3 Reads now on to better books

Just finished the 218 page “Spirit Car” by Diane Wilson. It is part memoir and part historical fiction about her heritage, Dakota (Sioux) Indians and their ungodly mistreatment in the 1860’s. I met Diane this winter at our local Library when she came one evening to discuss her book. I learned a lot about local history reading this and even about certain settlers and fur traders like the Myricks for whom a park in La Crosse is named. There were parts where it lost me when she delved into what she termed “intuitive anthropology” where fact and history and fiction or intuitions combine. It’s unlikely I would have ever picked this book up, but I feel smarter for having read it. Certainly the Indians were severely mistreated in this part of the country buy the settlers of Scandinavian descent in particular. Driver from lousy land to reservation to more lousy land and finally forced to march to Ft. Snelling, MN which was an Indian concentration camp. Diane includes what she knows about her Dakota heritage. It was interesting to read how her family assimilated and intermarried to survive until traces of Indian heritage vanished. Her mother was left at an Indian boarding school at a young age and the family moved on without her though a few years later they sent for her. The family  shows no bittrness but over and over merely the attitude, "that's how it is and we  survived and did our best."  Quite stalwart and admirable.  Parts are heart rending and parts of the book are horrifying such as the hanging of the Indians in Mankato in 1862. Some parts lost me as she describes imaginatively driving a Spirit Car for her ancestors back in Nebraska and South Dakota. How the half breeds chose to participate in the Civil War impacted their history. I have a curiosity and sympathy for these people who were more abused than the slaves of the south.   And I can better relate to them coming from a family that did not discuss its own history but just wanted to forge ahead. Anyone interested in fur traders and early northern Indian history would benefit from reading this book. It was serendipity that I learned of this book.




On our trip took along a book that has been on my “to read” shelf for some time, “The Memory Keeper’s’ Daughter” by Kim Edwards. This is a distinctive novel set in Kentucky about a snow storm and the nurse who assists the doctor in the birth of his twins; one twin is born with Down’s syndrome. The doctor tells the nurse to take the baby to an institution. He never tells his wife instead, he tells her that the daughter was still born. The nurse, Caroline, instead after visiting the institution determines to keep the baby and raise her as her own; she leaves for Pittsburgh where she raises Phoebe, the child. Life takes strange turns as Norah, the mother and Dr. David Henry, the father continue their lives and raise their son. The ever needy dependent Norah finally hits her own stride and becomes a successful travel agent and David who thinks he controls and fixes everything, cannot accept that. Parallel stories occur with Caroline in Pittsburgh and the Henry’s in KY. David pursues his hobby of photography with a vengeance and his fame brings him to Pittsburgh where Caroline comes to see him. This was an entertaining novel and a good one to read over time as on our trip. It was not always easy to put it down but then I managed to regain the story line when I did return to read. So this novel can be read at multiple settings. It is a memorable story finally when Norah learns of her daughter and David dies. Not so much eloquent writing that I admired in this book, but there are some good lines, pg. 7, “ .. the lie from a year before darting like a dark bird through the room….” I would recommend this book which was a NYTimes Bestseller 2004-05.  It  kept me interested waiting to see what happened with Caroline and Phoebe and I was not at all disappointed in the  ending with some reunification, but Phoebe defiantly declaring to Norah and others, "She  is my Mom" referring to Caroline.  



A month or so back I finished, “Falling Through the Earth” by Daniele Trussoni, who is almost a local author writing about growing up in La Crosse, WI as the daughter of an alcoholic Vietnam vet. There was quite a bit of publicity about this book when it was released a couple years ago.   It was interesting for me to read about local places that I recognize. But the book was tiresome. Her father takes her to rise when the parents divorce as the wife and mother can no longer tolerate his drinking. It is clear and very understandable that the author favored her father, and why not when the mother seemed distant to this daughter. I can say that she falls into not such good habits in her teen years including drinking, smoking and forging her father’s signature on checks though this perhaps was how she survived. She does leave her father and return to live with her mother at age 16 which may have been her salvation; to her credit that she does attend college and survives to write this memoir. She becomes strong but hard. She did not have an easy life at all and I cannot decide whether she wrote this book to memorialize that or to vilify war and the military. Her prejudice about the Vietnam War comes through loud and clear. She refers to small towns as “reservoirs of the draft….where men went to war without resistance….” Obviously she cannot fathom patriotism. She claims to go to Vietnam to better know her father, but to me it seems she does that to solidify her own attitude toward war and how wrong it is. She blames it on causing her father’s alcoholism resulting from his Army tour there as a tunnel rat. I could not help but think that he may have been destined to be the way he was regardless of Vietnam after reading about his family and environment. She describes her own trip to Vietnam seeking answers, which I found a bit tedious. Still I do like to read memoirs and this book is that coming from her own experience. I would not really recommend it as an entertaining or intriguing book.

