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| The Moshak Family With One-Year-Old Me Sitting Between Grandma And Papa |
.......through my eyes!
By: Jacqueline E. Hughes
"Papa Antone and Grandma Alexandria, allow me to explain my life today because of both of you..."
Greetings Ultimate Throwback Thursday! Ever since initially choosing to post my Blog on Thursday, I've always felt the desire to tie it in with a proper 'Throwback.' Prompted by current events, what little I know about my Ukrainian heritage is flashing before me like brightly colorful neon signs: Aunts and Uncles; Old World vs. Modern Lifestyle; Papa and Grandma Moshak; English Language vs. Russian Language competing for top honor......
Each set of words burst forth from memories that pound inside my head and chest and hiss above me through the air as though they were the illuminating fireworks above Sochi; the heart wrenching death shots resounding in Kiev's Independence Square.
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I am a little girl once again. Papa leads us out to his lush and aromatic backyard garden where we crunch and chew on many of the green beans we pick and place the rest in a basket for dinner. Next stop...round, firm tomatoes the color of my Mother's lipstick and picked from the vines by Papa at just the right moment. Lastly, small to medium size cucumbers are picked by the dozens and gently placed in a galvanized bucket to be washed later. These beauties will be crunched and enjoyed at many future family meals. But, only after Papa fills his pickle crocks down in the cool, dark cellar with water, vinegar, salt, onion, garlic, dill, our cucumbers and a variety of seeds and allows them to ferment in this brine until only he knows when they are ready to eat. He just knows these things. He's been repeating this process for ages!
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| My 'Shirley Temple' Days |
We run back into the large brick house to see Grandma (always) standing at the kitchen stove stirring soup for supper....with the idea of stretching the large quantities of food as far as possible due to the many stomachs she needs to fill. If she wasn't feeding her own eleven (with two more having died at birth) children, plus, each meal, she always made certain there was enough for neighbors who were bedridden or simply in need of good, hot food. Returning home, she allowed sufficient time to roll out and fill each pierogi, Russian dumpling, with cheesy potatoes, sauerkraut or prunes for the evening meal. She would show me how it was done and then we'd stir sour cream mixed with cottage cheese until smooth for the cream sauce to be served over the dumplings. The pierogi were a royal pain in the bottom to make. They were, however, quite a tasty and inexpensive dish. I can still see her round, overworked hands move like lightening as they crimped each one, dusted it with flour and lined it up along the long kitchen table until collectively they resembled a small, chubby army standing at attention! I feel she could make them blindfolded. After all, she had been perfecting this procedure for a very long time.
You see, my Ukrainian Grandparents were passengers on two separate vessels that traveled several months apart but, were on the very same mission: Escape The Bolshevik Revolution, also known as, Red October 1917. Along with many of their relatives, they entered the United States via Ellis Island and Grandma's given name, Olga, was officially changed to Alexandria because, evidently, too many woman with the name of Olga were coming through Ellis Island on that particular day! Soon, she would settle this score.
Many of these broken Ukrainian families settled in the larger cities to the north including Philadelphia, Detroit and Chicago, where many of my relatives relocated and eventually found employment. The Windy City afforded them a comfortable environment to establish 'new roots,' send their children to school and live a relatively comfortable life among the large pockets of Russian refugees that poured into Chicago every day.
I remember my uncles, as well as my own Father teasing Papa during relaxed moments on a Sunday evening after everyone mellowed under the satisfaction of good food and pleasant company. Papa never forgot why he had to forsake his Motherland and these memories would enhance the sorrow he harbored deep inside...especially after imbibing several vodka shots cloaked under the guise of a heavy, white coffee mug. "Pa, why did you leave the Ukraine so many years ago?" they would ask him. His predictable reply was, "Those damn Bolsheviks!!"
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| Pierogies With Sour Cream and Cottage Cheese Sauce |
My Grandparents met and lived in Mishawaka ~ South Bend, Indiana, and were a small branch of the original Chicago contingent. Papa Antone, or Tony, hand-built their red brick, two-story home located on Cedar Street and they raised their family there. This included a few of their oldest grandchildren. I proudly proclaim that my beautiful Mother, Olga (score settled), was a part of the growing establishment of 'women working outside of the home!" And, Grandma, having raised her children, for the most part, in poverty, through the Great Depression and World War II....was proud to see her American daughter(s) making a difference.
