We ran into the Avon Lady again the other day. As always in these cases, I was with her neighbor and – again as always in these cases – we saw her son first. He greeted his neighbor, looked a question at me as though he wasn’t quite sure whether to talk to me or…
Tag: ATCK
More Tales from the Polish Relatives: wujek Marian
The person who did stay in my mind, for a long time, was ciocia Basia’s husband, wujek Marian. Wujek Marian had married into the family (obviously) and when I first met him at the age of eleven I was scared of his dog. As an aside, before I discovered that I’m somewhat of a dog…
Unraveling the Mystery of the Polish Relatives: ciocia Basia
If I held off writing about her it’s (mainly) because she is the one I interacted with the least. She was my mother’s first sister (the third-born) and my mother hated her guts. My mementoes of her were admittedly vague. Apparently we’d first met when I was two and she joined forces with me and…
Unraveling the Mystery of the Polish Relatives: ciocia Magda part I
Ciocia* Magda was my mom’s youngest sister, and I met her (perhaps) properly when I was seven. At least that’s when I remember her properly. Family history says she stayed with us for two years but I can’t say if being seven was the start, the end or fell somewhere in between. I remember a…
Unraveling the Mystery of the Polish Relatives: wujek Zbyszek part II
I realized that he was more typical of the average, well educated Polish male than atypical: acutely aware of his status and how it affected others in full knowledge of the fact that the woman they’d chosen to bear their children would count her blessings of having landed such a fine specimen of a man, keep her mouth firmly shut and do the best to raise and maintain a family unit lest the neighbors, church and assorted acquaintances, relatives and friends get a chance to list all her shortcomings (and by extension also those of her family), a feat that would happen anyway, regardless of how perfect she aimed to be.
Unraveling the Mystery of the Polish Relatives: wujek Zbyszek part I
I probably still have some of my mother’s kin living where she last left them. I wouldn’t know because to me they are not family. In fact they are the furthest thing from family a person would wish to have / would / could wish on their arch enemy / enemies to have. This is…
On Finland
On December 6 Finland – as every year – celebrated its independence from Russia with great fanfare. Not by showcasing massive parades or anything else that would draw mass attention to it. Instead post after post proclaimed the glory of Finland and why the poster – Finnish and foreign – considers Finland the “bestest country…
Three Positive Things About the Place You Live
Right now, and this may or may not change, Finland is not my favorite place to be. I’ve tried to achieve something (many somethings) that generated very positive responses in other countries but never here, and between that and the beyond abysmal healthcare – henceforth known as Burana Care thanks to the inimitable and super…
On the Conundrum of Recognizing Nationalist Rhetoric Before Others Become Aware of It
As the child of a Holocaust survivor (and a war child delivering goods to the ghetto) your mind naturally wanders off in all sorts of directions and goes off on all kinds of tangents, one of them being, what were those times like? Were there any signs and – perhaps more importantly – how would it have affected me and what if anything would I have done? We all want to be the heroes in the stories we dream and live but when it comes to generational guilt and trauma, those wishes and ideals intensify.
Fulfilling Other People’s Perception(s) of The Countries You Identify With
. . . most people where we lived seemed to be getting their ideas of what a French person was / should be from the German translations of Enid Blyton’s books, and the occasional show with a French person depicted on TV (ironically, a French actor – Pierre Brice – portrayed their national idol, Winnetou, a fictional character brought to life by Karl May who had never set foot anywhere near the Wild West . . .
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