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17 December 2019, Amsterdam Schiphol Airport (AMS), Holland

Here I am at the end of the earth — Gate E-17 — in an area that’s being renovated but definitely not completed and not on the D concourse where I usually await return trips.  Ah, well.  Nothing about this trip has been very ordinary.

It started on Sunday, 1 December, with a flight to Detroit (DTW), a long layover and no Internet access.  I sunk $29 to enter/use the Delta lounge thinking I might log on there.  Not.  

Since I have a MacBook Air, I’m used to this happening when wi-fi is free and not secure, as it is in most airports and many hotels.  And although I appreciate all of Apple’s security precautions on my behalf, it is still frustrating, very frustrating at times (just ask Glenn).  My laptop remembers passwords for friends’ wi-fi systems despite long periods between visits … but it takes hours or sometimes a day before it’ll accept free access.  Sigh.

Uneventful flight to AMS and my friend Ana was waiting for me as she’d promised.  I arrived at a fairly reasonable time, 8 am, and not the 6 am arrival time of my usual Minneapolis flight.  Going through DTW was less expensive, so …

Had a lovely visit with Ana and husband Art.  They made a delicious baked salmon dinner the first night, and we went to dinner at Cafe Amsterdam the second. In between I wandered their neighborhood, then took a taxi to the new showroom, office and warehouse for their women’s apparel business.  What an improvement over the previous space; it was a nice waterfront location but minimal light and small showroom.  This large open showroom was surrounded by huge plate glass windows on three sides allowing lots of light.  Their samples are so much easier to peruse — I kind of pine for working when I see the gorgeous suits in their showroom.  After closing up, we went to the cafe, and Art found parking with a nice walk of the place.

In an old industrial building, the Cafe Amsterdam is a huge open plan and had a Christmas tree to match its ceiling height of at least three or four floors.  The cafe buzzed with good vibes.  Unfortunately the food was less than stellar.  Ana and Art both had chewy, over-cooked venison.  My lamb chops had good flavor but were more medium than medium rare, not worth a complaint.  Desserts and wine … and the removal of two entrees from the check … improved the experience.  

We took a closed canal boat to see the annual Amsterdam holiday light festival.  Some extraordinary lighting pieces sited all over the center city and done by artists from around the world.  This year’s theme was DISRUPT.  Hard to say which was my favorite, and of course I didn’t take any photos.  “Icebreaker” gave the illusion of a frozen canal ready for skating but also warning of the hazard of the ice breaks more common with global warming, a common sub-theme.  The disruption of a flood was depicted as cars, trees, poles and such were partially submerged in a canal, and in another the colorful, high rise buildings of a major metropolis were partially submerged..  Near the Amsterdam Zoo, luminous eyes of various colors flashed among the “darkest of dark” trees and bushes, and elsewhere seven bright blue butterflies rose and fell with the water illustrating the Butterfly Effect. 

The next morning Ana graciously drove me to the airport for my flight to Warsaw (WAW) which was uneventful.  Steve (board member of long standing), Jim (board member candidate) and I grouped at the Marriott Courtyard across the driveways from the airport.  We were to meet Piotr, our driver there.  However, someone new greeted us, and it took a few seconds to recognize Grzegorz, the Center’s new president and our  designated driver that day.

Since we decided to forego our traditional stop in Piaczeno, we took the newish motorway to Radom, then worked our way through that city to the roadway toward Sandomierz.  If Polish pottery was going to be purchased, it would have to be done in Sandomierz.  We interrupted the trip for obiad (dinner) at a restaurant familiar to Grzegorz.  A chance to chat informally and get to know each other better over good Polish food — źurek (sour rye soup with hard boiled egg halves and kiełbasa bits) for me.  Steve, Jim and I were having dinner with Hala and family that night.  ‘Nuff said about not overeating at lunch.

Weather was Polish winter, mostly overcast, chilly and damp — and dark by 3:30 in the afternoon.  Dinner at Hala’s was typical Hala — delicious and too much.  Of course, we sampled her husband Michał’s newest liqueurs.  All quite tasty although I declined to taste the one made from green walnuts; it smelled awful but Steve said the taste was okay.  Because I knew the Center would load me down with “stuff” (candy, books, meeting papers), I tried to decline to bring some home.  Michał’s surprising reply was, “What about Glenn?  Maybe he would like something.”  I think he’s finally accepted Glenn.  I graciously accepted a bottle of raspberry liqueur that I’d enjoyed and Michał had filled into the moonshine jug I’d brought him.  

Marcin, Hala and Michał’s son, and his wife and toddler daughter joined us.  Poor Zusia got the scare of her life when Steve leaned on the empty chair next to him, it collapsed and he fell to the floor.  No injuries but one screaming child and one embarrassed man.  In his defense, Hala showed us how the back chair legs are closer together than the front, making the chair somewhat unstable.  This wasn’t the first to break.

As previously arranged, Steve, Jim and I met with Grzegorz on Thursday afternoon to discuss the state of the transition to a new leader.  Grzegorz took over in August, an outsider and a man after 25 years of Hala and the last couple, Anna.  First, we drove to a new facility for persons who are mentally challenged, and sometimes physically too.  The facility provides day activities, counseling, art classes, training in cooking, budgets and more as well as some housing.  The aim is to prepare people for their future lives as many are dependent on their parents now.  It’s a marvelous facility, and the area and country could use many more like it.

We drove to Grezgorz’s parents house where his father served us lunch.  The meeting went well, and I was impressed with how open Grzegorz was about the issues he’s facing and his willingness to accept our assessments and help.  We hired him to challenge the staff, to push them from their “business as usual” rut and chart a path for the future.  Although the road has been a bit bumpy so far, our confidence in Grzegorz was in tact.

That evening board members gathered for dinner and catching up before the actual board meetings started.  The morning session of Day One (Friday, 6 December) was quite a surprise — Grzegorz had arranged with the leaders of three municipalities to attend and sign an agreement to work together on future programs and projects.  It was quite an unexpected extravaganza of slide shows and speeches and explained a lot about why Grzegorz was so busy.  The afternoon saw the usual staff reports.  I decided it was too difficult to try to hear the new translator who was sitting between Steve and Jim, and relied on my minimal Polish language skills and the written word.  

At dinner that evening, we had three honored guests, Anna, Hala and Ewa, our former translator.  Thank yous and toasts abounded as we said good bye to long-term colleagues — Anna and Hala to retirement and Ewa to her ever-growing translation business.

As is my custom in Sandomierz, I only ate half of most foods that were served.  Portions are always too big and when it comes to the Friday banquet, I know that 10 minutes after coffee is served, kolacja (supper) will come out.  That means a delightful and vast array of prepared salads, cold cuts and cheeses, herring, breads, cakes and vodka.  I didn’t stay long after kolacja was put out as I was beat and I didn’t need more food.

The formal board meeting saw the professor’s official departure from the board.  Czesław, a tenured professor at the Kraków agricultural university, and I sparred frequently, but as with other differences of opinion on the board, we all supported the final solution or decision.  I’m going to miss him; he was a worthy opponent.  Jim joined us as his replacement.  Steve will complete his service in June, and Barbara (an ag professor recommended by Czesław) will replace him.  We had met her and agreed she is a good choice, but I was floored that the professor nominated a woman.  That’s an area we often debated.  I told Ryszard J., our chair, that I have three potential candidates for my spot next December, and board member Krystyna has a woman she suggested to take Ryszard M.’s place in December.  OMG, the Center Board could have three female members out of seven.

Usually whenever I get a chance, I go outside for a walk, to get some fresh air and to shop.  I buy for and mail KinderEggs to Spike and Jonah in Boston, get postcards and stamps for my “kids’ list,” and buy undies at a little shop that carries a brand I like.  For whatever reason, I barely left Hotel Basztowy this trip.  In addition to being chilly, it was very windy — maybe that’s why.  Or maybe I decided that I shouldn’t spend money.  Who knows?

I made up for that over the weekend in Puławy where I stayed at Ewa’s.  The walking, not the shopping.  We went to the nearby spa town of Nałęczów on Sunday and walked and talked and walked and talked — and had lunch at Wedel, the Polish candy company cafe.  I overcame my desire for a hot chocolate, a Wedel specialty that I look forward too.  See, I told you this whole trip was weird.  Me, foregoing rich dark chocolate.  Go figure.

Took a bus — well, actually an over-sized but comfortable van — from Puławy to Warsaw on Monday afternoon.  The van’s terminus was near Pałac Kultury i Nauki (Palace of Culture and Science), Warsaw’s ugliest building, and from there I caught a taxi to Dorota’s.  Rush hour in Warsaw rivals that in any big US city — bumper to bumper cars, buses, vans all vying for the “fast lane,” whatever that is.

Later but still 17 December 2019 (gotta love west-east travel), Detroit-Wayne International Airport (DTW), Detroit, Michigan, USA

Relatively uneventful transatlantic flight after a good night’s sleep at the hotel.  I flew from Warsaw yesterday and treated myself to the Sheraton that is right across the streets from the airport.  Got to my room and tried to check in with my flight, but my Mac didn’t like the hotel’s free wi-fi.  So I hustled back to the airport and used one of their self-service machines to check in and get my boarding passes.  Also tried to pay close attention to how I worked my way to Departures 2 Sky Priority through the huge shopping area that I have to navigate from where I’d entered the terminal.  Got in some good, long walks.

