Saturday Shopping

Oakbrook Center, Illinois, 1969. Mom and I stand outside the Oakbrook Marshall Field's. Mom's wearing one of her wonderful knitted suits, and I'm still sporting my Ranger Rick jacket.

Millinery Model

Cicero, Illinois, April 1966. Jadzė D was a skilled knitter and seamstress. Here, Mom tries on one of the hats Jadzė D crafted. (Mom's also wearing one of her own knitted suits.)

A Knitted Suit from the 1980s

Columbia, South Carolina, November 13, 1988. I used to knit suits, too (okay, this is a two-piece dress). The sleeves are not Dolman sleeves—I never liked those batwings—but they are wide. I knitted this in Lana Borgosesia's Hilton yarn. I worked the yarn at 7 stitches to the inch: knitters know this is a fine (to some, tedious) gauge.

I loved this garment. It's knitted in my favorite color! I wore it when I taught, and I wore it for special occasions. And . . .  I still have it:

Knitting Duet

Suburban Chicago, December 1968. My Mom and her best friend, Donna, get together for another afternoon of knitting. They're sitting in the corner of our living room; Mom feels at home because she's wearing her moccasin slippers. The women both wear ensembles they knitted by hand, and they have matching, gold, knitting bags.  I suspect they're knitting suits in the photo; my Mom appears to be working on a skirt.

There's an ashtray on the end table, and my paternal Grandmother Tatjana's copy of Nicholas and Alexandra rests on that surface, under her eye glass case. It's funny that Nicholas and Alexandra pops up in this post; I was just talking this afternoon with a friend about Robert K. Massie's 2011 book, Catherine the Great.

Catwalk

The annual fashion show, the "Madų Paroda," was a celebrated event in the Lithuanian community. My Mom and her best friend, Donna, attended the show every year. The show was a stylish event, and it took place at the Lietuvių Jaunimo Centras, or "Lithuanian Youth Center,"on a Saturday night. Women sat at long tables, and, during the intermission, they ate a family-style meal of Lithuanian foods, namely sausages and sauerkraut, boiled potatoes, kugelis, a lingonberry crumble cake, and Napoleonas. The room smelled like hairspray and cigarette smoke.

All garments featured at the Madų Paroda were handmade. Women submitted their items to a committee that juried the selections for the show. We were thrilled when a few suits that my Mom had knitted made it onto the runway.

The catwalk models were Lithuanian women; most were former Displaced Persons. They were among the most elegant in the community: they had perfect figures, and most had "Baltic blonde" hair and frosted nails. When not fashioned for the show, the stylish women usually wore a lot of black clothing, accented by bulky amber jewelry. If you grew up in the Lithuanian community, then I'm sure you can picture this 1960s standard of ethnic beauty.


Gage Park, Chicago, about 1963. A woman, serving coffee, stands between my Mom and Donna. Mom and Donna have secured a great table, right next to the catwalk. (Photo by V. Noreika.)

*     *     *     *     *

Gage Park, Chicago, about 1963. There's a lot going on here! (Photo by V. Noreika.)

*     *     *     *     *

Suburban Chicago, 1972. It's my first Madų Paroda, and Mom and I have sewed matching dresses.

Do you keep an old ensemble thinking you might wear it again one day?

I do. And I am not the only one.

(The oldies I have are dresses and suits my Mom knitted for me in the 1970s and 1980s.)

The Knitting Circle

I often refer to my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, as "Alpha Baba." Tatjana was a strong, aristocratic presence in the household. Her daughter-in-law, my Mom, may have been the breadwinner and certainly was the disciplinarian, but Tatjana "wore the pants."

Tatjana lived with my Parents from the time they emigrated to the United States until she died in 1974. Tatjana was the force that ran the household. Eastern European cultures tend to be matriarchal, and Russian families are run by supremely dominant matriarchs.

There was only one area in which Tatjana sometimes "alphaed" my Mom, and that was over the question of parties. Tatjana loved to entertain. Mom was too overworked to enjoy entertaining.

My Mom preferred to have quiet times with her friends. Ladies would come over to our house, and they would sit and knit with Mom. The "stitch and bitch" sessions usually took place on Thursdays, because that was the day my Mom did not go to the office. (Most doctors took Wednesdays off back then. Mom's partner—the senior physician in their practice—did not work on Wednesday, so Mom was off on Thursdays). The ladies sat in the corner of the living room, chatted, and knitted elegant 1960s-style suits and dresses.

A source of humor at our home was Tatjana's determination to participate in the knitting circle with the younger generation—even though Tatjana didn't knit. I have no recollection of these interludes, but my Mom remembers them vividly.

Suburban Chicago, February 1965. Tatjana sits off to the side, on the piano bench, but she's right in the middle of things. My Mom has her back to Tatjana. Mom's best friend, Donna, sits on the far right. Tatjana is sewing the apron of my first Lithuanian folkdress.

Silent Auction

For the last few years, I've knitted sweaters for the UW Carbone Cancer Center's annual Sparkle of Hope fundraiser.
 
These are the two items up for bid at last night's silent auction:

*     *     *     *     *

Madison, Wisconsin, October 3, 2013. I had trouble parting with the first sweater because the color suits me.