
Erlangen, Germany, 1946. Mom does some medical-school homework.
Meet the New Guys
Schweinfurt, Germany, about 1946. Lithuanian DPs greet members of the U.S. Army, the new commanders of the Displaced Persons Camp.
Schweinfurt, Germany, about 1946. The American addresses the DPs. On the left stand members of the Lithuanian Sea Scouts, and on the right, members of the Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts.
December 19, 2011
A Crèche without Controversy
We visited the life-size Nativity display at Amling's Flowerland every December. Looking back at those photos now, I realize what a big impression the little Bethlehem made on me.
Melrose Park, Illinois, December 1965. It's a good thing I brought my Brownie camera.
Melrose Park, December 1965. This is my favorite place to be at Christmas time.
Melrose Park, Illinois, December 1965. I seem to have a sense of the meaning of Christmas.
Melrose Park, Illinois, December 1965. It's a good thing I brought my Brownie camera.
Melrose Park, December 1965. This is my favorite place to be at Christmas time.
Melrose Park, Illinois, December 1965. I seem to have a sense of the meaning of Christmas.
Christmas Manners: The Unwanted Gift
If you get a Christmas gift that you didn't want, like the "Tammy" doll, then politely set it on the piano bench and play with something else.
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Suburban Chicago, December 24, 1962. We're opening presents because it's the evening of Kūčios. Mom and my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, clean up the wrapping paper mess. I've set aside the toys that I don't like: the Tammy doll and a "Little Play Nurse" set.
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Suburban Chicago, December 24, 1962. We're opening presents because it's the evening of Kūčios. Mom and my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, clean up the wrapping paper mess. I've set aside the toys that I don't like: the Tammy doll and a "Little Play Nurse" set.
Related by Marriage: Smile for the Camera
Dad's Favorite Photo of Himself
My Dad usually was clean shaven, but he sometimes grew a moustache when we were on vacation.
Glacier National Park, Montana, July 1968. Dad used a self-timer to take this photograph. This photo captures an expression that I have missed for the last twenty-five years.
Glacier National Park, Montana, July 1968. Dad used a self-timer to take this photograph. This photo captures an expression that I have missed for the last twenty-five years.
December 18, 2011
Preparing for Christmas Eve (Kūčios)
Another Tea Party
My Dad indulged my little-girl whims. He gladly, for example, participated in my tea parties. Tea parties were fine practice for the real thing.
By the time we had this tea party, my Parents already had remodeled the Rec Room.
Suburban Chicago, November 1966. Dad and I enjoy a Sunday tea in the Rec Room. We're sitting on the relatively new couch, a Danish modern number with rust, gold, and brown stripes. The sofa was almost identical to this one. It had two matching chairs, similar to the ones posted here.
A Class Portrait
My Mom's medical-school classmates pose for a photo. I earlier posted a photo of this group as they first gathered for this snapshot.
Most of these students were Displaced Persons.
Erlangen, Germany, 1946 or 1947, My Mom stands in the second row, on the far left.
Most of these students were Displaced Persons.
Erlangen, Germany, 1946 or 1947, My Mom stands in the second row, on the far left.
Remember your childhood friends.
Kaunas, Lithuania, about 1933. My Mom and her friend enjoy a summer day.
Sunday at the Zoo
My Dad took me to Brookfield Zoo nearly every Sunday. We usually made the short drive to the zoo in the morning, while my Mom made her daily rounds at the hospitals. By the time she was done with those visits, Dad and I returned home, and my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, had dinner ready for us. Like most Europeans, we ate our main meal at midday.
This photo is unusual because here, Mom joined us at the zoo. That made this visit a special outing.
This photo is unusual because here, Mom joined us at the zoo. That made this visit a special outing.
Brookfield Zoo, December 1966. Mom is not carrying a large pocketbook; that's her gold, vinyl knitting bag. It's still in constant use. I hang onto my Brownie Camera.
Air Raid
Traveling near Gleiwitz, Germany, 1944. A group of refugees moves between trains. My Mom wrote on the back of this photo, "My first air raid."
December 17, 2011
Get in line and get with Santa.
Verona, Wisconsin, December 24, 2007. Rudolph and company scamper to meet up with Santa in time for the sleigh deliveries.
Going to see "The Nutcracker."