Now, back to my story …

Story-wise, it’s Monday, 9 December.  I have the codes to enter Dorota’s building, just not a key to the flat. I’d sent her a text from Puławy, and she’d told me that Franek, their son, would be home when I arrived.  I think she wanted him to practice his English.  He was and we did.  “How was school today?” I asked.  “So so,” he replied.

One of my favorite Polish foods is dill pickle soup.  I can see your eyes rolling, but it’s delicious and  Dorota makes a fantastic version.  She left me a pot of that to heat and enjoy, which I did, along with some good Polish chleb (bread).  I was in hog heaven.  Doubly so as I had a new bed.  I generally sleep on a mattress on the floor in Dorota’s husband Jacek’s office.  A perfectly fine arrangement.  But Franek had donated his bed which was moved into my spot.  Made getting out of bed in the morning much, much easier.

A bit of background. Dorota was my first Polish teacher in Peace Corps training, and Małgościa was head of the language training program.  They started IKO to teach Polish to foreigners more than 20 years ago.  Besides individual and group classes in and around their central Warsaw office, they provide Polish to students at the newish university started by some Turkish investors.  Dorota does much of the work on the university program, including teaching occasionally.  Right now she’s teaching in a town more than an hour away.  She arrived home tired and hungry and worried.  

Just before I arrived, Dorota had tried to arrange dinner with a mutual American friend who prefers to remain unnamed.  And said friend informed Dorota that she had just been diagnosed with some form of lung cancer that had already metastasized.  Dorota didn’t totally understand, but our friend was awaiting a call back from the doctor about when she’d go to the hospital for more tests.  Oh, Dorota also told me that our friend had reconnected with her high school boyfriend, and he’d acquired his very first passport and was in Warsaw with her.  Wedding talk was in the air.

Between texts and calls, we got a little more information, offered to go to the hospital with our friend and waited.  I asked about getting a second opinion at Mayo, and she agreed.  The hardest part of that day was waiting seven hours until the work day started in Minnesota.  I called my contact there, provided details and gave him my email address.  Later he emailed info and instructions for getting an appointment, which I passed on to my friend.  I also contacted my friend/translator Ewa who now has a specialty in medical translation; she’s available when needed.

In the midst of this, on Tuesday I made quick trip to the big shopping mall near Dorota’s to buy KinderEggs for Jonah and Spike, two of my “adopted” grandsons (their dad and I were Peace Corps volunteers together).  Also got a few for my two older granddaughters, Sara and Emma.  Callie is way too young for something as small as the prize inside the egg.

And I got together for dinner with my Peace Corps counterpart Krzysztof whom I haven’t seen in almost 20 years!  He and my late son Peter had become friends when Peter stayed with me for five months in 1995-96.  We spent a couple of hours talking, and I learned about his marriage, divorce (shocker), teenaged daughter (bigger shock), girlfriend and several long-term jobs.  Last time I saw him he was with a mobile phone provider, now he’s in the automotive parts business, both a long way from our days at a regional chamber of commerce in Nowy Sacz.  Krzysztof looks much the same and has the same smile and way about him that I remember.  We’ll definitely get together again.

On Wednesday I returned to the mall to meet my former business partner Lynn.  We walked to a nearby Italian cafe for lunch.  Lynn, her husband and their two younger kids are back living in Warsaw; the older son is in college in the US.  They divide their time between Poland and Florida.  It was fun to touch base and catch up.  Lynn is still Lynn, which is good.

I spent much of Thursday with my friend at the hospital.  She’d checked into the best hospital for lung diseases.  Instead of the biopsy that was scheduled, they removed a small lymph node.  I had a chance to meet her local doc, a pulmonologist with excellent English language skills AND great bedside manner.  He was straightforward, answering questions honestly and with compassion, reminding her the final diagnosis wasn’t in yet.  I liked him a lot; reminded me of my son Peter’s ophthalmic surgeon at Mayo.

Friday morning  I touched base with my no-name-please friend.  She would leave the hospital later in the day, diagnosis would be given on Tuesday.  She was still hoping to return to the US for the holidays on 19th as planned and booked.  Lest you think this was the only bad news of my trip, I learned that another friend’s alcohol problem has escalated so seriously that it’s affecting her work.  And another friend had been hospitalized twice earlier in the year with no clear diagnosis yet.  Did I say this trip was more downer than upper?  Anyway …

Halinka, formerly of the Center in Sandomierz, knows how much I love Śliwki Czekoladowy (chocolate covered prunes) and gave me a half kilo for Christmas, way too much for me.  So I packed three each into small padded envelopes addressed to US friends who also enjoy this Polish sweet.  I also boxed the boys’ KinderEggs and mailed the box in a padded envelope.  (Using these envelopes means I don’t have to fill out customs form!)  It’s our semi-annual challenge to see if the KinderEggs are delivered (they’re illegal in the US).  For mailing, I decided to use the post office nearest to Dorota’s, rather than schlepp to the main Poczta in the center of town.  I’d passed the PO directional sign many times and decided to follow it.  The tiny post office had a helpful clerk and no line.  What more could I ask?  Dispatched everything and parted with about $30 in postage.

That done, I walked to the taxi rank and caught a cab to Iza’s place.  Soon we were off to Nowy Sacz in her snazzy new red car.  With an influx of EU money, Poland has upgraded its roadway infrastructure tremendously.  We were on four-lane divided freeway from Warsaw to Kraków, and the roadway through the mountains to Nowy Sacz was waaaaay better than when I lived there.

27 December 2019, Pittsburgh PA USA

As you can see, my relaxed (read: lazy) blogging habit hasn’t improved with the new site.  I’ve been home, celebrated Christmas Eve at Glenn’s younger daughter’s and Christmas Day at his older daughter’s and basked in the joy of children’s glee as they rip into Christmas presents.  These holidays are so much more fun with kids around!

Back to my Poland trip … it’s the weekend of 13-15 December

I’ve known Iza since Peace Corps, but only a few years ago learned that her mother’s family was from Nowy Sacz where I was a PCV.  We’d visited back then and she reconnected with some cousins.  We spent this weekend with one, Bozena, a widow with adult children.  The weekend was perfect in many ways — Bozena was such a gracious hostess and so forgiving of my poor Polish.  Since she doesn’t speak English, I spent the weekend using my limited vocabulary, even more limited grammar and paying close attention when Iza and Bozena were talking … and I went to bed exhausted each night.  We ate, of course, because this is Poland and guests must be well fed.  Bozena made fresh whole trout for obiad before we walked on Saturday.  I had forgotten how wonderful trout from the local streams can be.

We had great walking weather, crisp but mostly sunny dry, and we did a lot of walking.  On Saturday we walked all the way from the town square to where I used to live to a mall across the river and back to where we’d parked the car — more than two hours in all.   Sunday, before driving back to Warsaw, we walked along the river levee for almost an hour.  It might be December and it might get dark too early, but I’ll take this kind of weather anytime.

Back in Warsaw, I checked into the MDM, an updated old hotel that I’ve stayed in many times over the years.  In the old days I’d find a bunch of mimeographed business cards under my door, as did every other hotel guest.  

Short aside for funny story.  Jim, board candidate who was my original project manager on the Center project, and I were in Warsaw on business and stayed at the MDM.  We agreed that I’d knock on his door when I was ready to go to dinner.  But I knocked on the wrong door, and a  highly cologned man answered and was completely flummoxed to see almost 50, ordinary me and not his young, svelte hire-a-date.  Oops.

Back on track … I walked to a nearby restaurant for dinner, then settled into reorganizing my luggage for the overnight in AMS and trip home.  I wasn’t going to schlepp a carryon in DTW.  My flight wasn’t until noonish the next day so no need for a wake up call.  I had a leisurely breakfast with lots of the MDM’s good coffee, then taxied to the airport.

Uneventful flight to AMS, overnight at Sheraton and flight to DTW.  Long layover again.  Walked the length of the airport three times but couldn’t manager more.  I was too pooped since I hadn’t slept all night.  Uneventful flight to PIT and a grinning Glenn was waiting for me and already had my suitcases.  Big hugs, many kisses.  I was home.

And that’s my story and I’m sticking to it, as my late mom used to say.  (I think she stole it from an old song.)

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I’m back … and here we go again.

That’s me in Greenock, Scotland. Our (Glenn’s and my) hometown was named for this seaport on the Clyde River not far from Glasgow. William Black, a sea captain we were told, emigrated to Elizabeth Township PA and named a small village after what we were told was his hometown. NOT. Glenn did a pretty extensive ancestry search and could find no evidence Mr. Black had lived in Greenock nor that he had been a sea captain. Like so many others in the area, he’d been a coal miner. But he is buried in the original Greenock Cemetery.

My favorite travel partner and photographer Glenn took this … and most of the photos you’ll see in the blog.