Flag Day JUNE 14 2010

This cartoon  sums up why we proudly fly the flag today and all days......

Today I remember my father  2 Lt. Lewis S Ball who gave his life  for our flag, he and his Combat Crew 193 Army Air Corps flight from Nassau to Charleston, SC.....June 20,  1944.   Ironically it will be  on Father's Day that I will again remember and miss my dad whom I never knew the most.  

I consider my Uncle Carl who served with vigor through Europe seeing and living through things he would not share with anyone who was not there, saying only to me, "It was allright if you survived.  I was a lucky one."  I remember our fallen soldiers who left gaps in hearts.  

Fly the flag  proudly, beat the drum loudly for somewhere a soldier has given his all .......

  I AM YOUR FLAG
I was born June 14, 1777
I am more than just cloth shaped into a design.
I am the refuge of the world's oppressed people.
I am the silent sentinel of Freedom.
I am the emblem of the greatest soverign nation on earth.
I am the inspiration for which American Patriots gave their lives and fortunes.
I have led your sons into battle from Valley Forge to the bloody ridges of Korea.
I walk in silence with each of your Honored Dead to their final resting place beneath the silent white crosses row upon row.
I have flown through peace and war, strife and prosperity,
And amidst it all, I have been respected.  

I AM YOUR FLAG
My red stripes symbolize the blood spilled in defense of this Glorious Nation.
My white stripes  signify the burning tears shed by Americans who lost their sons.
My blue field is indicative of God's heaven under which I fly.
My stars clustered together unify  50 states as one for God and Country.
"Old Glory" is my nickname and proudly I wave on high.
Honor me, respect me, defend me with your lives and your fortunes. 
Never let my enemies tear me down from my lofty position, lest I never return.
Keep alight the fires of patriotism.
Strive earnestly for the spirit of democracy.
Worship Eternal God and keep His Commandments.
And I shall remain the bulwark of peace and freedom
           for all mankind.
I AM YOUR FLAG                      by Thomas E Wicks, Sr.

More Carl and Marge Sepia Saturday Week 27

I continue with my Uncle Carl and Aunt Marge from last week, because there are so many grand photos in her album. This is the youngest photo I have of Uncle Carl, taken at the Renton School in PA, about 1926 or27 when he was about 8-9 years old. I found an old  newspaper clipping in Uncle's Carl's collections that this school was considered for renovation to senior housing in 1993; we could not find it today so it may have been destroyed.

Two photos taken at commemorative events brought memories of conversations I recall between Carl and Marge.  One of her famous ways of dealing with her stubborn husband was to look up at him and say, "Carl Konesky, if you can't talk nice to me just don't you say anything at all then."  And she would walk away.  I shared that with the aides in the care facility where Carl is today at age 92, because sometimes he gets cranky when they  tell him it's time to shower and he doesn't want to.  He is used to having things his own way, so that's a bit of an obstacle.  I told the young aides they could use those words, from Marge.  They did and he really looked at them oddly and then  said, "That's what Peg used to tell me!"  So he well remembers that.

This first photo from 1940 is from Herman Pirchner’s Alpine Village Playhouse Square, when my Aunt Marge went to Cleveland to attend beautician school. I don’t know why she went to Cleveland because there must have been similar training in Pittsburgh, but that’s what she did and it must have been an adventure for her. Marge is standing, third from the left, and marked on the back, “went out with my girlfriends and had a good time.”  No names for her friends, nor of the others in this photo, but notice the young sailor seated amongst all the lovely women, the only other gentleman two seats down from him. The hats some of the “girls” wore made me recall that Aunt Marge was never a hat person, priding herself on fixing her hair quite nicely and not considering hiding it under a hat. This caused some “talking” at church where all the women wore hats, but not Aunt Marge! That is one reason she preferred the Lutheran church to the Catholic of our family, she did not have to cover her hair.

