ANTONE AND ALEXANDRIA

 

A series of essays….

MY UKRAINIAN GRANDPARENTS ON THEIR WEDDING DAY:
ANTONE AND ALEXANDRIA MOSHAK

….as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

Russian forces bombed a maternity and children’s hospital in Mariupol in southern Ukraine on Wednesday. Babies, pregnant mothers, women in labor were all inside! The attack came despite Russia agreeing to a 12-hour pause in hostilities. “How much longer will the world be an accomplice ignoring terror?” asks President Zelenskyy of Ukraine.

I believe that good gives everyone and all actions the benefit of the doubt while evil  immediately takes over, suffocates everything good with its lies and brute force, and removes all semblance of good and its imminent possibilities. Timing is everything, my friends. This is dedicated to the bold determination of the Ukrainian people!

At the beginning of this unprovoked, horrendous war orchestrated by Vladimir Putin, I sat listening to the Ukrainian negotiation delegation holding a press conference in Lviv with foreign and Ukrainian news media. My mind wandered back in time to my grandparents home in Mishawaka, Indiana and me asking questions about this rhythmic, Slavic language singsonging in my head; holding me hostage in the past and now, doing the same in the present.

THE HOME PAPA BUILT ON CEDAR STREET IN
MISHAWAKA. HE DUG OUT THE BASEMENT 
AND LAID EACH BRICK HIMSELF.

Antone and Alexandria. According to the sound of their names, they could have ruled their own Slavic nation and brought goodness into an evil world. Actually, after having twelve children plus enduring three miscarriages, they could have easily populated their little nation, as well.

Frustration at not being able to understand what my grandparents were saying to one another prompted me to ask my Papa Moshak to teach us, his grandchildren, the language he brought over from his homeland. Because he did not speak English well, he always hesitated to comply. Oh, how I wish he could have taught us this major part of our heritage! He had brought over language course books but told my Mother they were all in Russian, not Ukrainian. I didn’t know the difference. But, he certainly did. He told my mother that it was all he could grab before leaving his homeland for America.

We were given tantalizing bits and pieces here and there, for example: Give me a little kiss (дай мені трохи поцілунку), hush your mouth (заткни свій рот) this was usually accompanied by the contact of my mother’s foot on our shin under the dining table, I love you (я тебе люблю), which was, of course, the best one of all! 

Mother and her eleven siblings were not taught to speak Ukrainian either. Sadly, Ukraine was a place they all wanted to distance themselves from as they were Americans, born and bred. Papa and Grandma only reminded them of a life to run away from; one with no future possibilities, one best to leave behind.

MY MOTHER, OLGA, STANDING SECOND FROM
THE RIGHT IN THE SECOND ROW WITH MOST
OF HER SIBLINGS. I AM THE BABY SITTING 
ON MY GRANDMOTHER’S LAP.

As this complicated sounding language flowed from the TV into my head, I had to wonder what the difference is between the Ukrainian and Russian languages. Despite their similar origins, there have been enough factors to push these languages into their distinct branches today, including time, culture, and politics. Papa told us that the Ukrainian language was greatly influenced by the Polish language. Recently, through Ancestry.com, I’ve learned that the small village grandma grew up in, Strae, Ukraine, is located a short distance from the Ukrainian/Polish border. 

Grandma’s delicious dumplings, pedaheh, were our ultimate comfort food, filled with cheesy potatoes, or dried plums, or sauerkraut, they were similar to Polish pierogi but, lovingly made just for us by grandma. Her borscht was never my favorite meal with its sour taste, deep purple color, and dollop of sour cream on top. I remember crushing as many saltine crackers into it as possible to create something palatable and always under the scrutiny of grandma’s penetrating gaze.

Thinking about all of the things we’ve seen, learned about, discovered, wondered about, and often failed to discern in one human lifetime only makes me wonder even more about everything we know absolutely nothing about and may never learn within one go around on this fragile planet.

During his State of the Union Address, President Biden spoke about our veterans being exposed to burn pits; the toxic equivalent to Agent Orange during the war in Vietnam. The first I’d heard of burn pits was when our troops evacuated Afghanistan this past year. And, even then, I had to do some research to fully understand what was going on. I suppose it does make sense to destroy everything you’ve touched and utilized during the occupation of another country in order to erase your information and undermine its influence on your enemy. But, at what cost?

Isn’t Russia playing by its own rules in the attempt to destroy everything touched by the Ukrainians, especially the children,  in a blatant act of erasing them as people altogether?

What many veterans are having to live through now, with their health in jeopardy, is merely one true cost of war, I know. (Making mental lists as I type this article.) Having knowledge of the use of burn pits, even after the fact, has enlightened many of us to the hazards of war created by the one institution that should always have the welfare of all of its people in mind—the Federal Government. As Commander in Chief, President Biden is introducing a bill to aid all veterans suffering from the lasting affects of burn pits.

