I never met a dog I didn't like (Summer 1967).

Suburban Chicago, Summer 1967. I don't remember to whom this lovely Brittany Spaniel belonged. I must have run out quickly to the driveway when I saw the dog, because I didn't stop to switch from my slippers.

My Dad's beloved Volvo sits in the garage. It was our first car with shoulder belts. Good thing: in 1972, Dad and I were in the Volvo, stuck in morning, rush-hour traffic on the Eisenhower Expressway. A disoriented driver hit us, at full speed, and the impact rippled on through five vehicles ahead of us. The Volvo was a goner, but Dad and I were fine.

Licensed

This is the photo my Mom submitted when she applied for an Illinois medical license. She flew alone from New York to Chicago to take the boards.  Even though she had been in this country for less than five years—and only had learned the English language in the last four years—Mom passed the examinations on her first try.

Mom practiced medicine in the Chicago suburbs for over thirty years. She had a great medical partner who treated her kindly and accommodated her family life.

Nonetheless, it was a bumpy road for a woman to take in the mid-1950s.

Brooklyn, New York, 1954. My Mom is ready to go to Chicago to take the boards. This was her first trip on an airplane. Mom stayed at the historic La Salle Hotel while she visited Chicago.

Dangerous Slopes!

Glacier National Park, Montana, July 1972. The tunnel is closed, but don't worry about the Grizzly Bears that have chewed around the edges of this tasty sign.

Load up.

Kaunas, Lithuania, 1938. My Dad, the second next to the side of the truck, and his scout troop pack up for a camping trip.

Italy's Best Kept Secret

Bologna.

Bologna, Italy, April 1984. I like the place, despite the politics.

General Manners: Share your blessings.

Suburban Chicago, April 1962. My babysitter admires me as I model one of my early nun habits. That's a costume that I resurrected often.

Don't forget to focus on the little things.

Glacier National Park, Montana, July 1972. My Dad sets his lens on some mountain flora.

She could stop traffic.

The young woman in the polka-dot dress is Kaunas Nina. I wonder if she was traveling. 

Or was she was meeting someone arriving to visit her?

Kaunas, Lithuanian Soviet Socialist Republic, about 1957 or 1958. Kaunas Nina stands outside the central Kaunas train station. She appears to be the only person in this photograph who is happy.

Thanks to Kaunas Nina's daughter, my Kaunas Cousin, for making this snapshot available to me.

Related by Marriage: Riverview

Riverview Park was an historic, seventy-four acre, amusement park that operated in Chicago from 1904 to 1967. Most Chicagoans viewed Riverview as a "Nort' Side" park. People who lived on the South Side, like Mr. Irene's Mom, rarely visited that foreign part of town. By contrast, my Best Friend's Mom, the big-hearted Louise, grew up on the North Side, and she often talked about visiting Riverview in her youth.

Suburban kids like Mr. Irene and me did not get out to Riverview very often. My Dad usually took the kids to Kiddieland. If we were celebrating a special occasion, then we sometimes went to Adventureland in Addison, Illinois.

(I liked to ride Adventureland's floating crocodiles.)

Chicago, Illinois, August 29, 1963. Mr. Irene's Mom wrote the exact date on the photo and added, "Riverview Amusment Park at Western and Belmont." Could this have been a last hurrah before the school year started?

Last-Time-Together Reunion

Kaunas, Lithuania, Summer 1940. My uniformed, maternal Grandfather, Jake, and his brothers, Cody Jr. (left) and the Zigmas (center), stood for this snapshot on what turned out to be the last day the three would be together.

The family knew the visit was significant because folks took a series of photos on that same day.

General Manners: Take a bath before you go to sleep.

Suburban Chicago, November 1961. I'm back in the turquoise bathroom of the master bedroom.

When will you teach me to knit (1968)?

Sometimes, when I am preoccupied or agitated, I find that it's best to knit for a little while.