This “supper club” must have been quite the big city event for a young country girl from Worthington, PA. The front of the folder with the wonderful sketch of the owner with a Tyrolean hat aroused my curiosity, so off to Google which revealed this was a premier theater restaurant in Cleveland in its day. NBC broadcast radio shows coast to coast from this theater with such well known entertainers as Artie Shaw, Cab Calloway and Pearl Bailey. I learned that the owner, Herman Pilcher was quite the entertainer and showman and died at 101 in February 2009. The PS at the bottom of today’s post is a bit of fascinating history from his obituary. 

I remember that Aunt Marge told of living in a rooming house while she went to beautician school and this photo shows her with her roommates, likely in front of that place as it was marked “Me and my roommates” Both photos are 1941. I can see  these same girls in the supper club photo. 

When I saw the supper clubs photo I recalled the banter between my aunt and uncle. Carl always called her Peg and I remember his saying, “well Peg went to a fancy club but I did one better in Los Angeles!” To which she’d reply something, like “Well Carl, that was before we were married and I was with my girlfriends but you did that after we were married and I was back home in PA!” I think this photo taken in 1944 in Los Angeles at the Palladium Club and the one in Mexico must have been the reference of that banter. The soldier with him is Ray, no last name. Uncle Carl was tall at 6’2” but looks short next to his friend.

Can you imagine what his young bride thought when he sent this to her and he was supposed to be on maneuvers in  Arizona and California? That’s my Uncle Carl in the middle front row, sombrero and serape. No names of the fellow soldiers. I can hardly imagine him in such a get up and had never before seen these photos, until I discovered Marge's album this trip to PA.  To be fair, I imagine the young soldiers of the 809th Tank Destroyer Battalion appreciated and took advantage of any breaks for fun that they could while they were stateside. They were training for gruesome life on the European front lines; the desert maneuvers make me think they were to be prepared for combat anywhere, including Africa. It also strikes me that they had more training time stateside than did my father in pilot hours. 

This last photo shows Uncle Carl outside his tent January 12, 1944 Arizona/CA Maneuvers. All his life until he could go no more he was a hunter, a fisherman and an avid outdoorsman.  He said his love of the "woods" began when he was a boy.  

And this 1943 snapshot of his Peg is one Carl carried with him through the war, so it was a bit wrinkled. She had written on the back, “Always thinking of you, dear.” She has a marvelous twinkle in her eye and this appears to have been taken in one of those arcade type photo places, but the tint is interesting.  It shows her with hair just so and as pretty as can be.

PS. Herman Pirchner obituary:
“Herman Pirchner, 101, whose popular Alpine Village supper club on Playhouse Square drew some of the biggest names in entertainment, both as performers and as patrons, from 1934 to 1961, died Sunday. He had run Pirchner's Alpine Village from the early 1930s to 1961. He was known for putting on fabulous floor shows, presenting souvenir rolling pins to new brides in the audience and treating teenage couples, who stopped there for dinner after their senior proms, like royalty.
Cab Calloway, Jimmy Durante, Pearl Bailey, Nelson Eddy, Henny Youngman, Perry Como and the Mills Brothers were among the many top-notch singers, musicians and comedians who performed at the supper club. Other celebrities, such as Frank Sinatra, Bob Hope, Fred Astaire and Henry Fonda, might have dinner in the restaurant, and then go upstairs to Pirchner's exclusive Eldorado Club.


Pirchner, who wore Bavarian leather shorts and Tyrolean hat to add to the alpine flavor of his restaurant, delighted his customers by performing his "beer hefting" routine. He would stack steins of beer -- from 25 to 55 -- and balance them in his hands, while running and sliding, like a baseball player, toward a table without spilling a drop before passing the free beer around to amazed diners. In 1933, his beer-carrying accomplishments made Ripley's "Believe It or Not" and March of Time.


As a teenager in the 1920s, he performed as an aerialist and clown for circuses in his native Austria. In 1927, he immigrated to the United States. He ended up in Cleveland, where he had relatives. The Alpine went out of business in 1961 and was torn down in 1993.”

 http://sepiasaturday.blogspot.com/2010/06/sepia-saturday-week-27.html
As usual, click on the title to see other Sepia posts this week or here