As this unprovoked war on the kind people of this beautiful country of Ukraine wages on, many of us who have this noble blood flowing through us intensely react to their deep pain and sorrow. We pray for ultimate reasoning and fundamental peace to emerge from the ashes of this nonsensical conflict. May the uncompromising spirit of the president of Ukraine, Volodymyr Zelenskyy, spread its strength across the nation as he displays both bravery and media savvy during the Russian invasion.

VOLODYMYR ZELENSKYY
PRESIDENT OF UKRAINE
A TRUE WAR HERO

Now, I don’t know if Antone and Alexandria, my Ukrainian grandparents, ever stepped foot in the historic and beautiful cities of Kyiv, the capital city, or Odessa (Odesa), the port city on the Black Sea in southern Ukraine. I hope they did. They were both born and raised in separate villages that bordered on Poland and were quite a distance from the capital city of Ukraine. Leaving your small village to travel around your own country was considered a luxury and one not readily available to all Ukrainian citizens. By the time they both escaped the terror reigned upon them during the Bolshevik Revolution beginning in November of 1917 and led by Vladimir Lenin, whose regime would soon create the first communist country called the U.S.S.R., they met one another in the United States. Each escaping the terror of their homeland in order to create a better life here, they married and raised a large family in upstate Indiana.

Olga, my mother, was the kindest most sensitive parent any child could have and with her fiery red hair framing porcelain skin sprinkled with sun kissed freckles, she epitomized the ‘Daughter of Ukraine’ in so many ways. When grandma passed at the early age of fifty-six, my mother lost her best friend; her true tie to the land she would never visit.

VLADIMIR LENIN, FORMER PREMIER AND
DICTATOR OF THE SOVIET UNION

Photo courtesy of The Guardian

Given the current war instigated by yet another brutal Russian dictator, as well as the many conflagrations foisted upon the Ukrainian people during, as well as since she and Papa fled to the west, Alexandria could explain to my mother firsthand the important role that the western countries of Europe have taken in aiding refugees fleeing Ukraine. Olga could learn, via her own parents, how history constantly repeats itself. 

Now is not the time to let up; Putin must fail. Since the end of the Cold War, we took our eyes off the ball and allowed people to harm one another, again. This time around we are defending democracy and the right of an independent nation to embrace the freedoms they had worked so hard to obtain. 

Will this latest war open up our own eyes to the possibility of losing something as precious as our own democratic beliefs? Will it help to pull our country together and make us understand how important our freedoms truly are? What is Putin’s endgame? These are the questions we should be asking. I see a lonely, confused, and desperate man seated at the end of one of his long tables in the Kremlin.

Yes, I wish I had been taught how to speak the Ukrainian language by my grandparents, if only to bring me that much closer to a heritage that I am so proud to be a part of. As my distant cousins, perhaps sleeping in metro stations and basements in an attempt to survive another day, hold their children close as they wipe away their tears, my arms are opened wide letting them know it will be okay; we are here for you.

ST. ANDREW’S CHURCH -
KYIV, UKRAINE

 

Courtesy: Art, Culture, and Civilization

Believing in Antone and Alexandria keeps hope alive. There is a stronger, better world that will outshine the rocket’s red glare and bombs crushing the life from the Ukrainian people today. However, their spirit, so far, remains intact and we must all help to keep it this way until the monster hiding under the bed (behind the Kremlin walls) is defeated!

I thank you, Grandma and Papa, for your courage so long ago. The darkness and shame people carry having to leave a place in fear for reasons of self preservation surely must have been eased by your love for your children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. We feel blessed by your courage every day of our lives.

The more love you put out in the world, the more you get back..

WITH LOVE TO UKRAINE
AND HER AMAZING PEOPLE!

Copyright © 2022 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

 

"THE ONLY LESSON YOU CAN LEARN FROM HISTORY IS THAT IT REPEATS ITSELF"

A series of essays.....

THE 'MUST SEE' FILM BY: BOBBY LEIGH

.....as seen through my eyes!





By: Jacqueline E. Hughes


"Those damn Bolsheviks!" is the quote from my dear, long departed, Ukrainian Grandfather, Antone Moshak, that has lived deep inside my soul ever since I was a little girl. He was so adamant and repetitious that, as a child, it became my grandfather's 'battle cry' and was guaranteed to set the stage for his evening conversations. He could be stubborn as a mule and, as I grew older, with several history lessons later, I began to understand why.