Suburban Chicago, May 1968. Mom and I knit in the Rec Room. Mom's gray knitting satchel is at her moccasined feet. Behind her, on the formica shelf, are some of my art projects. For a while, I enjoyed using colored beans and painted stones to make three-dimensional pictures.

Check out the great table lamp! I wish we still had that. The Danish-modern furniture has gotten a modernized face lift: floral upholstery has replaced its original, striped fabric.

War Weary

Schweinfurt, Germany, about 1946. I saw this photo of my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, for the first time only in the last few months. She is thin, frail, and tense.

Related by Marriage: The Barracks

Mr. Irene's Dad sent this photo to his brother, Ignas. The snapshot shows Mr. Irene's Dad on his bunk at the army base.

Camp Irwin, Barstow, California, March 22, 1952. Mr. Irene's Dad wrote, "Brother—I am sitting on my bed, reading the newspaper."

Mr. Irene's Dad enjoys a smoke as he reads the Chicago-based Lithuanian newspaper, "Draugas." Mr. Irene's Dad probably has returned to his corner in the barracks after another work day teaching people how to drive tanks.

I don't know who the woman is in the forget-me-not portrait, but Mr. Irene's Dad has displayed that formal portrait of himself on the shelf. There's a stack of "Draugas" newspapers on the shelf; Mr. Irene's Dad also has tucked a carton of Lucky Strikes under the newspapers.

Thanks to Mr. Irene's Los Angeles Cousin for making this photograph available to us.

Carnevale, Basta

It's the last day of Carnevale: giovedi grasso. Don't feel claustrophobic. The festivities will end soon.

Piazza San Marco, Venice, Italy, March 1984. The Fat Tuesday crowd pushes toward the piazza, passing the Bridge of Sighs. It's impossible to stop and buy a postcard.

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.

Here's an old chestnut.

Athens, Greece, April 16, 1976. It's my first day in Athens, and I buy roasted chestnuts.

Contract

Here's Mom with Dr. Harry, her partner in the medical practice.

I asked Mom what papers she was signing when Dad took this photo.

"How am I supposed to remember what I signed fifty years ago?"

My Dad photographed many every-day events, but this is probably the only photograph of Dr. Harry that we have. Dad thought this was an important, different, moment. The signing occurred in January; that leads me to think it was an employment contract for the upcoming year.

Was Mom signing the papers that boosted her from a forty-percent partner to a fifty-percent one? Dr. Harry was very good to my Mom, and in 1962, Mom already had been working with Dr. Harry for just over five years.

Suburban Chicago, January, 1962. Mom and Dr. Harry are in the living room, at that coffee table we still use. Mom wears a stay-at-home outfit; namely, a pencil skirt and simple sweater. Dr. Harry usually wore bow ties. Those must be Dr. Harry's cigarettes because Mom smoked a different brand.

After both physicians retired, Dr. Harry called my Mom every year to wish her a Happy Birthday. We knew Dr. Harry had died when that telephone call did not come through one year.

Native Places

These two photo are from the envelope called "Babos šeima Rusijoi"—Grandma's family in Russia.

Nina K., the mother of my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, was born in this house in 1875.

Tatjana would have remembered it as the home in which her maternal Grandparents lived.

Tambov, Russian Soviet Socialist Republic, August 1962. Natasha, one of Tatjana's two younger sisters, writes, "The house on Sadovaja Street, home of our dear Grandfather and Grandmother, and our Mama. I am sitting here with my husband. Tears are dimming my eyes, full of memories."

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Tambov, Russian Soviet Socialist Republic, August 1962. Natasha writes, "Sadovaja Street in Tambov, our hometown. I always long for native places."

Thanks again to my dear friend, D, for translating the texts from Russian to English.

Carnevale Original Intent

It's day ten of Carnevale. Go back to the literal meaning of the festival.

