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Arrival 2021

Friday 23 July 2021

I check K’s location in the morning, knowing what I’ll find. If there had been any issues, K would have contacted me. But there she is, safe in sound in Jablonka.

In the afternoon, we FaceTime a little while as K and E return from a walk to the river — the walk. I see immediately the changes: at least half a dozen new houses along the gravel road where, ten years ago, there was only one and where, when we left Poland in 2005, there were none. Not terribly impressive growth by Greenville standards, to be sure, but in a little village…

As for other pictures — perhaps tomorrow. Today was a rest day, a day with Babcia — as it should be.

To Poland 2021

Thursday 22 July 2021

It’s been four years since we last did this. It’s actually been more like six — four years ago, we all went to Poland together. It was the 2015 trip that was split up. I wasn’t even planning on going that summer, in fact. This year, just K and E are going, and that long long journey began this morning with a departure from the house at 2:15 to arrive before 4:00 to make it for the 6:00 flight from Charlotte to JFK. We usually go Charlotte-Munich-Krakow, but with covid restrictions and such, K wanted to fly directly to Poland, which meant leaving from JFK. She reasoned she stood less of a chance of having problems getting into Poland with an American passport and an expired Polish passport than into an EU state. When we did all this planning, Americans were still not admitted into Europe, I think. So we left ridiculously early to arrive the requisite 2 hours before departure.

You can see in K’s expression just how excited she was. Even though the drive home would normally only be about an hour and twenty minutes, Google routed me a different way: 85 south was closed at some point for construction. We’d seen the backup forming (at 3:00 am), but I’d hoped it would have cleared up by the time I was heading back that way.

It was not, turning an hour-and-twenty-minute drive into a two-hour-twenty-minute drive. (I stopped just before getting on I77 to double-check, hence the two-hour-six-minute time.)

I got home to find Papa awake and needing assistance. By the time everything was squared away, it was 6:35. I set the alarm for 7:35 so I could get up to take L to volleyball conditioning, but of course I never really went to sleep. I was just dozing off as the alarm sounded. Back home at 8:00, I started Papa’s morning routine, then left the rest to our wonderful CNA and headed out to the store to buy a few things. No point in lying down for an hour again, I figured.

In the meantime, K and E were having their own adventure, collecting their bags (not checked all the way through because the original plan had been to drive to NYC), finding their way to the terminal from which LOT departs — all of which absolutely thrilled the Boy. In Munich the last time we were there, he was thrilled by all the moving walkways, all the planes visible from the terminal, and even the self-enclosed smoking pods. I’m sure it was just as thrilling in JFK.

“An airport is a paradise for a nine-year-old boy,” I texted K. I always loved going to the airport for Papa’s business trips: the hustle and bustle, the equipment, the planes.

But even then, a little one can get tired and frustrated when the layover is hours long. K had a secret weapon, though:

And of course, he knew what was waiting for him on the plane — he’d been talking about it for the last two weeks:

The final text from K: we’re on board but take-off is delayed thirty minutes. For once, that’s not a problem: there’s no connection to worry about. Waiting at the other end of the flight will be her brother, ready to bundle them off to Babcia’s place.

I can only imagine Babcia’s excitement after four years.

Polish Lots

Friday 16 July 2021

A gigantic home on a long, narrow lot…

“Only in Poland” my friend and I would laugh.

One of My Madeleines

Wednesday 7 July 2021

The older I get, the more madeleines I discover, most of them are musical, and at least one is tragic: Billy Joel’s song, “Goodnight, My Angel.”

I’d listened to this song just a few minutes earlier when, in 1999, I received the tragic news that two of my former students in Poland, Marcela and Natalia, had drowned a few days earlier while on an outing to the Baltic Sea. I was staying with my parents because I didn’t yet have my own place, and when I got the call, I was sitting on the floor by the bed in the guest room that I’d taken over. It’s a song to one’s daughter, but the passage “the water’s so dark and deep” — so tragically ironic.

A beach on the Baltic Sea

The news was a kick in the gut.

Marcela had just finished her freshman year, and I really didn’t know her that well. But I’d been Natalia’s English teacher for three years, and I’d watched her go from a hesitant beginner to a confident speaker who absolutely demolished the required oral exam in English just a few months earlier. She was wise and mature for her age, a real leader in the class, and from the beginning, she always intimidated me a bit. A first-year teacher just out of college, I felt like I didn’t know what I was doing, and Natalia always sat in the back of the room seeming to say with a slight smile on her countenance, “You don’t have the slightest clue what you’re doing, do you?” Later, I realized what she was probably saying was, “Whoa! Slow down! Slow down!” She smiled a lot, even when nervous — we all do that, I think.

Natalia’s class — she is the girl in the very center

Every time I hear that song, I think of Natalia. I try not to imagine what her parents went through, learning their intelligent, beautiful daughter was gone because I’d start imagining what I’d do if some similar tragedy befell my own daughter. That’s when the “my angel” hits me. I try not to imagine what kind of woman she’d be now, likely a mother in her late thirties, old enough to have a child that could be sitting in my own classroom now. I don’t have, in fact, any really specific memory of her other than of her sitting in the back of the class, smiling slightly, making me feel I’d just done something incomprehensibly stupid, some rookie teacher mistake that even a kid could see.

