Saturday Stroll

Brooklyn, New York, Autumn 1950. Dad focuses again on Mom.

Neighborhood

Venice, Italy, Spring 1984. Much of Venice—behind the landmarks—looks like this.

Exchanging Portraits (Part 1)

I've noticed how many friends gave me portraits of themselves—most often from high-school-senior sittings—as mementos. I run across them periodically when I'm scouring for photos for the blog. I'm charmed by the tender, young sentiments my friends wrote on the back of those images.

It's also charming that earlier generations engaged in the same ritual of friendship. I'll be posting some of the images in this new little series I am starting today.

Kaunas, Lithuania, April 1, 1932. This fellow is a friend of my Dad's older cousin, Henry.

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

Grade-School Choir, in Three Takes

My grade-school music teacher—Sister C—organized a recital based on "The Music Man." She initially assigned me to the alto section. I learned the harmony to "Wells Fargo Wagon," and I memorized the lyrics of "Pick-a-Little, Talk-a-Little" ("Chaucer ... Rabelias ... Balzac!").

Midway through our preparations for the recital, Sister C decided I should not sing in the choir. She instead assigned me to be one of the accompanists for the concert. I never liked playing the piano, but Sister C decided that I was the person she needed. During the weeks leading up to the concert, my Dad dropped me off early each morning at the school's convent. There, Sister C oversaw my practices for about an hour before school started. Sister C generally was patient with me—even when she saw that I wasn't too happy at the keys.

Melrose Park, Illinois, March 1969. The choir sang in the church's basement, "Marian Hall." That was the space where the young priest conducted the Kumbayah-guitar-cool masses. It was also where the church hosted parish lunches and the school set up the annual science fair.

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Melrose Park, Illinois, March 1969. Sister C was one of the mod sisters who wore a modified habit.

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Melrose Park, Illinois, March 1969. We accompanists played to the side of the choir.

There's a lot of bread on that table.

Schweinfurt, Germany, about 1946. My Dad's twin, Jonė—on the right—joins fellow scouts for a meal at the Displaced Persons camp. Recall Jonė's mother, Tatjana, had complained about the lack of bread elsewhere in postwar Germany.

UPDATE: I earlier misstated Jonė's position at the table. Thanks to commenter Meade for catching the error.

Expressive

Suburban Chicago, December 1969. A friend of my Mom's acquired this Pug, "Auksė" ("Goldy") after her Chihuahua, Murzė, died. Auksė was a nice doggie.

The Grownups

Toronto, Ontario, July 1969. We've stopped in Toronto on our way from Lake of Bays. My paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, has spent the month at the home of her daughter—my Dad's twin, Jonė. Tatjana will ride home with us. 

From left to right are: Tatjana, Jonė, my Mom (knitting), my Dad, and Jonė's husband, Kadis.

Europe Bay Beach

Door County, Wisconsin, September 1975. The London Fog windbreaker sees another season.

Holy Communion (Part 14)

Toronto, Ontario, about 1959. The children exit at Toronto Al's First Holy Communion.

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

Aquatic Bird House

Brookfield Zoo, Spring 1967. Do you remember how dank it was in that building?

Goodbye!

Suburban Chicago, Spring 1970. My paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, bids goodbye as my Parents and I drive off to Door County. Tatjana came to like the idea of having a dog. She's also wearing a housecoat again.

I never met a dog I didn't like (Late Summer 2013)

Madison, Wisconsin, 2013. It's been a while since I posted a photo in the little "I never met a dog I didn't like" series. This is a lovely "Parti Poodle;" she was breakfasting with her master.

Why do I have two large bags? I was carrying several knitting projects.

Maid of Honor

Toronto, Ontario, about 1950. Women standing up in the bridal parties of newly-arrived Displaced Persons frequently work traditional folk dress. Here, my Dad's twin, Jonė, is the maid of honor. Jonė wears the folkdress her mother—my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana—sewed in 1939.

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

The Pooch's Pony

BeAnne, the terrier, likes to ride Shetland Ponies.

(The ponies are the same ones that wear fair-isle cardigans.)

Dry

Near Mesa Verde National Park, July 1967. I am not climbing to the top of the hill.

Related by Marriage: Photobombed

Union Pier, Michigan, August 1959. Mr. Irene makes his first trip to Union Pier.

Difficult to Identify

Padubysis, Lithuania, probably early- to mid-1920s. We have a few photos from Padubysis, Lithuania. It's probably a place where my Dad's paternal Grandparents lived or had a summer place. The snapshots are difficult to scan because someone laminated them—probably to protect the images from getting crumpled.