The movie,Iris, about Iris Murdoch

Last night I watched "IRIS" a movie that had long been on my Netflix que. I really don't review movies here on my blog, but because this one was about a subject in which I have intense interest, Alzheimer's, here goes.  Alzheimer’s first surfaced in our family through my mother, who died blessedly of a heart attack at age 80 in 2004 as the diagnosis was made. I read all I can about it, fact or fiction, so this movie about the descent into the disease based on the true story of the life of Iris Murdoch, a British writer and philosopher, was a must see. I enjoyed the movie tremendously, if one can enjoy this subject. Kate Winslett plays young Iris and Judith Dench, who is one of my favorite actresses, plays the older suffering Iris. The film depicts the heart wrenching struggles she and her husband, Professor John Bayley, encounter aging with this disease. He is caring for her as best he can but the film shows he is suffering too and about to go under when the doctors finally convince him to institutionalize her. In fact one heart breaking scene he no longer recognizes a long time friend who returns Iris to her home after she strays off. In another he lashes out at Iris and she turns to comfort him.

I was not familiar with Iris or her works, but Googled her today wanting to know more. Wikipedia clarified Iris really was Irish but lived in England. “…an Irish-born British author and philosopher, best known for her novels about sexual relationships, morality, and the power of the unconscious. Her first published novel, Under the Net, was selected in 2001 by the editorial board of the American Modern Library as one of the 100 best English-language novels of the 20th century. In 1987, she was made a Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire. In 2008, The Times named Murdoch among their list of "The 50 greatest British writers since 1945". She wrote her first novel, Under the Net, in 1954, having previously published essays on philosophy, and the first monograph study in English of Jean-Paul Sartre. It was at Oxford in 1956 that she met and married John Bayley, a professor of English literature and also a novelist. She went on to produce 25 more novels and other works of philosophy and drama until 1995, when she began to suffer the early effects of Alzheimer's disease, the symptoms of which she at first attributed to writer's block. She died, aged 79, in 1999 and her ashes were scattered in the garden at the Oxford Crematorium. She had no children”

Early in the movie there is an exquisite line which Judith speaks, as Iris is struggling to write and the words don’t come….”We worry so about going mad….those of us who live in our minds…surely someone would tell us….” I was struck by that as I fear Alzheimer’s. Writer’s block! OMG a harbinger of Alzheimer’s? I get that, it’s not just words at times, but sometimes block of thoughts, or total impatience and I can’t get started writing. Only I ignore it and go on my way, off to another hobby, gardening if the weather is good, biking, etc. But then there it is and what if? One more thing to wonder about.

 I spent the better part of my career in state government in Health Services and long term care and Medicaid funding. But when this disease began to manifest in Mom, who lived in PA while I was in CA, I was almost as helpless as any person. It is perhaps the most insidious disease of all robbing people of their minds and memories. I will want to read some of Iris’ works sometime. She was evidently controversial.

“ Was saintly Iris Murdoch a rabid political extremist, long before Alzheimer's could explain any outbursts? Writing to the London Review of Books, biographer Jeremy Treglown recalls raising the issue of striking miners with her in the early 1980s.

"I think they should be put up against a wall and shot," declared the author of “The Sovereignty of Good.”

Here are two of her famous quotes:

 Happiness is a matter of one's most ordinary and everyday mode of consciousness being busy and lively and unconcerned with self.

Being good is just a matter of temperament in the end.

I learned that Professor Bayley donated Iris’ brain for Alzheimer’s research. He said he and his wife talked about the decision during her final months. That is commendable because still today it is the only way research and a possible cure can occur. And it is only through a brain examination, after autopsy, that the diagnosis can be assuredly confirmed. My ex-brother who lives in PA prevailed and so we did not do that with Mom.   I can’t imagine anything worse than this disease unless it is recognizing you have it when you are lucid!

There is another good movie out as well which I watched some time ago, "Away From Her" featuring Michael Caine, whose wife is  being taken by the dreaded A. 

Meet my Uncle Carl Sepia Saturday Week 26 (Click to link to others)

I have missed Sepia Saturdays both posting and enjoying others, but am back now for a few weeks before we journey to Southern IL for an RV Rally. We have been in PA tending to matters for my Uncle Carl Konesky who is 92 and living in an assisted living personal care facility since last July due to his dementia. He is content there and doing as well as expected and some days better than others.

He is the last of my family, Mom’s brother and has survived all his sisters. He has outlived his heart  bypass operation in his 60's, stomach ulcers in his 50's and  broken bones along the way.  While in PA trying to get his home cleared to sell, a task which we could not complete this trip despite my optimism,  I found many old photos and some with dates in an album, black pages, labeled with white ink, years ago by Aunt Marge, Uncle Carl’s wife, who died in 1997. I have so much more to write and share about Carl and Marge who never had children, designating me as the surviving blood niece to handle things. Well he was important in my life growing up as was Marge, so I accept this challenge paying back however  I can.