For several summers, my older brother and I called the house on Cedar Street our home. We often attended St. Michael's Greek Orthodox Church services on Sundays walking the few blocks to this imposing, European-influenced structure. Later in the day, Papa would take us on wheelbarrow rides around the neighborhood as he checked-in on friends and their families. Sunday evenings, following the grand family meal, Grandma would release her long, flowing hair from the tight braid that she would have wound in a thick circle at the back of her head and worn throughout the busy week. I recall how long and glossy it was...as if it had never been cut before! She would sit in front of her mirror and brush it at least one hundred strokes while I sat on her bed watching, intently.
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| My Beautiful Mother.....Olga |
Many of my aunts and uncles still lived at home and attended high school or one of the local colleges in the area which included Indiana University South Bend and Notre Dame. Not too shabby! My Uncle Bill became a high school math teacher and Uncle John, the youngest son, taught Russian Language and Russian History courses in Skokie, Illinois, right outside of Chicago. During his teaching career, he managed to take several trips to Moscow and Kiev in Russia and bring his acquired knowledge back home to his students. There would always be someone running in or out of the house with Grandma yelling at them in Russian to close the door behind them. Russian was always the preferred language of my Grandparents. However, the youthful, American spirits who dominated the household with so much energy and freedom to spare, favored English. My aunts and uncles, especially the younger siblings, cherished the dominance of American culture and often negated the influences of their Ukrainian heritage stating, "We were born in America with new ideas and the 'Old Country' is just that, old." They lived in fear of the scrutiny of their piers believing that the 'old ways' would diminish or even deplete their birthright of American abundance.
Even at the young age of three or four, I could feel the sadness that engulfed my hard-working Grandparents whose only desire was having the best for all of their children. Eventually, life and circumstances wore both of them down. I can't help but think about the first-hand knowledge and fascinating stories about their Homeland that my aunts and uncles missed-out on while growing-up. Most of them verbalized their genuine regrets later on in life....much too late.
I have my regrets, too! To have been older and better able to take advantage of learning the Russian language by my own Grandparents certainly tops the list. By the time I was picking those green beans in the garden, my Grandparents had learned to be ashamed of their native Russian language and only used it to communicate with relatives and friends of their own generation. When I would ask Papa about the several Russian Language text books he'd brought over with him on the boat, he would walk away from me while muttering, "Too hard to learn; too hard to teach." Unfortunately, my Mother, one of the older siblings, had never been taught, either.
Papa always worked with his hands, either in the garden or in his basement woodworking shop. His work was intricate and beautiful and many, if not all, of the pieces of furniture upstairs were handmade by him. I can still see and smell the aromatic curls of wood sifting down onto the work table as he hand-planed each piece of wood into the proper shape. I know that by sharing this time with him, I developed my appreciation for shape, style and texture and, to this day, associate the beauty of design with my Papa's dry, slightly gnarled, wise, old hands.
My dear Grandparents learned from their own children how everything changes, shifts and evolves. It is inevitable. The passing of time promotes all change just as education serves to define it. What had served my Grandparents well while growing-up in the Ukraine was certainly the stepping stone leading up to their need for a safer, better life found in America. Even though they fought hard to keep the memories from the old country alive, they knew that the next generation would grow up in a different land with new ideas and values. However, it would always be the hardworking ethics and values of my Ukrainian born Grandparents that would be the super glue binding one proud generation with another.
I am a part of the generation defined today as 'Baby Boomers.' We are a bona fide product of the time recently marked by the end of WWII when prosperity and too much free time blessed our own parents. But, that was okay! I am here and I don't plan on moving on anytime soon. In the meantime, I have years upon years of outrageously interesting memories filed neatly away which I fully intend to tap into from time to time in order to do what I do best.....write!
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| Alexandria and Corinne |
The next frontier: My three adorable Granddaughters! They represent the generation of 'what can be, will be,' and personally envelope me within a bright and colorful cloak of five generations of caring, loving, and strong women.
Sadly, I may never step foot on Ukrainian soil in my lifetime. However, the principles of respect, the power of caring for and about others, as well as the strength gathered within a loving nature, will always run through my veins. I take extreme pride in my Ukrainian heritage and will always attribute many of my strengths to Grandparents who, no matter what, knew how to Love......
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| With Love.......Your Granddaughter, Jacqueline. |
NOTE: My heart and prayers go out to the people of the Ukraine today, tomorrow and always! May you find the Leadership, Peace and Happiness you deserve. Many of my relatives live in the Ukraine today and I think of you often.....
Copyright © 2014 by Jacqueline E. Hughes
All rights reserved
PHOTOS © Jacqueline E. Hughes