Back again

I’m grounded, like many/most/all of you, by a global pandemic. I thought I’d have more time to write, post more often on how coronavirus has changed what we do, how we work and live. Or not. Perhaps write on lighter topics. I started … and got stalled. Then I signed up for a writing class at Osher LifeLong Learning Institute at Carnegie Mellon University. For those of you not familiar with Osher or OLLI, the short version is that it’s a university-based program that offers courses to seniors, many taught by retired profs as well as others with knowledge/experience in a topic and interest in sharing it. I started a couple of years ago with a knitting class, renewing my interest in an old hobby. I’ve also taken classes on women mystery writers, wine, right-wing authoritarianism (FYI, there’s no such thing as “left wing authoritarianism”), and crocheting.

In each weekly writing class, we’re given a theme or topic to write about in 10 minutes, then we share. Reminds me of J-school. Each week we also submit a 1200-word piece for everyone to read and critique via email and to discuss at the next class (Zoom, of course). That’s truly inspired me and moved me off “square one” in completing the book I’ve been writing about my son Peter’s journey.

For today, and likely in the future, I’ll share some of the weekly writing exercises. Nothing too serious, definitely nothing political. Each another piece of me.

“I think that I shall never see

“A poem lovely as a tree.”

Joyce Kilmer

Much of my early 1950s childhood was spent playing in the woods around our house. Ours was the first house built on a dirt-only street that led through a former farm that had included a big orchard and lots of woods. Our house was built in part of the old orchard. My brother, our friends and I played Captain Video in the low crotch of the three peach trees that Daddy saved from the bulldozers.

As we grew up, we ventured farther afield for our adventures — as much out of necessity as curiosity. More houses were added to our street, more streets to our neighborhood as the developer marched through the farm he’d acquired.  

Christmas trees weren’t a part of our mother’s Scottish heritage, and our Hungarian father’s family couldn’t regularly afford one.  But we, the typical American family, had one.  And on Christmas Eve Daddy went on an annual mission to buy the cheapest tree he could find, Scotch pine preferred. He couldn’t imagine spending $5 (average price then) for a “dead tree.” The tree I remember best was in the mid ‘50s.  It cost 50 cents and would’ve looked perfect in a Charlie Brown cartoon with its seven branches on a five-foot trunk. No amount of tinsel, lights, popcorn strings and colored balls could hide its sparseness … but we tried.

Off to college I traded my childhood woods for a campus that was set along the shore of Lake Michigan and among an abundance of trees. Different kinds of adventures, not least of which was avoidance of the many squirrels that cavorted among the trees. I’d never really feared them until I read in the student handbook that they could be rabid. Oh, and if you’re bitten, bring the offending animal with you to the health service.  Right.

One college summer I worked as a counselor at a church camp. My 10-year-old charges, with help from myself and a co-counselor, built a treehouse along the bank of the creek that flowed through the camp. What fun it was to help those kids learn to pound nails and build something (good intro into a “lesson” on the crucifixion … or not). We held our week’s end meeting in our new house.

Years later my toddler son had a tree house. Sadly it was freestanding, part of the property when the house was purchased. But he also had a huge elm tree in the backyard … and tree privileges for those days when he couldn’t quite get to the bathroom in time. When his dad was in New York doing post-graduate work, he and I planted a black walnut twig in the front yard.  Slow growing and late blooming, it challenged us each year to have hope that it would flourish.  That it did for many years … then a violent windstorm cut its life short.

Fast forward. my son has graduated from high school, and I’ve flown off to Poland as a Peace Corps volunteer. Although much of Poland was deforested during World War II, fast growing trees, not always indigenous, were replanted and grew into beautiful forests. I don’t know if Polish has a word for “woods,” but “las” means “forest.” So like my Polish friends, I referred to any large body of trees as a forest. Now I’m back in Pittsburgh and ever time I refer to the woods as a forest, my signifiant other just shakes his head and smiles.  

My spiritual home has always been Linn Run State Park near Ligonier. Trees, trees and more trees. Our family started going Linn run when I was a toddler, and we went frequently throughout my growing-up years. Many times we kids walked across the creek on fallen tree trunks … and established the family tradition of falling into the creek. My son and I went there when my father died in the early ‘90s. Another family, with young children, was there for a photo session of kids sitting on a log over the creek. Because the children were young and fearful, my son rolled up his pant legs, waded into the creek, carrying each to the center of a log and standing nearby but outside the photo, then he carried them safely back.

The pandemic has seen me walking more since my water exercise classes at the JCC were curtailed. The path along the Allegheny River — lined with trees, sculptures, memorials to war heroes and sports’ greats — is a favorite. Over a few weeks friends and I were appalled to see park department staff chopping down healthy trees. Most recently, they were back, planting new trees where they’d removed others. We found someone to question and were told the “old” trees weren’t indigenous and the new ones are.  Go figure.

“Poems are made by fools like me,
“But only God can make a tree.” (JK)

“Democracy. A Work in Progress”

I’ve had this installment of my non-travel travel blog ready for a while.  I’ve held off because I was so horrified at what happened to George Floyd in the city where I lived for nearly 50 years that I — yes, I — was speechless. And I wanted to let the message of Black Lives Matter fill your reading, listening, watching space.  We all need to pay attention to and act on that message. 

Recently, on my now-regular morning walk, I listened to “How I Build This,” one of my favorite Podcasts.  Host Guy Raz  re-interviewed Cathy Hughes, an Omaha native who founded Urban One, a radio network of 54 stations that she started with one station in Washington, DC.  it’s the largest African American-owned broadcast network in the country.  If I were more tech savvy, maybe I could embed a link to that Podcast here.  But I remain a Luddite, and at almost 75, that ain’t gonna change.  So, I ask you to check out the Podcast because Ms. Hughes straightforwardly lays out the impact of Black Lives Matters and Covid-19 on her business and other Black entrepreneurs.  Cathy Hughes’ voice is a voice you should hear.  

The planned travel blog actually is a bit timely since it was supposed to chronicle Glenn’s and my trip to Colonial Williamsburg last fall.  First, I’d done my “flying nanny” gig with my friend Aideen’s son Mickey, 14, for a couple weeks, then we’d visited friends of Glenn’s in Roanoke, then we drove across Virginia — through the heart of the American Civil War, stopping occasionally.  We saw the site of the last battle between Lee and Grant and stopped at Appomattox Court House where the treaty was signed.  Then on to Colonial Williamsburg.

I’m not going to recount the details of what we saw although the visit to the former mental hospital with its descriptions and displays of care were pretty shocking.  But I will talk a little about how Colonial Williamsburg has begun to address its history of enslavement.  Several presentations depict the lives and contributions of Africans in the town, the term “enslaved” was used throughout, and its use explained as an adjective that best describes the circumstance of the individuals, rather than calling them “slaves.”  It’s a start at dealing with reality.  The optimist in me believes they’ll continue the journey, especially now.

After a few hours of seeing Colonial Williamsburg, we returned to the Visitor Center across a wooden bridge that is inlayed with metal plaques that identify what your life would be like at specific points in time. From the Visitor Center side, you  leave “the 21st Century and walk back in time” to Colonial Williamsburg. The plaque marked ‘you know someone who owns another person’ was especially jarring.  From the Colonial Williamsburg side, you walk through the advancements of the 19th and 20th Centuries until you arrive at the end where the plaque reads:

You have returned to the 21st Century.

DEMOCRACY.

A Work in Progress.

Pieces of Me

The coronavirus pandemic has curtailed my travels and landed me in a new short-term career as a child minder. Four days a week I take care of our two youngest granddaughters. That’s the basis of the first installment of what I’m calling “Pieces of Me,” snippets from various times in my life. Please enjoy these while we await a vaccine and I am ready to board a hermetically sealed tin can again.

Child Minding, March 2020

“I’m getting my butt wiped.”  

Thus spake two-year-old Callie. This is the level of discussion in my life during the Covid-19 pandemic.  

Four days a week I take care of our two youngest granddaughters while their mom and dad do essential work.  Today I had some essential work of my own — an international conference call of a nonprofit board that I sit on, and their grandfather filled in for me during the call.  He had a day off from his duties with our oldest granddaughter who turns eight tomorrow.  Her parents also do essential work.  

Glenn and I have both been retired for several years and until this, had enjoyed the freedom that comes with that stage of life.  We had already planned our semi-annual trip to Poland for my board meeting with a month in Italy afterwards.  The calendar also showed my planned May trips to Atlanta (college graduation) and DC (staying with a friend’s teenage son during her business trip), and Glenn’s car trip to the Indy 500 with his 90-year-old uncle.  That’s all gone by the wayside already.

The other day Glenn said it felt like we were back at work.  And when that alarm clock goes off at 6 am, it sure does. The alarm clock actually awakens me.  For most of my life the internal alarm clock that I inherited from Mom and Granny has awakened me 10 minutes or so before my bedside unit.  Perhaps it’s my age — almost 75.  Add to that, the daily challenge of two pre-schoolers adjusting to something they have no idea is happening.  They just know day care/pre-school is closed, and they get Gramma Suzi instead (for better or worse).  Oh, and there is the underlying stress of a pandemic that’s being so ill managed.  Even before my usual 11 pm bedtime, I’m exhausted.