Carl changed the family name to Konesky from Kochanowski, much to the consternation of his father, my Granpap Teofil whom you met several Sepia’s ago. Once Carl did this, my mother and aunts followed suit also using Konesky, but my Granpap never did. Carl said it was easier to spell and to the day he died, Teofil would ask him why if he was so smart he couldn't lkearn to spell his name the right way!

Many years back on a visit to PA my aunt gave me this photo of Uncle Carl at a Fireman’s parade. He was a proud volunteer fireman for more than 50 years and I remember his marching in parades in uniform, spit shined shoes and white gloves. Sometimes he was the leader of the parade and so had a  big brass whistle to blow, which was his from the Army and which I brought home to MN this trip.  He played a harmonica and sometimes a horn. I have always loved this particular photo, which is framed and on one of our bookcases in the study/compuiter hobby room. but until this trip I did not have a date of the photo. Uncle Carl himself did not remember the year when I had asked about it several years back, just saying, “Oh that was long ago.” So I have learned thanks to Aunt Marge’s album that it was in 1938, he would have been 19 or 20 years old and this was one of the river towns along the Allegheny in PA. The  firemen always marched in the  Memorial Day and Veteran's Day parades and had a band.  We observed the Memorial Day parade  this trip to PA and the firemen were there, but riding their trucks and there is no longer a marching band of volunteers.  Today, most of the firemen are paid, full time positions.  My birthday is  in November and for  many years I believed the Veterans' Day parade was part of my birthday celebration, because Uncle Carl told me so and I thought he should know being so prominent in the parades!  I wouldn't miss a beat of the marches  standing there on the sidewalk with my grandmother and grandfather, just beaming and of course, Uncle Carl always made the band stop and play a tune right in front of me.  I was the proudest little girl in town.  I don't know anyone else who really did have their own parade serenades! 

Well just back from weeks away there is a lot of catching up to do around here, laundry to wash, yard work; weeds to pull, etc. so this must be short posting. I am celebrating acquisition of many more photos (which I need like another hole in my head as they used to say) some from his Army experiences in WWII in Germany, France, Belgium where he served with the 809th Tank Destroyer Unit which I will share later.

Here is Uncle Carl as a young Army soldier and Aunt Marge (Lichanec), in September 1942, a month before they were married in Tulsa OK during his early Army years. I have written once before on this blog about Aunt Marge.  You can go to mySeptember 7, 2008 post titled, "Margie Sway" ( http://patonlinenewtime.blogspot.com/search?updated-max=2008-09-08T19%3A51%3A00-05%3A00&max-results=50)
Aunt Marge made her living as a beautician and had her beauty shop in their home until she retired, the same home they built in 1950 and where we are tasked with clearing out lifetimes of accumulations.  I found a small wooden sign, "Marge Konesky's Beauty Shop," that Uncle Carl  painted for her and put at the foot of the steps outside arrow pointing the way, so that those women not  bother him in his garage/shop/mancave. I brought it home and have hung it on the  downstairs in the rec area near the bathroom door.   Uncle Carl was also a self taught artist and  painted   big and small signs for extra money while working full time at the gas company until he retired.  He was an avid hunter and fisherman and as I have said, more to come later.

As usual, click on the title to link to  Sepia Saturday where you can  clickk to other posts.....

O Ye Jigs & Juleps

Found the cutest little booklet at Uncle's title above written in 1904 by Virginia Cary Hudson, a 10 year old.  Published in the 60's or before and must have belonged to Aunt Marge.  This little girl writes  about church, etiquette, life, sacraments  through  10 year old eyes.  Made me laugh out loud when she describes the final "sacrament" death...After  we get home I'll scan and share some pages, but for now... "And then you get carried back in the Church again.  But you are dead & it takes 6 people to lift you.  And everybody cries and that's the last sacrament you are going to get.  Mrs. Park was old and so sick she didn't even know her own children.  Maybe she was tired fooling with them all those years and just acted like she didn't know them.  When Mrs. Park died, I sure didn't cry because I bet when she waked up & found she was dead, she was just tickled to death." 