My title is a quote by the author of the book The Great Pearl of Wisdom, Bangambiki Habyarimana. This quote, in time, may serve to gauge and determine the future of our world as we know it. Will we continue to allow history to repeat itself as if on a 'looped' playback continuously showing us pictures of inhumane atrocities such as the 'Irish Potato Famine' in the nineteenth century, the Jewish Holocaust from the period of 1933 to 1945, and the current starvation tactics of the Syrian civil war with all of the innocent victims and refugees it has created?

An author of nineteen distinct works, Bangambiki is a community worker who assists young adults in the fight against HIV AIDS through education and counseling in Mozambique. He is a young man who is wise beyond his years. "Miscellaneous thoughts and insights on life come to me when I am alone gazing at the starry sky at night, walking by the sea, through the wood, watching people at a party, going to the market, by a chance encounter, or when my sleep fails me."

Reading Bangambiki's quote, recalling the remote look in my grandfather's eyes, and digesting the word 'Holodomor' several times within the past few weeks, has filled me with conflicting emotions.

If you've never heard of the term Holodomor before, you are not alone. It may even sound like a character straight out of a J. R. R. Tolkien novel. Sadly, it is not. Learning about Holodomor, pronounced: 'huh-luh-duh-more,' according to The Connecticut HOLODOMOR Awareness Committee, I can almost identify with the distant look in grandpa's eyes that filled with unequivocal hatred with each cry of "Those damn Bolsheviks!" 

The literal Ukrainian definition of the word Holodomor is: "Death by forced starvation."

BOBBY LEIGH

My recent inquisitiveness was sparked by a gentleman by the name of Bobby Leigh. I met Bobby online and his vibrant and colorful personality enriched my imagination right from the beginning! Bobby is a twelve-time, Award Winning Filmmaker and has over twenty years in the Music and Entertainment Business where he has produced and/or toured with such Rock-n-Roll legends as Aerosmith, Kiss, Lynyrd Skynyrd, and Quiet Riot, just to name a few. Author, Film Director, Producer, Actor, and Visionary at Moksha Films, Bobby keeps busy these days, and rightfully so!

November 17, 2015, Bobby shared a press release on his Facebook Page that immediately caught my attention:

"PRESS RELEASE: My Film "HOLODOMOR: Ukraine's Genocide" will be screening in SAN FRANCISCO this Weekend on Saturday 21 November 2015 at the Main San Francisco Public Library at 2:00-4:00 PM. Koret Auditorium, lower level. FREE. Please come and show support for our movie. Q & A following screening with writer/director/producer: Bobby Leigh & producer: Marta Tomkiw."

Logline: “The biggest lie, the best kept secret.”

Considering my family's roots and knowing that many of my relatives still live and thrive in the Ukraine today, I desired to view this film myself if it would shed even more light on the hatred I recalled in my grandfather's eyes. Short of flying out to California, I wrote to Bobby and asked where and when it might be showing near me or if I could purchase a copy of "Holodomor" for myself. Up to this point in my life, I had yet to see pictures, film or any footage of this horrific event that would help me understand this deep, dark, and sad history of the Ukrainian people.  Bobby's 'Log Line' seemed to be holding true.

I presumed that his great passion for exposing this dark secret in history was connected with his own heritage and asked him if this were the case. In true Bobby fashion, he replied, "I'm not Ukrainian. I made this movie because, once I found out about this subject, I was pissed off that I was not taught this at University. I felt that this story needed to be told." He proceeded to send me a copy of his film for my perusal.

I must ask how many of you are familiar with this historical event yourselves? If you are, when and where were you exposed to it? Did you learn about it in any level of your formal education? Do you have family or friends who talked about it? Considering the Holodomor is a major blot on the history of the world, equal to the Holocaust, (which means "sacrifice by fire"), brought about by the Nazis who came to power in Germany in 1933, why isn't it just as prominent within our fundamental education?

I know that Bobby must have asked himself this last question a million times.

If over six million Jews could be obliterated by a regime led by Hitler under the auspices of 'racial superiority,' blind power, and pure hatred, then how could over 30,000 men, women, and children in Ukraine die each day in the height of this famine-genocide in 1933 and the world not be aware of it?

To get the answer to this question, one must look briefly into the history of Russia.

In 1917, the Bolsheviks, led by Vladimir Lenin, take power in Russia. The Soviet Union is formed in 1922 with Ukraine becoming one of the republics. Soon afterwards, Lenin dies and Joseph Stalin ascends to power and introduces a program of agricultural collectivization in 1928 that forces farmers to give up everything they own to factory-like collective farms......and then were told to work on these farms in order to exist with no compensation whatsoever.