Almost daily Glenn tells me how much he appreciates me, and I appreciate that though I’ve told him it’s unnecessary.  This is what happens when you’ve taken up with a mature man who had his own children “late in life.”  And those children are now two 30-something daughters, married with three daughters between them.  And then a pandemic strikes.  These adorable  little girls have accepted me as their other grandmother, and I have embraced them as my granddaughters.  They’ve given me what I never expected to have since my only child died in his 20s without children or a wife.

Diaper changed, the shrieking dynamo has now destroyed her sister’s Lego fort, and that means whining and tears from the kindergartner.  Thus is the level of conflict in my life these days.  And some days I am amazed that it’s not worse.  Callie has gone to daycare five days a week at the same place almost her whole short life.  Now it’s fruit basket upset.  

The privately-owned daycare center that Callie and Emma, 5,  attend has a structured learning and play program, caring, thoughtful teachers, and different rooms for different age groups (no toddlers on the second floor).  If this were a normal time, Callie would move to a new room shortly, and the daycare teachers would start her on potty training.  (How’s that for full service?)  My efforts at that have failed dismally.  Oh, she’ll say she has to poop, which can mean anything … then sits on the toilet and does nothing while I dispose of her dirty diaper.  She loves pulling off a yard of valuable toilet paper, flushing the toilet and “washing” her hands (playing in the running water).  

Glenn picked up Emma’s packets of review material at the daycare center and was pleased at the safety precautions in place.  So now, when Callie naps, Emma goes to school.  We work on a few math pages — the meaning of each number, what it looks like as a numeral and a word, tracing and writing each number, then finding that number of something — window panes, fingers, cupboard doors, hand claps.  And we are working our way through the alphabet — identifying letters and words beginning with them, tracing the capital and lower case print versions, practicing writing them.  We do at least two letters a day.  Next comes learning her address and parents’ telephone numbers.  Gone are the days of a single landline number to memorize.

More recently, we’ve added an occasional story time from a local library to our morning.  Many libraries now have online versions of what they ordinarily offer in their libraries — stories and activities for children. This week we’re also going to try a session offered by Phipps Conservatory, a tribute to Earth Day.  The story will be “On the Day You Were Born” plus singing and  “a themed activity.”  

The sun is out and the ground is reasonably dry after the weekend’s rain.  Hurray.  We can go outdoors and run and swing, blow bubbles and have a treasure hunt.  I think I enjoy this time more than the girls do.  I’m such a fresh-air fiend.  I’d really go crazy if I couldn’t go outside in this pandemic — coffee on my deck in Squirrel Hill, reading a book on Glenn’s porch while he fixes dinner, running around in a huge yard with my granddaughters.  That is what is keeping me sane during this insane, chaotic time.

Time inches on …

Over the weekend Callie actually used the toilet for its intended purpose.  Jen texted a video clip with a largish mock diamond flashing over Callie’s lower body.  From her wet hair, it seemed she had just had her bath.  Now we’re using pull-ups instead of daytime diapers.  About every fourth trip to the bathroom produces a good result.  I hold the toilet paper roll to minimize waste, but she gets to flush the toilet.  Since she loves to play under the water, hand washing is the easiest part of this exercise.  For two, she’s pretty thorough.  Getting her to stop is when the tantrum starts — thrashing, squealing, fighting against me trying to dry her hands and remove her from the bathroom.  Throwing herself onto the hallway floor, the outburst continues until I suggest we find Minnie (any of her several Minnie Mouse dolls).  Up she jumps, off she runs to the toy box and the day goes on.  Callie has no dimmer switch — she’s off, then on.  

By contrast, Emma is the Drama Queen.  She shrieks and cries at the drop of the proverbial hat.  When told she can’t watch TV until she’s cleaned up her toys or finished her lunch, she puckers up and cries real tears.  Callie bumps her in a game of tag, and she screams as if she’d been run over by a bulldozer.  Or just tell her “no” for some reasonable reason, and you get her full range of emotions.  Unlike Callie, her emotions don’t turn around quite so quickly.  After the logic of the situation is carefully explained, she still needs some cajoling.  But she’s intent on being a good “big sister,” protecting Callie, explaining Callie, offering to play with Callie … until Callie wants the same doll she does or makes a mess and she’s required to help with clean up, then the drama begins anew.

For two kids with a three-year age difference, Emma and Callie do play pretty well together.  Right now, they are batting red balloons around the living room.  Smiles and squeals of delight dominate as Blue Pappy bats away any balloon that enters his recliner’s air space.  

Aside:  Pappy is a common term for a grandfather around these parts.  Because she has two, Emma needed to differentiate.  So she dubbed Glenn her “Blue Pappy” because he often wears blue sweatshirts and sports shirts.  Her dad’s father is “Orange Pappy” because he frequently wears orange tee-shirts.  Kid logic.

This morning the girls played with PlayDoh — Emma making “cookies” from the PlayDoh lid as well as a butterfly cookie cutter.  Callie actually asked for my help, so I patted small batches of colorful PlayDoh into flat pancakes and she cut out stars.  “I did it,” she’d squeal with delight after each star, then smash the PlayDoh into a lump and toss it at me, commanding, “Again.”  When Emma decided it was time to make greeting cards, Callie dutifully put away her PlayDoh and joined in.  Later they decided to play hide and seek, a favorite indoor game for days like today when the sky is ugly gray.  The hiding places are limited — Emma’s closet, under Callie’s crib, the pop-up castle are the most frequently used.  Instructed to count to 20, I do a “Words With Friends” puzzle or three on my phone, then loudly call, “18, 19, 20, here I come,” and set out to find them by loudly searching closets and beds and corners.  Twice today they were giggling in the overturned castle, once I saw Callie’s head sticking up from under the scores of stuffed animals in Emma’s bed.  The last time I found them lying side by side under Callie’s crib and refusing to get out.  I returned to my station in the living room, assuming they’d call out, “Come and find us” as they usually do.  Silence.  More silence.  Their mom usually comes up from her makeshift home office in the basement to have lunch with them.  She arrived today just as I realized how long the quiet had lasted.  When she asked where they were, I explained and she went to check under the crib.  There she found her two little girls sound asleep.  Nap time came early.  That also keeps me sane during this insane, chaotic time.

The end is in sight … sigh …

Jen told me the other day that the girls will return to the day care facility the second week of June.  It’s the old double-edged sword. I look forward to spending more time in my apartment — it desperately needs a good “mom-style” spring cleaning.  But I will miss the daily interactions with Emma and Callie, the chance to watch them mature and grow close up,  the little things that make me laugh:  Callie running away half naked and getting “butt cooties” in the swimming pool of plastic balls.  Emma leading us on a treasure hunt around the front yard.  Watching Callie eat the grits Blue Pappy made for breakfast.  Sharing an apple with Emma while Callie, who’s allergic, naps. Ever-curious Callie poking my amble breast and asking, “What’s that?”  Emma explaining to Callie, “I’m the big girl, you’re the little girl,” and pointing to me, “she’s old.” Depends on your perspective, Emma. Today you make me feel young.

We’re off to see …

18 October 2019, Salt Lake City, Utah USA

Hurry up and wait.  Isn’t that typical of travel?  Glenn and I were up at 3 am and out the door of my apartment at 4 to drive to the Pittsburgh airport, meet his daughter Michelle and her family plus two others, get to the first leg of our flight to Reno.  It’s national rabbit show time!

Aside:  Glenn’s older daughter raised show rabbits as a 4-H’er, had to give it up for college but returned to her avocation when her daughter Sara was small.  Sara, now 7, seems to really enjoy the hobby, increasing her knowledge of breeds, animal husbandry etc.  The selection of show royalty is based on knowledge and presentation skills, and Sara took first in Pennsylvania in her age group earlier this year.  She has thoroughly enjoyed the tiara, sash and role that come with being the PaSRBA lady!  

At PIT, all went relatively smoothly.  We checked bags as a group, something new we learned is possible.  That allowed Michelle to check a bag for free since Glenn and I have Delta credit cards.  TSA Pre security line wasn’t bad; Glenn and I went through fairly quickly.  But the regular security line was well outside the sizable maze when Michelle et al. arrived.  Unknown to us, they and a group of others were pulled from the long line and taken to another site for security check, finishing faster than expected.  We all hopped onto the tram that carried us from the landside terminal to the gates, found our gate and waited to board … again pretty smoothly.  Although boarding was a bit slow, we took off promptly and landed on time in Salt Lake City, an almost three-hour journey and a two-hour time difference.  I wasn’t really sure what time it was — and I had only had one cup of coffee so far.  

We traipsed from Concourse C to B, a straggling group led by two first-time flyers who seemed to have the most energy: Sara and her friend Krista.  Because we had an almost two-hour layover in SLC, most of the seats at our departure gate were taken by the flight leaving before ours, but we found seven seats near each other, took turns going to restrooms and food shops and waited.  The outgoing flight was nearly loaded when I heard my name being called to the desk.  Hmm.