Chicago, Illinois, December 1966. Mom and I arrive at McCormick Place for a performance of "The Nutcracker." The original McCormick Place burned in an historic fire thirteen months later.
Writing Christmas cards is hard work.
Every year, we procrastinate.
Suburban Chicago, December 1965. First, I have to think about what I'm going to say.
Suburban Chicago, December 1965. Then I ponder what I'm not going to say.
Suburban Chicago, December 1965. Finally, I turn away from the camera and get to work.
Suburban Chicago, December 1965. First, I have to think about what I'm going to say.
* * * * *
Suburban Chicago, December 1965. Then I ponder what I'm not going to say.
* * * * *
Suburban Chicago, December 1965. Finally, I turn away from the camera and get to work.
* * * * *
In these photos, I wear a lovely perwinkle blue and white dress that my Mom knitted.
Related by Marriage: The Bridesmaid
This is Petra, the spinster sister of Mr. Irene's maternal Grandmother, Anna. Petra served as a bridesmaid at the wedding of Anna and Stanley.
Petra worked throughout her life. When she first emigrated to the United States, Petra sewed in clothing factories. Later she crafted hats in millinery plants. Perhaps that's how Petra had a path to buying some first-rate, fashionable toppers. She was nimble with a needle.
St. George's Parish, Bridgeport, Chicago, June 1917. Petra lived out her entire life in Anna and Stanley's homes.
Petra worked throughout her life. When she first emigrated to the United States, Petra sewed in clothing factories. Later she crafted hats in millinery plants. Perhaps that's how Petra had a path to buying some first-rate, fashionable toppers. She was nimble with a needle.
St. George's Parish, Bridgeport, Chicago, June 1917. Petra lived out her entire life in Anna and Stanley's homes.
A First Encounter with Snow ...
... for Poppy:
Middleton, Wisconsin, December 17, 2011. Poppy embraces her first snowfall.
Middleton, Wisconsin, December 17, 2011. Poppy embraces her first snowfall.
The Second Snowfall
We have not had much snow this year. There was just enough to make shoveling necessary.
Suburban Chicago, December 1961. My Mom clears the driveway before she heads out to the office. She often shoveled because she left for work before my Dad did.
Suburban Chicago, December 1961. Mom's hat is adorable.
Suburban Chicago, 1961. Even when the shoveling is done, there is still more work to do.
Suburban Chicago, December 1961. My Mom clears the driveway before she heads out to the office. She often shoveled because she left for work before my Dad did.
Suburban Chicago, December 1961. Mom's hat is adorable.
Suburban Chicago, 1961. Even when the shoveling is done, there is still more work to do.
December 16, 2011
I experience a little excitement.
This evening, I went to my favorite local yarn shop and café, the Sow's Ear, to attend the bimonthly "Late Night Knit Night" that the shop hosts.
I attended tonight because the shop was celebrating the birthday of master knitter Amy Detjen. Amy is one of the country's most accomplished practitioners of two-color knitting. In October, I had attended a color knitting mini-retreat that Amy taught.
Now, Amy and Meg Swansen have published a new book, Knitting with Two Colors.
I am delighted because Meg and Amy included "Lithuanian Sashes," my variation of the cover sweater from Sweaters from Camp, in their new book.
To a knitter, it doesn't get much better than this.
Verona, Wisconsin, December 16, 2011. I point out the spot at which my sweater's photo appears.
Verona, Wisconsin, December 16, 2011. Amy Detjen and I caress the new book.
Verona, Wisconsin, September 2011. Here's the photo Amy Detjen took when she first saw me wearing the "Lithuanian Sashes" variation.
I attended tonight because the shop was celebrating the birthday of master knitter Amy Detjen. Amy is one of the country's most accomplished practitioners of two-color knitting. In October, I had attended a color knitting mini-retreat that Amy taught.
Now, Amy and Meg Swansen have published a new book, Knitting with Two Colors.
I am delighted because Meg and Amy included "Lithuanian Sashes," my variation of the cover sweater from Sweaters from Camp, in their new book.
To a knitter, it doesn't get much better than this.
Verona, Wisconsin, December 16, 2011. I point out the spot at which my sweater's photo appears.
Verona, Wisconsin, December 16, 2011. Amy Detjen and I caress the new book.
Verona, Wisconsin, September 2011. Here's the photo Amy Detjen took when she first saw me wearing the "Lithuanian Sashes" variation.
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