On a field trip to Torbacz

I can rarely listen to the whole song…

Mid-June Thursday

Thursday 17 June 2021

Taxi service today: E to scout camp at 8:00. L to volleyball conditioning at 9:00. Pick her up at 10:00.

I had just enough time to pick the first blueberries (or second I guess — we did pick some yesterday) and to mow the neighbor’s yard afterward before heading off to take L to sand volleyball practice (including going to pick up her partner). On the way home, a few errands. Then off to pick up the Boy from scout day camp. Back home to get ready for the swim meet.

He dropped his time from 36 seconds to 31 seconds. Great job! A victory regardless of how he stacked up to the competition.

And then a glance at the “Time Machine” widget at the bottom of MTS: a reminder that four years ago today was just as hectic, but it was in Warsaw:

Kitchen

Monday 14 June 2021

An image from the late 1990s — the kitchen I had in my first apartment in Lipnica. That mug on the right — I still have it upstairs. The writing is just about gone, and if I were as sentimental as I used to be, that would upset me greatly as this particular mug was an unexpected birthday gift from a sophomore class of students. This means the kids who gave me that mug are now in their mid- to late- thirties, likely with kids as old or older than my current students.

The significance of this? Same as always…

Sunday Ride and Party

Sunday 30 May 2021

The day began with a ride. It was unplanned in every way imaginable: we hadn’t planned on going for a ride today, and when we decided to go, we really didn’t make a plan where we would go. We simply got on our bikes and started riding. The only criterion: “I want to go somewhere we’ve never been,” the Boy said.

We started out going to a little neighborhood about two miles from our house that includes a really significant climb. When we finished, we were close to the back route that I take to work, which leads right by Nana’s and Papa’s old place.

“Want to ride to Nana’s and Papa’s old place?” I suggested.

“Sure.”

And so we headed over to the old townhouse. We explored here and there coming back, and in the end, discovered we’d been gone for two hours and had ridden over 27 kilometers.

In the afternoon, we went to Polish Mass. After this particular Mass, though, the Polish community gathered for the first time for a little socializing.

The mothers got roses for Polish Mother’s Day, which was this week.

And naturally, there were speeches and singing.

I’ve said it often before: you can’t get a bunch of Poles together and not expect a speech.

Lunch in the School Cafeteria

Monday 26 April 2021

It’s one thirty, and I’ve returned with the dziennik to the teachers’ room. It’s been snowing all day, and there’s a soft glow in the room as the light filters through the snow-covered windows in the roof. The hustle of the morning — teachers swallowing one last gulp of tea before calling out, “Who has the dziennik for 1c? I’m looking for 1c,” before heading out to class — has given way to a virtually empty room with one teacher working on the computer in the corner and a couple more sitting at the table chatting.

I sit down to write my day’s lesson topic in the given space, initial it, and then slide the dziennik into its slot.

One teacher stands and walks over, absentmindedly asking, “Which did you have?”

“3b,” I reply.

“Oh. I need 1d.” She finds it and heads out. I pack up my satchel, and head down to the cafeteria for lunch.

Including both a soup and a main course, this is my main meal of the day. Dinner will be a sandwich probably, but lunch is the hot meal. There’s a cooking school in our high school, so there’s always a wide variety of food throughout the week. It’s all traditional Polish food, but there’s nothing wrong with that.

I go to the small window, put down a few zloty — it’s a school, so the price just covers the materials, about four zloty — and try some small talk. None of the cafeteria workers/culinary teachers has much time or interest most days, but I might get a small chat in about the weather.

“Can you believe it’s snowing?” I ask as the lady take my money.

“Snow and more snow,” she laughs, turning to get my bowl of soup. I hurry to take my satchel to a seat and return for the soup.

“It’s sure beautiful though,” I say. She says nothing but smiles in response.

I sit down to my soup, take out a book, and begin unwinding from the day.

Polish Butcher

Wednesday 3 March 2021

Buying meat in an empty shop, Warsaw in 1982 by Chris Niedenthal.

Baking 2020

Tuesday 22 December 2020

Four-times-milled poppy seeds for makowiec. A little boy who couldn’t get enough of the cookie cutter. A daughter who made cookies with chocolate chips and crushed candy canes (they are as sublimely amazing as they sound). A Polish mother overseeing and guiding it all — who are we kidding? Doing most of the magic.

It’s getting close to Christmas.

Opłatek 2020

Thursday 17 December 2020

It’s always the highlight of the school year for me, introducing American students to the lovely tradition of sharing the opłatek wafer. The kids love it; the administrators and counselors I invite in love it; I love it.

And I thought that we wouldn’t be able to do it this year. But I’m not one to give up easily when I think it’s something valuable for my kids, so I came up with an alternate plan.

Instead of sharing food, I had kids bring in their own snacks.

“What are we doing, Mr. S?” they asked.

“You’ll see.”