Well, Delta had decided to take Glenn and me up on our pre-agreement to give up our seats for $500 and a seat on the next flight.  Michelle’s husband Seth joined us.  And now we three sit in the Delta Sky Club noshing on tidbits and waiting until we can check in to the next flight.  Michelle, Sara, Krista and her dad are en route to Reno.

Later

Here at last, the Atlantis Resort and Casino next to the Reno-Sparks Convention Center.  Our flight was on a small plane, two seats on each side of the aisle and filled to the brim, but we’d gotten more leg room with the Delta Comfort seats the SLC gate agent got for us.  About an hour of air time so we landed at about the same time we left.  We are now in the Pacific time zone, but I still don’t know what time it is.  My Fitbit-watch hasn’t synced nor have I.

Michelle and family are in a room connecting to ours.  That way we can keep an eye on Sara when Michelle and Seth want a night out.  We’re on the 12th floor with an awesome view of the mountains.  But right now, the only view I am interested in is my side of the queen bed.  I’m pooped.

19 October, Reno, Nevada, USA

Ah, time zone travel.  Glenn awoke at 3:15, technically he’d slept in since it was 6:15 in PA and he’s usually up at 5 or so.  He returned to bed and slept a few more hours, and I slept a few more than that.  

We decided to skip using the free-coffee-at-Starbuck’s coupon; I needed real food after yesterday’s mishmash of mostly pre-packaged airport snacks.  We did have a lovely dinner last night with my brother Dan and his wife Ann; they live in Reno.  They had sushi, Glenn had jambolaya, I had a seafood cocktail big enough for all of us, and we shared a lovely bottle of white wine.  Dan and Ann are fascinated by the idea of a rabbit show and want to come again to see what it’s all about.

We set off to find breakfast amidst the gambling machines — many with players already in their seats … and smoking.  That’s the worst part of trying to get anywhere here.  Smoking is allowed in most places on the gaming floor, location of most restaurants.  We found Michelle and family breakfasting at the Purple Parrot and joined them for a real breakfast with lots of coffee refills.

The walk from the hotel to the convention center took us on a skyway that would make Minneapolis envious — at least two blocks long with a couple of turns but lots of glass for great views of parking lots, nearby shopping plazas and even the mountains.  Rabbits were arriving with their owners, cages were set up in designated breed areas, and the floors of the convention center were already littered with cage straw.  In the youth area, we found Sara’s Princess Celestia, a cute Netherland Dwarf that she’ll show and use in her competitions today and tomorrow. 

Not much for us to do while Sara was competing so Glenn kibitzed with other rabbit folks and I returned to our room to attempt yet again to get my Mac laptop to connect with the wifi. I opened the laptop and it had mysteriously turned itself off, not just gone to sleep as it usually does.  i re-entered my password; loading slowly completed to reveal my desktop, and the sign up page for the hotel’s wifi.  I’m on.  Go figure.

Midday Dan picked up Glenn, Seth and me for our distillery tour and whiskey tasting at Forsaken River Distillery, Michelle’s birthday present to Glenn.  I promised not to giggle this year like I did in Connecticut last year.  Maybe this can become an annual thing …?

Gene, one half of the owners of the tiny distillery, was our guide.  He showed us around the distillery, including a smoker made from an old hot water heater.  It’s used to smoke the grains used in the vodka.  We learned that all vodka is “distilled” four times to remove harmful impurities.  Gene told us about the four parts of vodka as it is distilled: poison, head, heart, and tail.  That’s the order of distilling.  Seth recalled several deaths in Puerto Rico from drinking homemade vodka, and Gene said they had not waited until the first 15% (I think) had distilled and tossed this segment, the poison, out.  It contains the most harmful impurities, thus its name.  

We learned that many commercial vodka makers add a bit of head and tail to the heart, thus making their product less expensive … and, according to our guide, more likely to cause a headache. Forsaken River is all heart, a bit pricey but very tasty. We all noted Gene’s passion for what he’s doing … and our concern for their lack of a marketing strategy … and we bought a few bottles to take with us.

20 October

The annual convention and show of the American Rabbit Breeders Association (ARBA) is in full swing — about 17,000 rabbits, 49 breeds, consuming a goodly portion of the convention center’s 381,000 square feet of space.  What more can I say … at least rabbits aren’t noisy or smelly and they sure are cute.  I’ve had fun showing Dan and Ann around.  They had no idea what to expect and were overwhelmed to see how extensive the show is.  I think Ann would take home a rabbit in a heartbeat if it weren’t for their “only child” cat who doesn’t play well with others.

Dinner tonight was at “the best happy hour in Reno,” according to my brother who loves happy hours.  And he was right.  He, Ann, Glenn and I enjoyed interesting flat breads and several other “small plates” with our wine selections — and we had plenty to eat, all at half price!  Glenn and I did decide to return here for cioppino, which Dan said is a must-try for those who like this Italian seafood stew/soup which we both do.

21 October

Krista’s rabbit hopped today … and took second, but unfortunately we missed it.  I had been telling Dan and Ann about Krista’s great hopper, and they were anxious to see what hopping was all about. Actually kind of like a miniature steeple chase for miniature animals. Because the hopping competitions’ time was changed,  Krista’s rabbit hopped earlier in order for her to attend her individual royalty competition.  But I’m glad she did well though disappointed we didn’t get to see her hopper perform.

Later in the morning, while last-minute volunteers Glenn and Seth helped with royalty interviews, I went to the spa for a massage and a bit of pampering.  Aaaaaahhhhh.

Dinner tonight was at Toucan Charlie’s, one of the most extensive buffets I’ve ever seen … and with really good food.  But then, as Dan told us, Reno casinos generally have good food and prices, and in his experience the Atlantis has the best.  We’ve certainly seen that.

Aside:  Michelle said several rabbit friends had gone to a nearby iHop for breakfast, thinking it would be less expense than the Purple Parrot.  NOT.  I guess the casino wants to keep you indoors and available to play, hence they don’t gouge on the food prices.

Second aside:  Glenn and I got Atlantis Casino cards which not only allow us to gamble and accrue points for discounts, but also automatically get us some restaurant discounts cuz we’re old!  That was the case at the buffet — our meals were about the cost of the kids’.

A friend from my overseas working days and and his family joined Glenn, Sara, her friend Abigail, Dan and me at Toucan Charlie’s. I met Bob originally when he was a consultant on my projects in the Balkans.  I’d met his son and family on a previous trip to see Dan and Ann, and was just introduced to his foster daughter who also joined us.  Our group of 11 enjoyed an alcove table and hardly made a dent on the 20 or so islands of food despite some big appetites.

22 October

“Somewhere west of Laramie” was the headline in a 1923 Saturday Evening Post (anyone remember that iconic mag?).  It was run by the Jordan auto company and aimed at women, a revolutionary idea at the time.  (That’s the car below.) Now women buy more than 50% of new cars and influence the purchase of up to 80%.  Those pieces of interesting trivia are care of Glenn’s trip to the National Automobile Museum in downtown Reno.  Today Glenn, Michelle, Seth and Sara visited the museum whose displays are largely from the Harrah Collection.   

William F. Harrah, owner of Harrah’s casino-hotel empire, collected and stored in area warehouses more than 1400 automobiles.  The collection was open to the public.  When Harrah died, the company and collection were acquired by Holiday Inn which later announced the sale of the collection.  Locals were distinctly not happy.  A nonprofit was eventually set up to keep at least part of Harrah’s collection in Reno.  Holiday Inn donated 175 of the cars, local collectors bought and donated about 60 more, and the museum opened in 1968.     

As is his wont, Glenn took scores of photos, all in focus and each preceded by the explanation sign: “1928 Mary Pickford Ford, It created a roar in the 1920s.” And of course, he had to take a pic of John Wayne’s car with a cardboard “Duke” standing behind.

While Glenn et al. toured the museum and Reno, Bob and I caught up over coffee and a viewing of the rabbit show, a new experience for him.  One of Glenn’s bids in one of the many breed association auctions won, and I picked up his prize, heavy wool socks and a leather tool. 

Later:  Sara won!  She is the American Rabbit Breeders Association lady, the royal designation for a girl in her age group.  (Her “boyfriend” Austin won lord.)  Sara got several other awards, individually and as part of a Pennsylvania “rabbit bowl” team.  And as a whole, PA took quite a few awards and spots in ARBA royalty.  Our hands were sore from clapping and our voices hoarse by evening’s end.  

23 October

We checked out of the hotel, packed up our rental car and drove to Dan and Ann’s for a night.  Tomorrow, Lake Tahoe.  I found what looks like a cute AirBnB atop one of the mountains.  Fresh air, walking, time alone with Glenn:  my 74th birthday will be great.

25 October, 74 years and counting on more!  A mountain near Stateline, Nevada, (Lake Tahoe)

The drive down here was wonderful — gorgeous weather, peaceful, relaxing.  Of course we stopped for numerous photo opportunities and to stretch our legs as we drove along the east side of Lake Tahoe. I really can’t complain about Glenn taking so many photos since he generally populates this blog with pix for me.  And there was a gorgeous array of photo opps.