Piazza San Marco, Venice, Italy, March 1984. A woman models the Casanova style. She stands, appropriately, in front of Il Caffè Florian. I am envious.

Sometimes, we encounter a yarn shop with extra benefits.

A yarn shop occasionally has interesting helpers who add to the shopping experience.

Mount Horeb, Wisconsin, February 2012. "Miss," an Anatolian Shepherd Dog, greets my Mom and my friend as we arrive at Blackberry Ridge Woolen Mill. She recognized us from previous visits!

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Mount Horeb, Wisconsin, February 2012. Miss shows us the phenomenal selection of dyed wools.

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Mount Horeb, Wisconsin, February 2012. All of the local yarn shops in our area are lovely, but there is something extra special about Blackberry Ridge.

Thanks to my friend for creating another memorable outing for Mom and me.

Do you remember how exciting it was to ring the cow bell?

Brookfield Zoo, Spring 1965. I reach for the cow bell, the central spot of the Children's Zoo.

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Brookfield Zoo, Fall 1964. Although ringing the bell was a thrill, I had more fun feeding a sheep.

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Brookfield Zoo, Fall 1964. A guinea pig for your thoughts? Am I worried about going back to school on Monday?

Sunday Promenade: Dresses Edition

Erlangen, Germany, 1947. My Mom, on the right, walks with her medical-school roommate, who waves to the photographer.

Related by Marriage: A Sunday Ritual

Mr. Irene spent nearly every Sunday afternoon of his grade school years at the Marquette Park home of his Grandparents, Anna and Stanley. Anna and Stanley hosted him and his Parents for dinners of hearty Lithuanian fare: homemade sausages and sauerkraut, potato kugel ("Kugelis"), roasts, and dumplings (" Koldūnai " or "Pelmeni"). Mr. Irene's maternal Aunt Martha, her husband Wally, and Anna's spinster sister, Petra, all shared the small Marquette Park bungalow with Anna and Stanley. They, too, joined in the weekly ritual.

Everyone stayed together through the end of the meal. Afterward, the family divided itself into different quarters. Stanley and Anna retired to the living room (the "front room" in Chicago parlance), usually with Mr. Irene's Mother. Martha and Petra stayed in the kitchen to wash dishes. Mr. Irene's Dad went upstairs to join Wally for Winston cigarettes and political talk. Mr. Irene migrated across the different areas, ending up with his Mom, Anna and Stanley, and Martha.

In good weather, Mr. Irene's Dad and Wally might invite Mr. Irene to join them for a walk to Marquette Park. The Sunday soccer league usually was in play near the main intersection of 69th Street and California Avenue. Young and old men strolled up 69th Street towards the Park, and Mr. Irene's Dad and Wally frequently stopped on the sidewalk to greet friends and co-workers.

During one Sunday walk, Mr. Irene, his Dad, and Wally even saw President Reagan campaigning in Marquette Park.

Although Mr. Irene now craves the Lithuanian Sunday menu of his youth, as a child, he picked his way gingerly through most of those dinners. Occasionally (ha ha), he convinced his Parents to stop for decent Sunday fare—namely, a hamburger and fries—on the way home. White Castle was one good alternative. A special treat was stopping at an A&W Root Beer restaurant in McCook, an industrial area between Marquette Park and Mr. Irene's suburban home.

McCook was home to some huge factories, which were silent and empty on Sundays. An A&W graced the edge of some undeveloped prairie at the edge of the town. There was absolutely nothing around it, except a swing set on a patch of grass. Best of all, A&W had car-hop service.

Marquette Park, Chicago, Illinois, Spring 1960. There's a plate of Kugelis at the front of the table. From left to right are Anna (with Mr. Irene in front of her), Stanley, Mr. Irene's Dad, Mr. Irene's Mom, and Wally (in profile).