It’s important that they have a bite to eat during the process because that’s what the tradition is all about: breaking bread together.

So the kids divided into two groups, with the inner group rotating in sync, always maintaining social distance, and never touching any other seat.

I showed them pictures from previous years.

“That looks really fun,” one girl said.

Well, it is more fun than what we did today, but perhaps they got a little glimpse of the perfection that is the sharing of the opłatek.

A View

Saturday 21 November 2020

From 19 years ago.

First Week

Thursday 27 August 2020

Whew — Thursday. I made it. Or rather, “I MADE IT!” I can’t believe i just taught the same lesson four times a day for four days — sixteen times the same lesson. THE SAME STINKING LESSON!. I thought i would go absolutely stark raving mad before it was all over. And yet I somehow made it through. 

I did realize in sixth period — or was it fith period? They’re all running together for me — that I didn’t do the student handbook stuff with them today. And to be honest, I’m not even sure when I stopped doing it. Did I do it with third period today but not the other periods, or did I just neglect it completely today? I really don’t remember. 

When you teach the same thing over and over, it really becomes difficult to remember what you’ve done when. I would get to a point in the lesson and think, “Wait didn’t I tell them this earlier? Or was that last period?” And honestly, I could just as easily ask myself, “Or was it the period before that?” Every period seemed to blend into the next; the last four days have been a blur, a smear of repeated instructions and jokes. I found myself saying even the same off-the-cuff jokes as well, repeating them if they amused me even vaguely the first time I made them. The pinnacle of the dad jokes joke? I thought of it in fourth period today (Or was it third? Or fifth?) and repeated it the other periods. It’s no longer off the cuff if you’re doing it with intention, is it?

Still, there was a certain ease to the week. I never had to stop and think, “Wait, what am I doing tomorrow?” The answer was always the same.

I remember reading a book — a Malcolm Gladwell book, I think — about the value of repetition for toddlers. It was about the show Blues Clues and the fact that apparently, the series aired the same show every day of the week, thus repeating the week’s episode five times. It had something to do with the comfort of predictability. When the kids watched the same show for the third or fourth time, they knew exactly what would happen next, and that gave them some kind of comfort. It reminds me of E and his ability to watch the same episode of Mighty Machines over and over. “Deep Underground” was a favorite — he must have watched that ten or more times. If streaming the show on Netflix could somehow wear it out, that’s just what he did.

Yet despite all that, the repetition didn’t do anything for me but tire me out. If I had to do that one more time, I think I’d mutiny. “Mr. Finlay, I refuse to do that lesson one more time! Not even once!” Mutiny on the Hughes!

I’m also a little surprised that I managed to write four times in this journal about essentially the same thing: the first week back. The days, despite their repetition, have had a certain different quality all their own. In fact, the word count shows that I’ve done more each day than I did the previous day, which was the opposite of what I expected.

Random Picture from the Past

Living in Lipnica, I spent a lot of time with friends in this bar or that bar, talking and just passing the time. One evening, sitting with my best friend, I snapped a picture. I had my camera with me because it was the last night that particular bar was going to be open. He turned his head just as I snapped the long exposure, and the resulting image was otherworldly — haunting and somewhat terrifying.

Bridge

Thursday 6 August 2020

A bridge of the Lipniczanka, which I photographed just shy of twenty years ago, but with a little processing looks like I could have found this image in a box of old photographs.

History Personal and Impersonal

Monday 27 July 2020

K and I are watching the Polish Netflix series 1983. I started watching it when it came out, but stopped around the second or third episode because I thought K might enjoy it. I was right. It’s an alternative history story set in the early 2000s in which the Soviet Union still exists, and Poland is still within its orbit to a greater or lesser degree. The title references a nationwide, multi-site terrorist attack that occurred in 1983 and resulted in a great sense of national unity and bolstered the Party’s support among the rank and file.

As far as reading goes, I’m almost through with Chernobyl: The History of a Nuclear Catastrophe by Serhii Plokhy. The common notion is that the disaster in Chernobyl (which I learned means “wormwood” in Ukrainian, although this site takes issue with that) hastened the fall of the Soviet Union. It showed that the Soviets couldn’t keep up with the technology of the West like it claimed it could: the reactor at the power plant was a RBMK type reactor, which was moderated with graphite-typed boron rods, without any sort of containment building. The graphite tips on the control rods were a cheaper solution; the lack of a concrete building meant to contain possible radiation was also due to cost. The graphite tips, when they got stuck, accelerated the reaction, which is the opposite function of control rods. At any rate, the Soviet Union was weakened, which likely lead to Gorbachev’s lack of intervention as the satellite nations fell away: maintaining empire was yet another cost the USSR could not maintain.

Had the Soviet Union not fallen, had Poland remained communist, had the vision of 1983 been reality, and the reality of Chernobyl just a bad dream, I would have never met K. An odd realization, and odd timing with reading and viewing…

Revisiting Old Pictures

Monday 20 July 2020

Images revisited from our 2008 trip to Poland, our first one back after leaving in 2005.

Click on images for larger version.