We went to Union cemetery here in Arnold PA trying to find Frank Ostrowski's grave, my great grandfather. You  all are quite familiar with him by now and his herd of descendants.   I learned that as in Poland the Polish mounded the early graves.  I never knew that,  reminds me of Indians.  We were unable to find the grave, many old markers are  illegible and  broken off or just gone.  They said there were vandals from time to time who would rampage the cemeteries.  That's  disgusting.   I will have to submit a written request to the cemetery to search through their more than  23,000  sites and pay the fee.  I noticed that descendants are having new marble markers erected  for their ancesotrs as several were new; I will do that for him next time after we do the location.  Today off to decorate my grandparents' graves, Mom's, Aunt Jinx and Aunt Marge. 

I'd thought Uncle Carl might come along but his dementia has  wavered and he has good and bad days.  He seems to be ok in his routine in the home but any variation throws him into a state of  disorientation.  Though he knows us and is  mostly glad to see us, he gets disturbed.  Took him to get  new  eye glasses and  on return he wanted to sit outside on the porch at the home, so we did.  But that must have kicked off his porch sitting days at home and he then thought we were to  take him home.  He went inside reluctantly but then was not clear and his mind wandered back and forth from "That's where I eat..to You  guys let me know when we are ready to leave...."   Saturday he packed up his toiletry articles and was ready to go home again.  He is much slower and weaker than when we were here  first of November.  I remind myself of what the doctors and the social worker said and what I know, "the dementia will decline and rise and come and go and the aging  progression may  make him weaker,  Do not  think that  placing him into the personal care assisted living caused this, but be assured that he is well as can be and safe, something that could not  be guaranteed at  his home without  24/7 help."  And yet still it makes me so sad that this is how this remarkable man will spend his last days.  He's 92 and who knows how much longer he has.  He has been sleeping   a lot in the afternoons now, something my granpap, his father, did  before he died peacefully in his sleep, never waking from a nap.  I  pray Uncle Carl has that same peace.   And again I wonder, why the mental decline.  Mom had Alzheimers, starting in her early 60's.  Jinx had some dementia with the cancer and Uncle Carl is now in decline.  Yet my grandparents, their parents had none of this and they  died  in their  mid and late 70's.  Why does this happen now so much more than in the past? 

Ahh well,  I am finding lots of things to get onto Sepia posts when we return home and I have my scanner. Even found Granpap's naturalization papers...  I just wanted to check in online and let  folks know what we are about.  Limited computer access here.  So I will not be posting much.

Sepia Saturday Week 22 Annie Gorlewski Click here to connect to other's Sepia posts

                Anna Ostroski Kaluzny Gorlewski 1901—1982

This photo taken in  1940 is Annie on the right holding her daugher Katherine, with my grandmother Rose Ostrowski on the left.  I remember Annie, and her daughter, Katherine vividly because we (me and my Grandma) visited them often, sometimes detouring  on our way home from the Sunday movies. Annie may have been my grandmother’s God daughter or certainly her favorite niece because my Grandma had a very soft spot for her. She always took some food and a few dollars to Annie on every visit; I can still see my Grandmother sticking her hand in her purse and palming money off to Annie and Annie shaking her head in refusal as we made our way out the door but my grandmother always prevailed! I can still hear her say, "we take care of each other Annie!"  I  believe they did look out for one another and may have been identical in generously helping others. When I get to my grandmother’s stories I’ll explain the source of her pin money and I suspect this is what she shared, from her own abundance.

When I got a bit older, I considered that Annie who lived in a very poor part of town might have needed help and my grandmother was always one to help others. Regardless, I absolutely enjoyed going there because Katherine, the daughter was my first “friend.” Katherine was almost six years older than me but she welcomed me and was always willing to play dolls and have tea parties with me. When I was not quite five years old, she taught me how to make my first salad, slicing apples and a banana, sprinkling with bits of nuts and then adding salad dressing. I just thought Katherine was the cat’s meow.

Until I came along, Katherine was the center of attention but she was never jealous of the new kid in town. They said Katherine absolutely doted on me, took to me immediately and from the time my mom brought me home from the hospital; Katherine held me and watched my every movement. This would have been when Mom and my infant self lived with Mom’s parents and her sister, my aunt Virgina either next door or a door down from Annie. When I was nearly a year old Mom and her parents and sister pooled their funds to buy the home way up the hill, where Mom lived until she died in 2004. Here I am about 3 years old, on one of our stop by visits, when Katherine put me in the cabbage patch in the garden; I thought that was a hoot, remember I loved crawling around in the dirt around my grandpap.  They said that whatever Katherine thought up for me it was all good! She was a girl way ahead of the times, creating the first cabbage patch doll! I have no photos of Katherine with me, which I find strange, but then photos were not just normally taken of kids at play.