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Marquette Park, Chicago, Spring 1961. From left to right stand "Uncle D" (the brother of Mr. Irene's paternal Grandmother Veronica), Stanley, Anna (holding Mr. Irene), Mr. Irene's Mom, and Mr. Irene's Dad.

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Marquette Park, Chicago, Spring 1961. "White Castle, here I come."

Sunday Mass

Scwheinfurt, Germany, 1946. Displaced Persons celebrate an outdoor mass. The building behind them is in ruins. My Dad's twin sister, Jonė, is the first woman in the line, from the right.

Carnevale Confetti

It's day nine of Carnevale. Don’t get overwhelmed by the crowds.

Piazza San Marco, Venice, Italy, March 1984. A child absorbs the street party.

Oh please! Let *me* pet the baby cow.

Brookfield Zoo, June 1962. I am distressed by the possibility that I'll miss an opportunity to pet an animal in the Children's Zoo.

It's Saturday Night, Let's bake cookies.

Suburban Chicago, December 1962. My Mom and I bake cookies. I wear the badger-omen apron.

Tennis?

Palanga, Lithuanian Soviet Socialist Republic, about 1968. My Kaunas Cousin and her Mother, "Kaunas Nina," take a holiday in the famous Lithuanian resort city. Kaunas Nina was the daughter of Suzanne and Henry.

UPDATE: Toronto Cousin correctly notes that these are Badminton rackets. How would Irene know??

Swish

Near Kaunas, Lithuania, about 1938. My Dad skis; it looks like he has gotten beyond the town. The poles appear to be crafted from bamboo.

Tam-for-a-Keeper Reunion

Verona, Wisconsin, February 2012. I thank Janine Bajus of Feral Knitter for graciously making this pattern available to me.

Carnevale Blue

It's day eight of Carnevale. If you're feeling blue, then wear something that will make you stand out.

Piazza San Marco, Venice, Italy, March 1984. A bluebird pauses in the piazza.

You'll sleep better if you read before bedtime.

Suburban Chicago, 1967. My paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, reads in her favorite corner of the living room. That black lump on her lap is our Poodle, Gigi.

Art Lesson

Suburban Chicago, October 1961. Mom stops knitting to teach me how to color inside the lines.

Three Muses

Vilnius, Lithuania, August 2011. Three muses—drama, tragedy, and comedy—grace the façade of the Lithuanian National Drama Theatre. The building went up in 1940, during the first Soviet occupation of the country.

Thanks to Toronto Al for making this photo available to me.

Reading Between the Lines

This is a photo that Suzanne, the wife of my Dad's older cousin, Henry, sent to my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, in the late 1960s.

Suzanne wrote:

Tucked on the top of the bookcase is your gift: the drawing of the bird. It is executed in a such an original style. I think it is very effective.

The angel's head is a very old piece of wood folk art. My daughter received it as a gift a while ago from an old friend. She used to joke that her friend's only character flaw was that he spoke French with a Lithuanian accent.

Among the books, you see Jadvyga and Jogailla, a gift to me from [?]. We always argue about that story, but it's pointless.

The color of the painted bird changes in the evening. When there is nothing worthwhile to watch on television, I stare at that bird and think about you folks. I think about how life's circumstances got all knotted and tangled up, and I think about how everyone scattered into entirely different lives and corners.

I believe in fate, and I am grateful that we have you.

Kaunas, Lithuania, about 1973. Suzanne reads a copy of Kauno Tiesa. "Tiesa" is the Lithuanian word for "Pravda," or "Truth."

Keep Moving

During a hike through Glacier Park's Highline Loop trail, my Parents and I encountered a rock avalanche. The three of us were alone; we were not part of an organized, guided hike.

Those falling rocks got us to start "jog hiking."

 

Glacier National Park, Montana, July 1970. My Dad and Mom walk briskly ahead of me. Dad shoulders his camera bag.

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Glacier National Park, Montana, July 1970. Around the bend, we caught a glimpse of what may have caused the avalanche.