Sunday Ride

Door County, Wisconsin, July 1980. My Godmother and her husband spend the weekend with us.

Summer Chore

Suburban Chicago, June 1969. Dad preferred to mow in Door County. I took this photo just before I got my "big" bike.

Suspended Reunion

Chicago, Illinois, April 2007. Here's the view from the other side.

Related by Marriage: A Big-Boy Gift

Suburban Chicago, December 1959. Mr. Irene's maternal Grandmother, Anna, watches as Mr. Irene test drives the Christmas gift.

General Manners: Make new friends graciously.

Toronto, Ontario, Canada, about 1953. Kadis introduces his daughter—my Toronto Cousin—to his Goddaughter.

Thanks to my Toronto Cousin for making this photo available to us.

Okay; let's give it a try.

Door County, Wisconsin, June 1980. Mom agrees to follow her best friend, Donna, on a bicycle ride.

Summer Wheels

Kaunas, Lithuania, about 1936. A relative of Kaunas Nina tests his bike in the backyard.

Thanks to my Kaunas Nina's daughter—my Kaunas Cousin—for making this photo available to us.

She'd rather weed.

Door County, Wisconsin, June 1980. Although Mom learned to ride a bicycle, she never enjoyed it. Here, Mom stays close to the house while her best friend, Donna, heads out on my bike.

"When I was a boy, all the best meat went to Moscow. … We used to say that Lithuania had exploding pigs. After the explosion, only the ears, tail and feet were left."

A guide explains Soviet-era life to a tourist bicycling through the "Baltic backwater."

 

Mom remembers how the Soviets exported Lithuanian products—butter, pork, and geese—to Russia. In turn, trucks labeled "Food for Starving Lithuania" arrived from the Soviet Union. The trucks were filled with watermelons.

A Spring Trip

Door County, Wisconsin, March 1978. Dad and Mom have arrived for a short, Spring visit.

It's warm enough to take the baby outside.

Suburban Chicago, January 1959. My paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, takes me out.

This clip reminds me how people treated neighbors' driveways. We steered buggies—and rode bikes—as though driveways were part of the sidewalk, and therefore public space.

The Cat's Tail

One Lithuanian proverb I often hear is, "Kas pakels katinui uodegą, jei ne jis pats." It means, "Who'll lift the cat's tail if not the cat himself." The proverb expresses the Lithuanian contempt for boastfulness.* My family, for example, enforced the idea that vanity is shameful. When someone told me that I was a "pretty little girl," Mom discouraged me from saying, "Thank you" because that response signaled agreement with the observation. Instead, she taught me to provide a deflective answer, like, "You must need glasses."

We most often use the "cat's tail" expression when one of us gives ourselves a compliment. For example, if Mom remarks on her exquisite knitting, she'll add the expression—as a coda—to acknowledge that she shouldn't admire her own work.

Suburban Chicago, Summer 1963. Some people substitute a dog for the proverb's cat, but at our house, it's always a cat. The feline in this photo is our neighbors' Siamese.

*There's also a cultural mistrust of self-confidence; that quality is almost indistinguishable from arrogance.

A Familiar Space: The Rec Room

Suburban Chicago, Winter 1984. In the 1980s, my Dad photographed every room of our home. Although I remember the rooms clearly, it's nice to see the details preserved in some of the images.

Be yourself when you're with a friend.

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Toronto, Ontario, Canada, about 1965 or 1966. That's Toronto Al on the left.

Thanks to Toronto Al for making these photos available to us.

What did I see?

Suburban Chicago, May 1961. I've riden a short distance from the driveway, and this time, I am not wagging my finger. Here, I might be pointing at our neighbors' dog, Mikey—or maybe at their cat.

Chopping Wood, in Three Takes

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Door County, Wisconsin, July 1980. Chopping wood was one of the activities Dad enjoyed when he and Mom were in Door County. Dad seemed to have some wood-chopping project under way most of the time. He chopped so much wood that it took up a good part of the garage space.

(You may have seen that Schwinn bicycle earlier here.)

Spring, in the Backyard

Suburban Chicago, Spring 1962. Dad relaxes in one of those wonderful wicker chairs we used to have on the backyard patio. My tricycle stands in the background.

Related by Marriage: Bicycle Lesson

Thatcher Woods, Cook County Forest Preserve, May 1965. Mr. Irene learns to ride a bike in the Tatcher Woods parking lot. Supporting him are, left to right: Mr. Irene's maternal Grandfather, Stanley; Aunt Martha's husband, Wally, and; Mr. Irene's Dad.

Bike Ride

My Mom never learned how to ride a bike when she was a child. But she eventually did learn:

Door County, Wisconsin, July 1979. Dad used the self-timer to capture the day on which Mom learned to ride. Mom used my old Schwinn bicycle.

Let's go to "The Plaza."

A Melrose Park landmark, Winston Plaza stood at the intersection of Ninth Avenue and North Avenue. "The Plaza," as we called it, was across the street from Amling's Flowerland.

The Plaza was a hub of many activities, but at its heart, it was a shopping center. Most Melrose Parkers did all of their shopping at The Plaza. Two grocery stores—Dominick's (originally a Kroger) and Jewel—anchored the mall. Moms usually shopped at either Dominick's or Jewel, but never at both. We were a "Jewel family." (I leave discussions of "Foodtown" and "Bonnie Bee" for later posts.)

The Plaza had a Walgreen's and a number of other stores that attracted preteens and teens. There was, for example, a record shop, a Lerner Shop, and a discount store, Newberry's. Newberry's had wooden floors similar to those one usually found in a Woolworth's. 

The higher-end, department-style, store was Madigan's. My Mom bought shoes and underwear there occasionally. Madigan's had a small book department—toward the back, near the bathrooms. After my Parents took me to see Mary Poppins at the movie theater, they bought the official Walt Disney Mary Poppins book for me when we visited Madigan's one evening. I remember feeling very special that day.

One of the undercover security guards at Madigan's was a patient of my Mom's. We'd see her walking around the women's department, looking cosmically bored, spinning the dress carousels as she feigned interest in the merchandise.

My childhood home was less than one mile from The Plaza. I was not allowed to go there alone, or with my Best Friend, until I reached the Seventh Grade. After I got my big-girl bicycle, however, my Best Friend and I sometimes snuck away to The Plaza and illicitly bought things like lip gloss, Fritos, and Creedance Clearwater Revival records.

When I was much smaller, my Dad sometimes walked with me to The Plaza. One year, The Plaza featured an "attraction" for kids: an "Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe" structure.

Suburban Chicago, February 1964. There's still snow on the ground, but Dad decides it's warm enough to make the 0.84-mile walk to Winston Plaza. "The Swan" stands in our open garage.

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Suburban Chicago, February 1964. We walk near Silver Creek as we make our way down Andy Drive, and across Fifth Avenue.

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Suburban Chicago, February 1964. We're getting close! There's the baptist church on the corner of Andy Drive and Ninth Avenue.

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Suburban Chicago, February 1964. We've reached the "Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe" attraction.

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Suburban Chicago, February 1964. It's a lame, walk-through lure of nothingness.

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Verona, Wisconsin, February 2012. But cheer up! I still can go home and read Mary Poppins.