Proud and successful Ukrainian farmers, labeled Kurkuls, refuse to return to earlier serfdom and in 1929 Stalin introduces a policy of 'class warfare' in order to breakdown resistance. The following year, nearly a half a million people are dragged from their homes, packed into freight trains and shipped to remote areas such as Siberia where they are left to perish from starvation and inclement weather.

Between 1932 and 1933, the population of entire Ukrainian villages are wiped-out due to the blockades erected around them preventing the transport of food into them, locking the hungry inside. Stalin is determined to 'teach a lesson through famine' and, ultimately, deal a crushing blow to the backbone of Ukraine, it's rural population.

By 1934, approximately ten million deaths, including three million children, and nearly twenty-five percent of the Ukrainian population, are attributed to starvation within the borders of Soviet Ukraine, not including deportation, executions, or natural deaths. Stalin denies forced famine in the Ukraine and continues to export millions of tons of grain to the outside world.

In my estimation, denial, denial, denial was generated on all sides of this horrific situation which included Western governments who adopted a passive attitude toward the famine, even though they had become aware of the suffering in Ukraine via confidential diplomatic channels. Franklin Roosevelt, newly elected in 1933, recognized Stalin's government and turned a 'blind eye' to the famine due to a lucrative trade agreement with the Soviet Union. Shame on all of us who see monetary gain and power as the holy grail rather than the bane of our existence. Definitely, another prime example of history repeating itself.

Early on, my grandparents lived through and recognized the inevitable results of the initial Bolshevik uprising. To pull-up stakes, forsake family ties, and emigrate to an unknown place, put them at risk every step of the way. Survival itself takes on its own risks and would it not be better to hope for a future and do something about it than to perish with no hope left at all? Literally, standing here today, I am most grateful to my proud and heroic grandparents for choosing to be safe and free, no matter what the cost.

 BOBBY LEIGH WITH MOKSHA FILMS

It is because of good people like Bobby Leigh and others associated with Moksha Films who recognize injustice and choose to expose it rather than keep it under wraps like a skeleton pushed into the depths of a dark, foreboding closet filled with secrets and denial. Bobby's documentary, "HOLODOMOR: Ukraine's Genocide," should be viewed, discussed, analyzed, and included in every school curriculum throughout the world and adapted to all languages until this tragic famine-genocide of the Ukrainian people is recognized and catalogued for what it was, an atrocity against millions of innocent people for political and personal gains.

Thank you, Bobby Leigh.....!

On November 28, 2006, according to The Connecticut Holodomor Committee, the Parliament of Ukraine passed a decree defining the Holodomor as a deliberate 'Act of Genocide.' Although the Russian government continues to call Ukraine's depiction of the famine a "one-sided falsification of history," it is now recognized as genocide by over two dozen nations.

Many Ukrainians survived to give eyewitness accounts of this abomination. Bobby has featured several survivors and their brief testimonies in his documentary. Their personal recollections sent chills down my spine as I watched their tears flow freely when speaking about personal experiences during this execution by hunger.

The Spanish philosopher and poet, George Santayana, once said, "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." Are we doomed to repeat the past by being so disingenuous as many of our politicians and leaders are today? My hope is that the solemn words of Bangambiki Habyarimana are incorrect when he says, "The only lesson you can learn from history is that it repeats itself." 

Only by understanding the genocides of the past can we hope to prevent others from occurring in our lifetime. Yet, armed with all of this information, we may already be too late. I pray that we are able to aid the people of Syria and harbor the Syrian refugees before the statistics prove that all hope is fleeting.

Now that I understand my grandfather better, I realize that the stoic look emanating from his ancient eyes culminated from deep within himself as he constantly remembered what was, and was saddened by never being able to know what could have been.

Lovingly, I dedicate this essay to my Ukrainian Grandmother and Grandfather, Alexandria and Antone Moshak.



You can visit Bobby online at: 

 www.facebook.com/BobbyLeighAuthor
www.HOLODOMORthemovie.com   

Copyright © 2016 by Jacqueline E. Hughes
All rights reserved

MY UKRAINIAN CONNECTION

A series of short stories.....





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.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 
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!

                                            

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!!" 





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. 





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!



Alexandria and Corinne

Now that my stacks of memories are ample enough to fill volumes, it is easier to reflect back on time itself and remember my Grandma's smile and warm touch that let me know I could do no wrong in her eyes; My Mother's translucent, freckle sprinkled skin and sun kissed, strawberry blond hair that predetermined a lifestyle filled with floppy hats and plenty of natural shade; My own preoccupation with a negative body image and rounded, Slavic nose. Sorry Grandma....still hyper critical of myself after all this time. Two daughters, my own Alexandria and Corinne, so named with Alexandria reminding me of my Mother in stature and unmasked kindness and Corinne always reflecting strength and her Father's chiseled looks and Irish appeal.

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......

 




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