The studio-sized condo I’d rented through AirBnB is disappointing — ill equipped and very tight quarters but great location atop a wooded mountain. 

Last night we dined at an Italian restaurant in Zephyr, a town we’d passed driving in.  Delicious food — I had zughetti, spiralized green and yellow zucchini, with Bolognese sauce.  Tonight we’re going to a BBQ place that’s the closest eatery to the condo (half a mile).  My choice because right now Glenn and I are going to veg out on the deck with a bottle of wine, a hunk of cheese, apples and crackers.  Heaven.  

That’s me pre-wine. My sister-in-law Ann made the gorgeous necklace. And being an “equal time” gal, below is Glenn on the night of his birthday dinner.

Aside:  Just before we left, we celebrated middle granddaughter Emma’s 5th birthday, which is the day before Glenn’s and we celebrated Glenn’s.   I’m not used to so many October birthdays — My family’s birthdays are clustered in July and August.  That’s Emma and Callie below with their Halloween pumpkins.

27 October, Pittsburgh PA USA

A good time was had by all — I think that’s safe to say about our annual ARBA trip; never a dull moment (see above for examples, plus I’ve told many of you that one of Glenn’s virtues is that he makes me laugh).  

We drove back to Dan and Ann’s for one night, supped on a variety of small plates and an excellent red wine at a lovely wine bar near their house and flew home without “passing go” and collecting $500 for giving up our seats (and given that we were both ready to be home, that wasn’t even disappointing.

Thus concludes this edition of “Hello All.”  Stay tuned for my semi-annual trip to Poland, coming soon!

Don’t Die Wondering

That’s my late son Peter at about age 15; he’d have been 47 on 5 September 2019. He’s atop this so you can see the message on the tee-shirt, and I can tell you about it.

That’s my late son Peter at about age 15; he’d have been 47 on 5 September 2019.  He’s atop this so you can see the message on the tee-shirt, and I can tell you about it.

From about age 10 until he was a senior in high school, Peter and I went skiing in Colorado for one week of his spring break from school.  Always March, either third or fourth week.  Snow could be iffy but that never deterred us.

Peter died of cancer on 8 May 1999.  On his 20th yahrzeit this year, I had a family-and-close- friends memorial in Minneapolis.  I showed that photo as I talked about Peter and the tee-shirt that kind of defined his life.  Peter was a wonderful, loving son, a caring human being, smart and athletic, full of life and adventure, but he definitely was not perfect.  For example, on Halloween night, just a couple of days before I left for Peace Corps training, Peter (age 18) spent the night in jail.   He’d held a kegger in the garage of the townhouse I had just sold. I’d always told him if he ever ended up in jail, he was spending the night.  …

In his 26+ years, Peter experienced life to the fullest.  There wasn’t much that he died wondering about.  And my message to my great-nephews and -nieces and to the children of Peter’s friends was to do the same.  Don’t take unnecessary, life-threatening risks, but do take advantage of opportunities that arise.  Follow your dreams.  Be the best that you can be today because tomorrow isn’t a given. 

That’s my message to you and yours too.

At the close of the memorial, my nephew’s wife Heidi said, all the kids should have those shirts.  So I had them made. And I handed them out at a family reunion in August.  For the first time in years, every member of the family was together that day.  It was awesome as you can see below.

DNA doesn’t lie … or does it?

2 September 2019, Mount Pleasant PA USA

Two years ago when my sweetie Glenn and I went to Italy together for the first time, I told him I was apprehensive about traveling with him.  After all, his DNA test identified the Moors as the single biggest contributor to his genetic make up … and with all of the USA’s issues surrounding immigrants and all our new travel warnings, what if they wouldn’t let us, native-born Americans, back into the country?  Horrors — I’d have to live in Italy until my last dying breath.  (You do realize I wrote all of that with my tongue placed firmly in my cheek, right?)  Anyway …

A few years before, Glenn had done a DNA test that showed he was mostly Moorish; the biggest European contributor to his DNA were the Hungarians, my people.  All of this for a man who can identify the small villages in northern Italy from whence his four grandparents emigrated and where legions of their forebears lived.  He repeated the test; same results.  Then I got an update of my DNA results from ancestry.com (still mostly Scottish and Hungarian am I, with a smattering of various invaders to those homelands).  So Glenn decided to ask his 90-year-old uncle, brother to Glenn’s father, to have an Ancestry DNA done (kits were half price) to see if he could learn which half of his ancestral family tree provided the Moorish DNA.  His uncle agreed, spit in the tube, mailed it off and got a more expected result — he’s about half Italian and half French with a smattering of invaders thrown in.  That spurred Glenn to have a third DNA test done, this time by Ancestry so he can more easily compare his result with his uncle’s.  

As you can imagine, waiting for the result has been hellish.  Glenn’s been tracking the progress of the test package online multiple times a day.  Saturday, while we were showing out-of-town friends the sights, his phone dinged a message from Ancestry:  his test result had been posted on his ancestry.com site.  Since for some reason Glenn couldn’t open the link on his phone, his first act on returning home was to power up the laptop and open his Ancestry account.  

And the result is …

Glenn’s basically half Italian and half French.  No Moors in sight.  Not sure how the previous DNA results were arrived at, but this one seems more likely since it almost mirrors his uncle’s.  For now, we should have no problems returning to the US from our overseas travels.

Since we’re talking about ancestry, one of Glenn’s favorite topics, let me ask a question.  How many of you, especially you Americans, have ever heard of Haller’s Army or the Blue Army?  When we’ve posed that question to various friends and acquaintances, only two have answered affirmatively … and yet that army, with US, Canadian and Polish roots, played a significant role in World War I.  

Glenn and I learned about Haller’s Army from friend Ewa, our translator for Center board meetings in Sandomierz.  Ewa, knowing Glenn’s interest in ancestry, asked if he could help her find her relatives in the US.  She said she knew her grandfather’s brother had emigrated and had been part of Haller’s Army.  The name Haller seemed vaguely familiar to me, then I recalled why — I’d walked on ulica Generala Jozefa Hallera (Gen. Joseph Haller Street) in Warsaw.  So this fellow must’ve been important.

Well, Ewa’s great uncle did indeed serve in Haller’s Army in the French theater of World War I and return to the US afterwards.  Poles who had emigrated to the US saw an allied victory as a way to reunite Poland into one country after 100+ years of division among three conquerers (Prussia, Russia and Austro-Hungary).  

Haller’s Army was formed in mid 1917 by some 20,000+ Polish immigrants to Canada and the US.  Ignacy Paderewski (pianist, composer, politician and later prime minister of Poland) addressed a convention of the Polish Falcons fraternal organization in Pittsburgh about forming a Polish army to fight alongside the Americans.  President Wilson, though supportive of the Polish cause, wouldn’t sanction training a foreign army in the US.  Thus, training took place in Canada.  Because France had already announced it would form a Polish army, the North American immigrants (men and women!)  joined the French in the final six months of the war. They wore blue French uniforms, thus the Blue Army moniker.  

After the war and with much political maneuvering in the “new” Europe, Haller’s Army was transported to Poland to help fend off the Ukrainians and Russians on the eastern front.  That success kept Poland independent for more than 15 years.  Fighting over. Now, a dilemma. The nascent Polish government had little if any control over this private army and little money to support adding so many to its army or to return them to the US … and many of the veterans wanted to return.  Prior to their leaving for the war, the US government had agreed they could return without the red tape of new immigration.  Thus, US troop ships were dispatched to return the Haller’s Army vets to the US … and Ewa’s grandfather’s brother returned to Michigan.  And eventually, through Glenn’s research, Ewa was connected with the family.

Off we go … June 2019

14 June, Liverpool, England

Oops!  We’ve arrived at our AirBnB in Liverpool, England, and it was occupied.  I’d inadvertently booked a room, not a whole flat.  Well, nothing to do but move into the postage stamp bedroom and enjoy the clear blue skies, our first in several days.  But I have gotten ahead of myself …

Intro for newcomers, all others feel free to skip ahead a few paragraphs.  When I joined the Peace Corps at age 46 in 1991, I started circulating a letter to family and friends about my new experiences.  As I lived and worked in Poland and later in the Balkans and East Africa, the letter eventually morphed into the original “Hello All” blog.

As a result of my overseas work, I now serve on the board of the Center for Support of Entrepreneurship in Sandomierz, Poland.  The Center was established 25+ years ago under grants from USAID and several US foundations. Your tax dollars at work! In 1994-95, I managed that USAID project, helping it become an independent, self-sustaining foundation.    My last task was the Center’s first board meeting.  I joined the board 10 or so years later.  Thus, twice a year I travel back for board meetings in Sandomierz and add on visits with friends in Warsaw and other European cities.  

