A Closer Look (Part 59)

Southwestern Lithuania, about 1912. This is Mr. Irene's Great-Grandfather Jacob.

Here's the original post.

Handcrafts

Schweinfurt, Germany, 1946. One of the organizers of the cultural exhibit admires the "women's handwork" table.

Translated

Schweinfurt, Germany, 1946. Organizers of the cultural exhibit included English-language headings for their American visitors.

The Doll Table

Schweinfurt, Germany, 1946. This is one of the women with whom my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, collaborated for the Displaced Persons camp's cultural exhibit.

Class Notes (Part 1)

My Mom's schools did not issue yearbooks. The students therefore did not have a publication in which to scribble notes to one another. My Mom and her classmates instead carried booklets—similar to the "autograph books" I remember—in which the friends recorded messages. 

Mom still has her memento booklet. I'll be posting some images from it. Today I start with scans of the booklet's cover, interior binding, and a drawing a friend did for Mom.

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The inscription shows Mom received the booklet as a birthday gift in 1931. Mom still lived in Panemunė at that time.

(I see a sweater design in that weave-inspired motif.)

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Kaunas, Lithuania, February 16, 1934. Mom's friend, "Z.M.," wrote, "A remembrance!"

Background

Near Vilnius, Lithuania, about 1930. This boy is a relative—likely a nephew—of Suzanne. The photo is in bad shape; I post because I love the use of the Lithuanian weaving as a wall hanging. The textile's design is in the family of "apple patterns." I presently am adapting a woven apple pattern for a sweater design.

Thanks to Suzanne's Granddaughter—my Kaunas Cousin—for making this photo available to us.

Bummeris*

Mr. Irene and I had planned last night to attend the annual banquet of the Madison Vilnius Sister Cities, Inc. organization. We couldn't go because I got the flu! I haven't had a cold or other viral illness since 2007, so I was shocked when I developed feverish symptoms and spent three days in bed. It was a big disappointment.

Mr. Irene did, however, stop off at the venue to deliver the items he and I donated to the banquet's loterija. He snapped a few photos while he was there.

Madison, Wisconsin, May 3, 2014. Our gracious greeter checked in guests.

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Madison, Wisconsin, May 3, 2014. The raffle prizes included Lithuanian beer, some woven sashes, a woven tablecloth, two baumkuchenai, and a bottle of Polish vodka (our fault).

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Madison, Wisconsin, May 3, 2014. How nice!

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Madison, Wisconsin, May 3, 2014. Super bummeris: look what we missed. The chef again adapted some Lithuanian dishes for the service. This time, he added Cepelinai to the menu.

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Madison, Wisconsin, May 3, 2014. The guest of honor was His Excellency Žygimantas Pavilionis, the Lithuanian Ambassador to the United States.

Ambassador Pavilionis also spoke to WISC-TV. You can watch the clip here.

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*Lithuanians adopt English nouns into their vocabulary by adding declentive endings to the words. "Bummer" becomes "bummeris;" "basement" is "basementas;" and "blog" is "blogas."

Knitspiration

I'm usually on the lookout for weaving designs. Weaving graphs adapt easily into knitting graphs. Until recently, I've relied on this little gem, "Lithuanian Folk Decorations:"

Karvelis, a Chicago publisher, issued this pamphlet in 1957. Many in the Displaced-Persons community owned it. The pamphlet reproduces designs for woodcarving, embroidery, and weaving. The weaving graphs include illustrations for tableclothes, runners, and sashes. The pamphlet is in rough shape because I played with it when I was a child.

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I bought this book about twelve years ago at a a local shop that onced carried both knitting and weaving supplies. I adapted one tablecloth chart into a sweater in 2003. I won't post a photograph of it now because the sweater is a nightmare. I knitted it when a family member was hospitalized for three weeks, and we had an eight-week-old puppy, Baci, at home. My knitted "gauge" wasn't even because I was distracted, worried, and tired. I didn't focus properly on my knitting. Most knitters tighten up their gauge when they are stressed; I am the opposite. As a result, the sweater—which should have measured 40 inches around the chest—was a size 49. So I ran it through the washing machine on the "hot" cycle, and the sweater morphed into a boiled wool jacket.