The Life Box (Part 14)

By the time I enrolled in high school, the parochial curriculum no longer carried a Latin-language requirement. The school offered four languages: Latin, Spanish, French, and Italian. Most Catholic schools offered German instead of Italian; my high school taught Italian because it had a substantial enrollment of first- and second-generation Italian students. I'm sure my Parents would have directed me to study German if that language had been available.

My Parents decided I should study Latin. I wasn't thrilled about Latin because it was not a spoken language. But I came to love Latin for several reasons. First, the Dominican Sister who taught the course—Sister Mary Hope O’Brien—was a delight. She was elderly, and she wore full habit, in the pre-Vatican II style. She had me with that from the outset. Sr. Mary Hope was a tender, thoughtful person. When I had an appendectomy in the winter of my freshman year, for example, she sent some fellow sisters to deliver a care package to me at the hospital (this was back when an appendectomy resulted in a week-long hospital stay). Sr. Mary Hope also taught me the discipline of memorization, drilling, and repetition.

Second, studying Latin led me to appreciate grammar. I only approached grammar with discipline after I had studied sentence structure in the Latin language. My understanding of Latin grammar made it easier for me to study English. It also strengthened my Lithuanian because the Lithuanian language—like Latin—not only conjugates verbs but also declines nouns.

Third, Latin was a foundation on which I built my post-graduate education. I studied medieval history. It would have been difficult to pursue that field without a basis in Latin. Latin, in turn, made the study of French and Italian—also part of the medieval history program—much easier.

Here are some views of my Latin notebook:

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How did a sticker from my Animal Kingdom scrapbook make it into a high-school notebook?

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The drills begin. Here, the drills focus on vocabulary.

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We completed a translation exercise early in the school year.

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Vocabulary and conjugation drills.

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My handwriting doesn't look anything like that any longer.

Look closely; you'll see us.

Lake Nipissing, Ontario, Canada, July 1964. My paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, and I blend in.

"Survivor" Reunion

Season 7 "Survivor" winner, Lithuanian-American Aras Barauskas, returns this season to the show with his brother, Vytas.

Nunspiration

The "favorite teacher" is a topic that arises occasionally on the blog. The sister pictured here, Sister Patricia, was not one of my teachers. She was a member of the Order of Saint Francis, and she served for a time as the Principal of the grade school I attended.

Sister Patricia was my first "nun crush." She and a colleague once met with our family when the parish encouraged teachers to visit student homes. We hosted them in our living room in the early evening, and my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, served tea. As Sister Patricia sat on our sofa, I rested my head against her starched habit, smelled her Ivory-soap-clean hands, and noticed that she, like I, had a cheek dimple. 

After I met Sister Patricia *and* saw The Sound of Music, I was certain I wanted to become a nun.

Melrose Park, Illinois, June 1964. Sister Patricia attends a graduation ceremony.

Let's celebrate by dancing.

Ontario, Canada, January 1961. My Toronto Cousin hosts a birthday party.

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

The blog celebrates its second birthday today.

Last year, when the blog celebrated its first birthday, I described what prompted me to start Amber Reunion. I'll continue to post every day—as long as I can, and as long as I have photos.

Suburban Chicago, June 1964. Little things sometimes spark a big reaction.

A Late-Summer Favorite

Verona, Wisconsin, September 2007. We used to grow many zinnia plants for cutting. I've been fond of the flower since I was a child.

Dancing cheers me up.

Toronto, Ontario, Canada, about 1950. I remember my Dad's twin sister, Jonė, as a person with a charming, impish sense of humor. She always remained "young at heart." Here she, lollipop in hand, accepts a dance invitation from a friend.

The Best Part about Sundays

Brookfield Zoo, May 1961. I so enjoyed our weekly visits to the Children's Zoo. I'm standing next to the goat pen, but the billys must be in the shed.

Sunday Best

Toronto, Ontario, Canada, Spring 1957. It looks like Toronto Al is heading to church with his Parents. He's wearing an adorable kitten sweater.

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

"People everywhere greet me with a smile, which makes me happy. However, I do occasionally lose my temper, but I try to reduce it and distance myself from it. Anger is disruptive and destructive; therefore, we need to distance ourselves from it when it arises."

The Dalai Lama visits Lithuania.

Rocky Reunion

Near Mesa Verde National Park, Colorado, July 1967.

"You ask: How do I live?"

After I posted this photo of my paternal Grandmother's sister, Elena (the actress), I found an envelope of letters and photos Elena had sent to Tatjana in the late 1950s and 1960s.