Glenn is my significant other.  We met in first grade, graduated high school in the same class and didn’t see each other again until our 50th class reunion.  Contact re-established, relationship initiated and by our 70th birthdays, we were a couple living separately.  We still live separately— I in the Big City (Pittsburgh) and Glenn an hour away in the Small Town (Mount Pleasant, not too far from his daughters and granddaughters).  Two trips to Italy and a transit through Charles De Gaulle Airport were the sum of his overseas travel BS (Before Suzi).  Now he’s been to Poland, Holland, England, Scotland … and more to come!

FROM THE BEGINNING …

Flying to Poland via DC and London meant saving on our Delta/Virgin airfares even with first class on the British Air legs.  So off we drove toward DC on a sunny PA day.  We made a rest stop at the mountain cottage of friends Inga and Craig who were there for the weekend.  Theirs is the perfect place to relax — tucked away on a forested hillside with neighbors but not too close, a self contained main floor with two additional bedrooms and a bath upstairs.  And nearby, a resort with all a mountain resort has to offer year round.  I have relished every time I’ve been there.

Glenn’s cousin Donald graciously allowed us to leave the car at his place in Alexandria, where we spent time catching up, trying a new restaurant, returning to old favorites.  Then off to Dulles.  Thank you, Donald, for the ride.  Even with Glenn’s slimmed down packing, we had too much for the Metro.

Our long layover in London and luggage fees were why I opted for first class on BritAir.  And it was worth the few extra bucks.  Our exhausted bodies relaxed into comfortable seats near the biggest array of food, beverage, amenities that I’ve seen in an airport lounge.  Fast forward …

POLAND

Weather in Sandomierz was ideal — sunny and warm, perfect for walking in the Old Town or enjoying friends Hala and Micheł’s farm, both of which we did.  After the meeting, Hala, Micheł, Glenn and I spent a few days showing Glenn more of Poland.  First, we stopped in Łańcut to tour the incredible castle that looks more like a palace than a defense facility.  Herein started Glenn’s picture taking.

Micheł, Hala & I approach Łańcut Castle

From Łańcut, we drove to Krynica, a lovely spa town in the mountains near where I did my Peace Corps service.  Remnants of the Austro-Hungarian Empire remain in this picturesque town.  Cooler and with less sunshine but still nice walking-around weather.  We rode a gondola to the top of Jaworzyna mountain and later a funicular to the top of Góra Parkowa.  Both give gorgeous panoramic views of the many variations on green on the Polish and Czech mountainsides.  When we hiked or skied there as Peace Corps volunteers n the ‘90s, we joked about always carrying our passports: one wrong turn and we’d be in the former Czechoslovakia. 

View from Jaworzyna

We made a stop in Nowy Sacz where I lived for two years at a PCV.  My first home was an old palace that also housed a college, a print shop, offices and living space for assorted US and UK volunteers.

There I am below Pałac Stadnicki

LONDON

Aside:  For our UK adventure, we had purchased BritRail passes, something we’re very glad we did.  For long trips, you can reserve a seat at no additional cost … or you can hop aboard and hope for an empty seat.  The trains were clean, air conditioned, on time and seem to go everywhere.  With our eight-days-in-a-month passes, we could take any number of trips on any given day but use the passes on no more than eight days.  When we presented them the first time (London to Liverpool), the conductor marked the date.  After that, conductors looked at the passes and returned them.  Frankly, we could’ve used them more than eight days.

London was rainy, nothing new to most but I’ve usually had good weather luck on summer trips.  But dicey weather didn’t deter our walking whenever possible. Although part of a US hotel chain, our Comfort Inn was more reminiscent of other small London B&B hotels where I’ve stayed — tall, narrow buildings in the midst of commercial areas.  Located about a mile from Paddington train station in a largely Middle Eastern neighborhood, it was fun to be in a real neighborhood rather than a tourist center … the downside was a major road that we had to get around when we walked.  On our first venture back to Paddington to get the Hop On/Hop Off bus, we used my map app and walked through a pretty park and a hospital ER as well as over a canal and through a highway underpass.  Glenn found us an easier way.

Because our trip was a short two nights and Glenn’s first to London, we opted for the bus tour to give him an overview and a chance to see major sights like Hyde Park, Buckingham Palace, Parliament, Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, et al.  Because of the rain, every tourist in town was doing the same and the open air buses had limited under roof seating.  But we made do and saw much of the city in our two days … Glenn took many photos and enjoyed his first pub meal at a very crowded Trafalgar Square area pub. 

A rainy day at Buckingham Palace

Aside:  Contrary to popular opinion, food in the UK isn’t all over-cooked beef, soggy vegs and take out curries.  We had some incredible meals throughout our trip: lamb chops in Perth, steak and fish in Greenock, gyros and Argentinian meats in Liverpool, medium-rare burgers in London, calamari and scampi in Edinburgh and big fresh salads everywhere.  Oh, and stay tuned.  Glenn tasted haggis.

Each of London’s train stations services a designated region. The hotel clerk booked a taxi to Euston Station for our trip to Liverpool; she told us the ride would be a flat fee of 30 pounds.  This was a private hire, not one of London’s famous black cabs.  Next morning the cabbie arrived promptly, loaded us in and was pulling into rush hour traffic when his phone rang.  He said a few words, then handed the phone to Glenn.  It was the dispatcher verifying that our ride would cost 15 pounds.  Hmm.

At Euston, I had our BritRail passes endorsed and reserved seats on the train to Lime Street Station in Liverpool.  UK trains don’t post their tracks until 10-15 minutes before departure.  So we joined the throngs scanning the Departures board, then charging toward our train, look for the correct car and finally our seats.

LIVERPOOL

Because Liverpool was sunny and warm, we spent most of our time outdoors.  We did a Beatles’ walking tour, including the Cavern Club and Beatles exhibit at the new city museum.  Like every other tourist in Liverpool, we had our picture taken in front of the Beatles’ statue at the harbor.  Our tour guide had shown us how each Beatles statue was personalized — John Lennon’s had cups two acorns (he and Yoko Ono planted two acorns in Coventry Garden in 1968), Paul McCartney carries a camera (perhaps in memory of his photographer wife Linda Eastman), Ringo Starr’s boot is etched with “L8,“ the post code of his childhood home, and George Harrison has Sanskrit etched on his coat belt (he traveled extensively in India).

Typical Liverpool tourists

Later we wandered the busy center city pedestrian mall and visited the Beatles’ Museum which had moved and expanded since my late son Peter and I visited in 1987.  And I gritted my teeth and joined Glenn in the elevator to the top of the television tower.  Ventured just enough at the top to make the discounted tickets worthwhile.  

The Bananalamb, Liverpool’s answer to Chicago’s bulls, St. Paul’s Snoopys, et al.

EDINBURGH

Edinburgh was our next stop.  Our flat was in the New Town, the largest Georgian planned town in the world.  It was a long, generally uphill climb to Princes Street shopping and on to the Royal Mile, so we taxi’d to Edinburgh Castle. Glenn was flabbergasted at the crew installing metal bleacher type seats for the coming Edinburgh Tattoo (an annual military exhibition).  A crane was moving a long I-beam over the heads of tourists slogging up to the castle entry.  OSHA would have had a fit!

Construction at Edinburgh Castle

More rain and overcast days, another good time to use the Hop On/Hop Off travel option to give Glenn an overview of the city, including the contemporary Scottish Parliament Building, which I hadn’t seen before.  We hopped off at Grassmarket, traditional location of public executions, to have lunch in the White Hart, the oldest pub in Edinburgh, and later to explore the National Museum, in an old factory.  Returning in the rain, we found an excellent Italian restaurant with room for two more diners.

Oldest Pub in Edinburgh serves a fine lunch

My kind of cafe!

After booking our day trip to Stirling, we wandered the Royal Mile for lunch. Down a narrow path between two buildings, we found a lovely courtyard (unusable due to rain) and a crowded cafe (with the above sign). We stayed, ate well and talked!

The next day we arose at the crack of dawn and hailed a cab to return to the Royal Mile to catch our bus to Loch Lomond, the largest lake (by area) in Great Britain, and Stirling Castle, one of the largest and most important castles in Scotland.  Loch Lomond is 22+ miles at its longest and 5 miles at its widest.  We boated for about an hour among several of the 30 islands in the lake, Glenn snapping photos of the Muir Mountains, a large number of grazing sheep and other sights.  I think he took even more pix at Stirling.  

Muir Mountains from Loch Lomond

The formidable Stirling Castle

Although it’s been around since at least the early 12th Century, Stirling Castle is best known for the Tudor-Stuart years when Mary Queen of Scots holed up there often. It was laid siege eight times.  One of its outstanding buildings is the Great Hall which was restored to its original “hammerbeam” ceiling and parapets, five fireplaces and a dais for the king.  We had our picture taken sitting in the king and queen’s seats on the dais.

Ceiling of Great Hall, Stirling Castle

PERTH

From Edinburgh’s central Waverley Station, it was off to our next stop, Perth.  As in Liverpool, our AirBnB would’ve been an easy walk from the train with less luggage.  (And I say that knowing we had packed pretty light, all things considered.)  Another lovely and well appointed flat, complete with breakfast items — cereals, bread and jams, fresh milk in a glass bottle!