Annnie was the first of 10, 12 or 14 children born to great uncle John Ostrowski and his wife Frances Gapinski and as such the sister of Lizzie Waszkiewicz whom I posted on Sepia week 15.  Research varies on the number of children in that family but at least 10 survived. Uncle John dropped the “w” from Ostrowski so that the family spelled it Ostroski, one of the first name changes. Researching Annie helped me identify others in the previously posted Ostroski gathering photo of about 1910 when Annie was about 9 years old.   I have cropped them here; Annie is the little girl with her brother Ignatius next to her, parents John and Frances are seated with another baby on Frances’ lap, perhaps that is Frances.  The woman to the left of John is still unidentified.  Notice how Annie already has her mother's lips and serious face.  And  compare the look on John's face here with below on the steps with the cigar in his mouth--very similar. 

Browsing through my old photos to feature Annie led me to several interesting discoveries, the first that Annie was married twice, first in 1919 to Frank Kaluzny who died in 1927, reportedly from complications from World War I. So Annie was one of the first in the family to lose her husband to war and become a war widow with a baby. That would have made her a model for her cousin, my own mother years later in 1944 when my father’s death occurred. Annie and Frank Kaluzny had two sons, Raymond born March 3, 1923 and Frankie born January 1, 1927. I have limited memory about Frankie who was not living at home long before I came along and absolutely no recall of Raymond. My grandmother had this clipping of Frank’s marriage to Camille Slezycki in June 1979, another event I don’t recall.

Until I researched this I only knew of Annie’s second husband John J. Gorlewski, whom we called Bosco, another name I cannot explain but speculate that with the many John’s in the family including Annie’s father, maybe it was better to use a nickname. These two photos show the very strong physical resemblance between Annie’s father, John Ostroski and John “Bosco” Gorlewski who was only 10 years younger than her father. Evidently Bosco wore hats, which Uncle John did not.  Bosco and Annie had two children, Katherine born March 9, 1939 and Johnny born January 26, 1943. The photo of Annie and Bosco standing with Johnny and Katherine is earlier in 1943. This photo on the porch with her parents behind her and my grandmother to her right and Johnny on her lap is from  later in 1943 by Johnny's appearance and it may be one of the few with Annie almost smiling.  I don't remember her as  full of laughter as others, but I know that she was very dear and caring.

Johnny would have been almost two years older than me, but I recall little of him; perhaps he was one of those boys who steered clear. In 1945, here is Johnny trying to hold on to me but they said I wanted to go toward whoever had the camera and that I wanted my Grandma!. I think Johnny was not all that amused at having to pose with me, but someone must have thought it a good idea.

Bosco worked many long hard hours and double shifts when he could so was not at home much but when he was he seemed to be ill. I believe he suffered strokes and may have been recovering. This is the only other picture of him that I have, in the snow, noted as just weeks after Katherine’s birth in 1939.

Annie was a caretaker, I suspect that came with being the first born child into the huge family. At one time she was raising her youngest brother, Raymond, shown here between Frank Kaluzny, Annie’s oldest son and Katherine. This photo of the three is dated 1942.   My aunt always said that way back then Katherine was just waiting for another little girl to come along, a couple years ahead of my time. 

 If anyone, especially a woman in the extended family was ill or not up to duties, Annie helped out and was one of the first to cook a meal and deliver it or bake something and take it to cheer up a person. She must have had to beat her Aunt Rosie (my grandma) across the river to the aunts and cousins, but often she did. I believe that she cared for both her parents and that her mother lived with her after her father died. I can recall an old lady lying in a bed when we visited.

I don’t ever remember my Grandmother and Annie just sitting down and talking during visits; seems they were either in the kitchen cooking or cleaning something up, or washing something or ironing.   I believe that Annie took in washing and ironing and mending and that may have accounted for some of the activity.


Annie made quilts and always had some sewing underway. My aunt Virginia said that Annie taught her to quilt in 1940 after she graduated from high school. I have that “one and only” as my aunt preferred to sew and crochet and never made another quilt. I am working at restoring pieces on that quilt which I rescued from my aunt’s basement several years ago. Here they are in 1940 after my aunt’s high school graduation, Annie on the right and Virginia on the left.
Annie died in 1982 when I lived in California, so I did not return to PA for the funeral. Sadly I have no information about what ever happened to her children and their families. It is a sad testimony to Annie, who spent so much time caring for anyone in her entire extended family that all are now scattered perhaps around the country. That was what happened when the mills and plants closed, in that small town in PA, everyone moved on. Perhaps further research will lead us back and or someone will see this Sepia Post when they Google and contact me as happened with other photos.