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A few weeks ago, I aquired this gem. It's the motherload of graphs! My Toronto Cousin picked up the book for me at a parish rummage sale, and she brought it during her recent visit. Anastazija Tamošaitienė and her husband, Antanas Tamošaitis, wrote the book. After World War II, the Tamošaičiai settled in Canada, where Tamošaitienė exceled as a weaver.

A golden tapestry ...

... woven from spider silk.

Gigi, at play.

Suburban Chicago, Winter 1970. Gigi and I engage in the "play bite" game in the Rec Room. Behind me stands the bookshelf with the 1965 edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica.

This was the time when crocheted vests were quite the thing. The throw pillow features a typical Lithuanian "tulip" pattern that recurs in weaving and needlework.

Swank Party

Rockford, Illinois, Spring 1965. My Mom is enjoying another party at the home of her Rockford friends. This must have been a big affair because the guests are eating at folding tables set up in the basement. The tablecloth behind my Mom features a typical Lithuanian weaving pattern.

Match

Kaunas, Lithuanian Soviet Socialist Republic, about 1958. My Dad's cousin, Henry, and Henry's wife, Suzanne, reflect in their living room around the time of the birth of their Granddaughter, Kaunas Cousin.

I covet the lovely Lithuanian weaving used for the slipcover.

Amateur Cultural Activities, on a Local Scale

When I reached the seventh grade, I transitioned from the short, girl's Lithuanian folkdress and grew into a pre-teen model. The pre-teen folkdresses were mass produced, and many girls had similar ones, but in different colors. My new folkdress was green and gold; another common color was turquoise.

Suburban Chicago, June 1970. What distinguished the pre-teen folkdress from the adult model was: (1) the lack of variation in the colors; and (2) the cheap quality of the fabrics. The crown of the pre-teen folkdress was nice, and I wore it into adulthood.

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I nonetheless was very excited to have moved to wearing a full-length skirt. When the Lithuanians in our small, suburban enclave reached back into the tradition of staging amateur cultural exhibits, I took the opportunity to wear the new folkdress.

The "Lithuania" exhibit at which I debuted the new folkdress took place at Winston Plaza, the shopping center that was the heart of our suburban community. We bought our groceries at the Jewel, selected 45s at Lorraine's Record Shop, walked across the wood floors of Newberry's, and bought finer clothing at Madigan's. There was also a small JC Penney, A Dutch Mill chocolate shop, and a place that made a mean bucket of Broasted Chicken.

Melrose Park, June 1970. Like most cultural exhibits, this one included a table that displayed traditional weaving, sashes, and woodwork. Winston Plaza organizers tucked the table into the corner of the shopping center—where the doctors' offices were—and under a roof, in case it rained. All of the children from our little Lithuanian School stood behind the table.

After people had had a chance to absorb the lovely folk art, my Lithuanian classmates and I danced some traditional numbers to delight the audience:

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Amateur hour was over. For the second half of the program, the organizers brought in the big guns from Marquette Park—the famous folkdance group, Grandis.

Grandis belted out a spectacular, fast "Suktinis."  Notice that the woman of Grandis wear the adult folkdresses. No two costumes are alike, and within each costume, there are many variations of texture, color, and pattern.

All photos from "Lithuania Day" at Winston Plaza, Melrose Park, Illinois. June 1970.

The Cultural Exhibit

I wrote earlier about the Displaced Persons' measures to preserve their culture here and here. In both posts, I mentioned that my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, was involved in creating an exhibit (a "paroda") about Lithuanian traditions for the Schweinfurt DP camp.

Here are photographs of that exhibit:

Schweinfurt, Germany, December 1946. The sign at the entry to the exhibit states, "Lithuania, Our Homeland." The area features the "Vytis," the Lithuanian coat of arms, and wooden crosses.

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Schweinfurt, Germany, December 1946. Another area showcased Lithuanian folkdress, weaving, and tablecloths.

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Schweinfurt, Germany, December 1946. The exhibit included some examples of hand sewn garments that blended traditional designs with modern silhouettes.