Earlier I had wondered whether Elena ever married or had a family. This photo—and what Elena wrote on the back of it—provides more information:

January 7, 1960

My own Tanjusha, I want to send you my own portrait as well, but I haven’t had my photo taken in a long time.

I am sending you a photo of me and my husband taken six months before his death. I was trying to restore his health—

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I so wanted my beloved to live…
But death is implacable, he is in the grave
And for the widow there is inconsolable grief…

Why did this happen?  Why?

For I loved my husband very dearly.

I look at his portrait. It is deaf and dumb,

I am left alone—a broken-off branch.

(This is my own poem.)

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You ask: How do I live? It is already the third year since I buried my husband, but I am still grieving and sad.

I am alone; my son is working in the north. This increases my melancholy and grief—I describe my feelings in poetry.

I spent the summer in a suburb of Leningrad at a dacha. My son was with me for a month and a half, and then I was living there alone. Now I am again living in the city apartment. In January my son will come to see me again. As for my health, I can’t complain. I sleep well and have a good appetite. I receive a good pension, and in addition my son helps me.

I kiss you warmly, my dear. I often remember you as you were when we were growing up. I remember. I love you. Deeply loving you. 

Ljalja

 

Thanks to my dear friend D for translating the text from Russian to English.

 

Stand over there, with the young people.

Lithuania, about 1940. Toronto Al's Dad, Vladas (the center fellow), stands with family.

Thanks to Toronto Al—my Toronto Cousin's husband—for making this photo available to us.

The weather is pleasant, but it's a bit crisp.

Schweinfurt, Germany, May 1948. My Parents are on their honeymoon.

Classic Courthouse

Kenosha, Wisconsin, April 7, 2000. I traveled to Kenosha with the Wisconsin Supreme Court for its "Justice on Wheels" program.

A Visit to Adler Planetarium

Chicago, Illinois, January 1961. My Dad's twin sister, Jonė, escorts me and her daughter—my Toronto Cousin—out of Adler Planetarium.

Team Sport

Probably Salzburg, Austria, about 1946. Lithuanian Displaced Persons line up for another sporting competition.

The Prayer Book

Two years ago, I posted a crumpled photograph my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, had carried with her when she fled the Russian Revolution. She had slipped the snapshot into a Russian-language prayer book. I have the prayer book, and I had planned to post images of it. I forgot about that idea until yesterday, when Althouse linked to the original, "Fresh off the Troika," post. 

That "Troika" post reminded me that I don't usually connect Tatjana with her Russian-religious roots. After Tatjana emigrated to Lithuania, she thoroughly assimilated. Tatjana became a devout Roman Catholic. She grew fluent in the Lithuanian language, worked at a Lithuanian library, and—while a Displaced Person—organized a Lithuanian-culture exhibit.

The only item that occasionally called us back to Tatjana's religious roots was the icon she used to bless family members.

When I looked at the prayer book today, I realized it is a Roman Catholic, not a Russian Orthodox, missal. The text includes the dialogue for a Mass written in Latin and Russian. I read only a few words in Russian, but I was able to make out that the title page states that it is a book for "Russian Catholics" (my Mom, who does read Russian, confirmed my hunch). Why did Tatjana already have a Roman Catholic prayer book when she fled Russia? There's an explanation. Tatjana met and married her Lithuanian husband, Vytautas, in Russia, while he still was serving in the Russian Imperial Army. It's likely she converted to Roman Catholicism before the wedding. The custom in an interfaith marriage—at least at that time, in that part of the world—was that the woman was the party required to convert to the man's religion.* 

The prayer book may have been an item Tatjana received from the Roman Catholic Church when she was studying for the conversion.

*Our family held this belief through the twentieth century. When a male family member married a Protestant, my Parents were miffed that the wedding ceremony took place at the bride's Protestant church. They insisted that a marriage must be consecrated in the man's house of worship. To Americans, this tradition is as peculiar as the custom that parents cannot attend a christening.

The book is in bad condition. The spine is gone. Dad must have created a book cover for it (I assume the cover is modern because it is secured with "invisible" tape).

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Here's the title page. "для русских католиков" means "For Russian Catholics."

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It looks like Polish clerics coordinated publication of the missal.

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These pages show the Latin text alongside the Russian text.

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This is the topper that decorated Tatjana's wedding cake. It's a crown: how interesting, because Orthodox wedding ceremonies use crowns.

Thanks to my Toronto Cousin for making a photo of the cake topper available to us.