We explored Perth and its environs for the better part of five days.  A slightly sunny day found us walking along a river path, across a narrow pedestrian walkway as a train whizzed by on the adjacent tracks, then up a short hill to Branklyn Garden.  Started in the 1920s by a local couple who collected exotic seeds when they traveled the world, the hilly two acres were a colorful delight.  We traversed the winding paths, oohing and aahing at the gorgeous flowers.  We bought some seeds to take home to the family gardener, Uncle Victor.  

Another more typical overcast and rainy day, we visited Scone Castle (pronounced SKOON locally).  It’s the sight of the original Stone of Scone on which Scottish kings were inaugurated.  The stone now lays in the crown room at Edinburgh Castle.  Furniture from Marie Antoinette and bed hangings worked on my Mary Queen of Scots are interesting, but portraits of two beautiful women are among the most popular historic pieces:  Lady Elizabeth Murray and Dido Elizabeth Belle.  Dido was the daughter of an English naval officer and an African slave in the British West Indies. Her father Sir John Lindsay (I am a Lindsay on mom’s side but don’t know if he’s in our family tree) took her back to England.  His uncle William Murray, Lord Mansfield and Lord Chief Justice, and wife raised Dido as a free gentlewoman, along with another great-niece Lady Elizabeth Murray.  Lord Mansfield reaffirmed Dido’s freedom and made her an annuity in his will.  He ruled on a significant slavery case  in 1792 — he wrote that slavery had no precedent in English common law and had never been authorized under positive law (human-made laws).  (Thank you, Wikipedia, for that detail.)  A movie “Belle” has been made of Dido’s life.  (We weren’t able to get a photo of the paintings.)

One of Scone’s peacocks

On completing our tour of Scone Castle, we had lunch in the Old Servants’ Kitchen Cafe; we were prepping for a hike around the extensive grounds.  Then, dark clouds filled the sky, thunder frightened the flock of peacocks roaming the lawn, and we ran for shelter to await our taxi back to town.

Our time at the Black Watch Museum was among our favorite visits.  When we bought tickets, we were asked if we wanted a tour, agreed and explored the first floor of the museum as directed while we waited for the tour to begin.  I only wish I could remember all of the stories our guide, a tall, elegant, retired Black Watch officer, shared — he put life into every painting, every exhibit, every historic moment. 

The Black Watch is the oldest Highland regiment in Scotland.  They’re the guys who wear the black and blue and green tartan kilts and tams with a red hackle (clipped feather) in the band.  Created in the early 18th Century, the Black Watch has fought for Britain around the world, including in our Pennsylvania backyards — the French and Indian War.  Nine Black Watch bagpipers participated in the funeral processional of President Kennedy.  Among the notable members of the Black Watch were actor Stewart Granger, a British light weight boxing champion named Al Foreman, and the last Scottish survivor of World War I combat Alfred Anderson.  

No visit anywhere with Glenn is complete until you’ve toured at least one cemetery.  And Perth was no exception.  We almost missed the narrow path to enter Greyfriars Burial Ground, a remnant of the late 16th Century that has one of the best collections of old gravestones in the country.  A group of the oldest have been sheltered under a roof, but many still aren’t readable.

The weather managed to stay dry enough one day to do a couple loads of laundry.  We try to book flats with washing machines to help minimize our packing.  And we snacked on some delicious treats that our landlady made and dropped off.  This was our best AirBnB yet!

GREENOCK, AT LAST!

From Perth, it was on to Greenock via Glasgow.  More sheep in the meadows as we traversed the green countryside.  Another wait near the Departures board for our train. Time for a quick potty break and bite to eat. 

Some of you may know that Glenn and I grew up in Greenock, Pennsylvania (PA), a mostly residential village in a larger township about 25 miles southeast of Pittsburgh.  As kids, we were told that Greenock was founded by a Scottish sea captain who named it for his hometown.  NOT.  Pre-trip, genealogy-king Glenn researched our Mr. William Black, a coal miner (like everyone else who settled in the area) from Glasgow (a bit further up the Clyde River).  He could find no indication that Black lived in Greenock, Scotland, but he, his wife and one child are all buried in the original cemetery of the community he named.

On arrival at the below-grade Greenock West station, we lugged our suitcases up several flights of stairs and across the street to the taxi rank.  The cabbie asked if we were from the cruise ship.  Cruise ships as well as container ships use this port.  We responded in the negative and told him of our origins in PA.  That apparently made us a source of interest among the cabbies. A few days later, on hearing our accents, our cabbie stated that we must be the couple from Greenock in America.  (BTW, there is a Greenock in Australia too.)

Another lovely AirBnB flat, again complete with breakfast foods plus a box of what turned out to be incredible dried-fruit cookies. …and a neighborhood coffee shop within a few blocks. We stopped for coffee a few times, chatting with the women who worked there.  It was one of them that told me Greenock has one of only three outdoor swimming pools in the entire country, and it’s salt water.  I was wishing I’d brought my swimsuit.

The traditional haggis, neeps and tatties were on the cafe’s “daily special” but until our last visit, Glenn steadfastly refused to try the haggis (for breakfast, he did consume a substantial piece of THE best carrot cake I’ve ever tasted).  The cook said he couldn’t leave Scotland without trying haggis.  On our afternoon coffee break stop, she brought him a cup which he gingerly tasted, then polished off.  I don’t think her recipe followed the tradition of ground sheep entrails, barley, other grains, and spices all steamed in a sheep stomach, but whatever she did, it was tasty.  (BTW, neeps are mashed turnips and tatties, mashed potatoes, in the local lingo.)

Haggis later, but first, carrot cake

In our five days in Greenock, we thoroughly explored the city — birthplace of James Watt, inventor, engineer and chemist who improved on the steam engine, making much of the Industrial Revolution possible.  Unfortunately McLean Museum was closed; it has an extensive Watt exhibit. A cemetery plaque said novelist John Galt was buried therein but we never found his grave.  Galt has been called the first English political novelist because he dealt with issues around the industrial revolution. 

Aside:  Among other Greenockians are the mothers of two famous American entertainers Jay Leno and Julianne Moore; both mothers were born in Greenock (thank you, Wikipedia, for that tidbit).

Glenn photographed scores of churches, some still active, some closed or serving a new purpose.  One is now a furniture store. The Old West Kirk (church) built at the end of the 16th Century is supposedly the first Protestant church built in Scotland after the Reformation.  The closed Greenock Methodist Church (Glenn’s family attended the one in PA) now holds services in an Episcopalian church.   

Greenock Methodist Church

We walked the mile-long Esplanade along the Firth of Clyde past villas previously owned by shipbuilders and other captains for industry, Glenn snapping pix all the way.  (A firth is similar to a fjord, an inlet.) Then we continued to Gourock in search of an ice cream parlor I’d been to several years ago.  Didn’t find it but the five-mile walk easily justified dessert in Gourock and a one-pound train ride back home; the one time I didn’t have our BritRail passes along.

From Greenock, we made two day trips, one to Glasgow (mostly to visit Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum) and the other to Stevenston (my mom’s birthplace).  We walked between Glasgow Central Station and the museum, a long, long way, and stopped for lunch and respite at a wonderful Indian restaurant.  

I’m sure my late mother ordered sunshine and warm weather for Glenn’s first trip to Stevenston.  I’d always driven there before so had no idea where we were when we got off the train.  We walked … and walked … and finally came to a familiar location.  Of course, we went to the cemetery but also wandered the town.  Unsuprisingly nothing had changed since my last visit in 2016.   We even lunched in the garden of the only decent eatery, a pub/cafe.  Glenn’s beer, though dark in color, was quite light in body and came in a glass with an elephant stem.  I left five pounds and a note, and we took the glass for his daughter Michelle who collects elephants.  Made it all the way to Berlin PA in one piece!

The night before we left Greenock, our landlord and two children stopped by.  It was fun to meet them; his pregnant wife was resting at home while he took the two pre-schoolers out for some pre-bedtime exercise.  Our flat had been their home when they got married.  Now they’re renovating a third to accommodate their bigger family.

At the crack of dawn on the morning we left Greenock, we taxied to Greenock’s Central Station to avoid the stairs we’d encountered on arrival at West.  Train change in Glasgow, more staring at the Departures board, a chance to kibbutz with others in line for the Virgin train to London.  In front of us were two women who had been fly fishing in the far north of Scotland for two weeks.  Fresh fish to eat every day.  They had more luggage than we did, including a large black zippered cloth case.  Not fishing equipment, we learned, but a keyboard.  The woman carrying the bag is a pianist and exercises her fingers on the keyboard daily — even on her annual fishing trips.

Our overnight hotel was closer to Heathrow Airport than the city, so our taxi inched through rush-hour London from Euston to Paddington where we caught a train to Heathrow, and from there, a taxi to the hotel.  Whew!  But we had a relaxing and pleasant evening before heading out the next day for home — or rather, Dulles.  Glenn’s cousin Donald met us at Dulles, and the next day we drove back to Pittsburgh. 

Hairy Coo … Highland Cow … to remind us that the advendure is only over for now.

hairy coo
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