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Schweinfurt, Germany, December 1946. The organizers devoted an area to "darbai," or "works" of small embroidered objects, like pillows, hankies, and table runners.

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Schweinfurt, Germany, December 1946. Look! There was a display devoted to knitting (and other needle arts). Here, Tatjana stands on the far right with a fellow organizer.

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Schweinfurt, Germany, December 1946. This is part of the display of dolls dressed in national folkdress . Lithuania, a country of about three million people, had different geographic regions. The folkdress of each region was distinct and recognizable.

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Schweinfurt, Germany, December 1946.  Tatjana sits with some of the dolls for which she sewed folkdress costumes.

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Schweinfurt, Germany, December 1946. The exhibit even had an area alerting visitors to the importance of scouting in Lithuanian culture. Here's a miniature scouting camp!

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Schweinfurt, Germany, December 1946. Tatjana and other organizers of the exhibit reflect on their accomplishment. The bespeckled woman holding the doll is almost certainly an UNRRA official; I reach this conclusion because she corresponded with Tatjana in French. The gent in the ascot also looks like a UNRRA appointee. He has medals. Maybe he is a Brit? I don't know the identity of the young woman in folkdress.

A Strong Connection

When my Dad was dying, I drove from Ohio to Suburban Chicago to spend Thanksgiving with him and my Mom. Dad had been ill for a long time, and the family knew he would die soon. He managed well during that holiday weekend; he was bright, lucid, and he even walked downstairs to eat the turkey meal at the dining room table.

While I was with Dad, he showed me a photo album that he'd recently created. Like the scouting album, this one preserved special memories. Into the album, Dad pasted reprints of old family photos. These were photos that Dad had restored and rephotographed over the years. There were photos from his childhood, photos relatives had sent from Lithuania, and photos Dad found especially interesting.

Dad had wanted to annotate each black-and-white print in the album. His handwriting, however, had become illegible because of his illness. So he asked me to do it for him. We sat together, at the mahogany desk in the master bedroom, as Dad identified each person in the photo, provided a date, and sometimes told a story. I recorded what Dad said in the margins of the photos, writing in pencil. I recall, however, that I found the work tedious, and I was a bit agitated about the task. It seemed like a trivial activity for such a heavy time.

As we collaborated, Dad showed particular attachment to two photos from 1936. One was a photo of his father, Vytautas, in Belgium. The other was of a street in Kaunas that had flooded during the month of March. 

I wasn't able, then, to determine why these photos had touched my Dad so deeply. Today, I looked at the back of the original photo of the flooded Kaunas street, and I made the connection. My paternal Grandfather, Vytautas, was on an extended business trip in Belgium when the Kaunas flood occurred, and my Dad had sent a photo of the flooded street to his traveling father.

Here is what my Dad wrote—in a child's penmanship—on the back of the photo:

March 17, 1936.

My Precious Daddy!

I am sending you a photograph that my cousin took. He took this photo on Maironis Street during the time of the flood. This year, there was a very big flood in Kaunas. The water had risen above the seven-meter mark. Now, the water is gradually receding, and things are beginning to dry out. It seemed like spring already was about to begin, but then it began, unbelievably, to snow again.

Wednesday I will take the examinations for the second scouting level. The exams will test knotting, thatching, and weaving. On Thursday I'll be tested on Morse Coding. I've already worked on the photography test, and I've seen the negatives. 

Lately, I've been coming home from school early because the homeroom teacher has been sick. The Lithuanian class teacher also is ill.

Goodbye, I kiss you many times.

Your little sparrow,

[Irene's Dad]

It's a potent mix: boyhood, longing for an absent Dad, exciting events at home, and … scouting.

This is the 1936 photo of my paternal Grandfather, Vytautas, traveling in Belgium: 

Here is the 1936 photo of the flooded street, Maironio Gatvė, in Kaunas:

And here is a 1957 postcard featuring a view of the Nemunas River, the cause of the flood, as it runs through Kaunas:

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UPDATE: Here is a view of the seven-meter mark, showing how high the water levels rose:

Kaunas, Lithuania, August 2011. Tourists walk by the water-level marker. Thanks to my Toronto Cousin for making this photo available to me.