This has been an interesting week of research using Ancenstry.com.  If I could do a time warp and interview someone from the past, it would be Annie, I expect she had many tales and a lifetime of experiences with all her brothers, sisters and family.  She must not have had big weddings because my grandmother would surely have had those photos.  Ahh, well, I am blessed to have what I do, so many in the collection.  Were it not for Sepia Saturday I wouldn't be getting this all  posted and shared.

Click on the title  as always to go to the Sepia site and read others and see the wonderful photos.

Two more reads for the side bar -- First Family and Niagara Falls

Finished both these books in April but here is the commentary in May.  After Rove’s book I needed lighter reading. David Baldacci is one of my favorite story tellers and his First Family, published in 2009, was immensely satisfying. But then to me he has not written anything which I’ve read that I don’t enjoy. I don’t know how to classify the genre, other than the perfect blend of intrigue, mystery, suspense, a shade of romance, friendship, political or just good old reading this tale through the eyes of the private investigators, former Secret Service agency employees, whom the First Lady solicits for assistance when her niece is kidnapped. Sean King and Michelle Maxwell, the investigators, find themselves back in the game but soon become suspicious of the First lady herself. Besides the main tale, there is a sideline with Michelle’s complicated family. Two tales in one, pure Baldacci. Nothing much more I can say about this so as to not reveal too much. This was another popular best seller by Baldacci; I wonder how he does it without resorting to outline comic book style writing which often happens with popular authors. I’d picked this up at a book sale, $1 for the hard cover, a bargain, and will now pass it along to the local library for their sale. It is excellent reading that kept me quickly turning the pages till the end at 449.


While I snagged no quotes to share, the style is so Baldacci, that any paragraph is exciting……for example page 6……..”Her face was in decent shape, she thought as she snatched a look in a mirror. It held the marks and creases of a woman who’d given birth multiple times and endured many political races. No human being could emerge unblemished after that. Whatever frailty you possessed the other side would find and stick a crowbar in to lever every useful scrap out. The press still referred to her as attractive. Some went out on a limb and described her as possessing movie star good looks. Maybe once, she knew but not anymore. She was definitely in the “character actress” stage of her career now. Still, she had progressed a long way from the days when firm cheekbones and a firmer backside were high on her list of priorities. “

The Day the Falls Stood Still by Cathy Marie Buchanan presents an intriguing book cover, almost a sepia print of a woman at Niagara Falls in the 1800’s. It caught my eye and as Niagara Falls is one of my favorite places in the entire country I thought it worth the time to read. Written ala the Victorian style this first novel for Cathy, hints at imminent disaster by title alone. The historical sketches and text and old photos woven through this tale enhance the drama about Bess Heath, a young woman who spurns what would have been a “better” marriage for her attraction to a naturalist of sorts. It begins in 1915—the beginning of the harnessing of the hydroelectric power of the Falls and a time when the dare devils were shooting the rapids in barrels. Her sister Isabel has her own story going on and there is a family tragedy in the making. Her father has lost his prominent job and the family fortune is dwindling; her mother helps support the family as a seamstress and her father despite trying to keep up appearances begins drinking. It follows the dawn of the ready wear clothing and how that affects the seamstress industry. I loved the in depth descriptions of some of the hand sewing, the finery and the descriptive of the feel of the fabrics. It is a tribute to  hand work, sewing, WWI and the Canadian culture of that time.   It is not an all ends happily ever after tale and at times I thought it slow moving, but then some history of the region would evolve to return my interest.

Some of the writing is melancholy which became dreary but as I prevailed through the 298 pages I can say this was a different genre of reading for me, reminiscent of Louisa May Alcott and  the like and I learned something about writing by reading this.

Pg. 138, “..Grief isn’t something to get over…it stays with you, always…just not so raw….”

Pg. 151..”Every day there are moments when it feels like I’m met head on by meaninglessness.”

Pg. 215 ..”We all matter so very little, .. not at all after a generation or two….as Darwin put forth…”

Pg. 217…”Even now it seems a sort of bull headedness is chief among the traits necessary to prevail, a trait Isabel had in spades.”