Some Polish relatives and name changes..

1942 My grandmother, Rose with Mom 

Apparently I wrote this years ago but did not post it to t he blog?  So as I am digging through my computer files to provide information on my Ostrowski relatives, I am publishing this here.  Right now, I believe the Ostrowski's are rattling their bones from Above Beyond as they do periodically asking to be remembered.  This sure would be easier had they not been so evasive about things years before.  And also if I had been more interested as a child growing up amongst all.  But things changed and now over the years,  most all relatives gone, I still try to piece the puzzle of the Ostrowski and other Polish family members.  

Bill Austin, projectionist

Often I'll mention my Polish grandmother, Baba (Rose) or my grandpap, Teofil Kochanowski. Uncle Carl, their son changed his name to Konesky.  This irked Teofil, my grandpap, who would scoff, " big shot can't spell and use his real name, has to try to be English."   Konesky was a name used by others in that area although they were not related.  I believe the name change was to avoid discrimination against the Polish.   It was common for Polish  and other  ethnicities to anglicize their names.

Baba's brother Bill changed his name to Austin from the family name, Ostrowski or Ostroski, depending on who spelled it.  He and his wife Louise had no children so the Austin ends with them. I never understood how he got the name Bill when his official name was Walter?  So who knows how names shifted back then.  

There was prejudice toward immigrants in the 1800's, immigrants who came to the US to work and work they did.  That prejudice usually by the WASPS (white Anglo Saxon Protestants) endured over many years still affecting uncle Carl  in the 1940's.   They all wanted to fit into American society and American ways. They came to work and work they did as laborer's in the coal mines and factories which were a step up to them.  This photo 9of Uncle Bill Austin appeared in the newspaper and it was considered an honor that he ran the projections for the movies at the Liberty theater in town.  That was likely another reason and way Baba and I got to go to the movies every weekend, courtesy of Uncle Bill. 

Despite assimilation hopes, they founded their own Catholic church in our town, St. Mary's. It was separate from the Italian Catholic church, St. Peter's or St. Joseph's, the catch all Catholic Church founded by Irish but where every other Catholic went who was not Polish or Italian. More another time about the churches in our town, but I recall they were on every corner and represented  every denomination, Protestant, Catholic, Orthodox and Jewish. 

I spent lots of time with my grandparents, especially Baba. Any free moment I'd be down the hill, across the tracks to their home. We lived in a small town, although looking back it was the heyday of a booming city--New Kensington, PA population of nearly 20,000. We grew up in the best of times in the 50's and 60's. Today there is nothing in New Ken, the mills closed, the mines closed, the factories moved--all part of the great movement out of the US for cheaper mfg. elsewhere. But in my day New Ken was home to an Alcoa factory and the Alcoa Laboratory, near to Pittsburgh Plate Glass where all my relatives worked at one time in their lives, nearby steel mills Allegheny Ludlum across the river in Brackenridge where my mother's 3rd husband, Barney Degnan worked and Braeburn Steel where my 1/2 demonic brother's father (my mother's demonic 2nd husband) worked.

I was a thoroughbred Polack, with full Polish on my father's side. Remember how the Polish changed and anglicized their names to avoid prejudice, well my father's family name was Ball. I used to be embarrassed by that name as I got older--it seemed odd. Kids teased me. The story is Grandpap Ball was illiterate and could not write his name. When he came to this country who knows what the Polish spelling was, somehow it was shortened to Ball and that's what we used. I have no way to this day to find his real name. I did not see Frank and Anna Ball much although they lived about 10 miles across the river in Harwick, /Spingdale, on rural acreage.

Why I had limited relationship with the Ball's goes back to my birth and the death of my father, 2nd Lt. Lewis S. Ball, Army Air Corps. As I have learned from my membership in AWON (http://www.awon.org/awmain.shtml ) my story is common among my sibling > 180,000 WWII orphans. Dad was a pilot who had a will naming Mom as beneficiary. As a young soldier, he didn't expect death but it was wartime. However, Dad forgot to change the beneficiary on his life insurance policy--it was a bit of money in those days, $10,000. When his plane disappeared and he and the crew were declared dead, see my older post or AWON at http://www.awon.org/awball.html the insurance money went to Baba Ball.

This devastated my pregnant mother. Dad died June 20, 1944 and I was born in November 1944. (Some in AWON friends call this "posthumously born" which would be a comical term if our lives had not been so unfunny mostly. Like how can I be born after death. Anyway the term is to connote our birth after our fathers' deaths.)

I grew up with my mother being very bitter toward the Balls. Baba Rose didn't think too highly of them either and from time to time would have a Polish conversation on the phone with Anna; it was then that I could hear Baba Rose cuss in Polish. she never spoke that way but likely she felt Anna deserved it.  The story is that when I was born, Baba Ball came to the hospital and demanded that my mother give me to her to make up for her lost Louie (dad.) Mom and Baba rose promptly told her where to go and that she should give them the $10,000 to raise me. I learned that this was true when Mom died in 2004 and cleaning out her house, I found a suitcase of old papers and documents about my father.

There is more to that story of bitterness--they resented my mother remarrying. Well, my life would have been better if she had not remarried too, but that will be a story for another posting. My grand father Frank Ball died when I was about 9 or 10. After that their oldest son, Eddie took over. He built their home on the Ball property. His wife was Esther and they had 3 daughters, Carol, Christine, and Sheryl. I know little about these cousins.  Eddie died years ago in PA. He had Baba Ball write me out of her will and leave everything to his wife and children. It is thought that there was a significant amount of $$ there as they sold property where the Pittsburgh Mills shopping mall now sits. So much for that  inheritance--Eddie seemed to dislike us. But I know he has had to answer on the other side to his brother, my dad about his actions.  f he saw us downtown or even at church he would turn his head and walk quickly away. I thought there must be something wrong with me.

Mystery of the bronze sculpture

I have been battling a horrid spring cold all week.  Last Thursday I thought allergies were getting to me, by Saturday evening at mass I was sneezing less and coughing more.  Long saga, allergies no, nasty cold yes.  I haven't had a cold for many years and this spring cold was a doozy.  I had no fever but cough and hacking sputum and mucus..  One  that has had me cooped up all week, drinking lots of liquid, dousing with Thera flu and napping midday like an invalid.  By Wednesday I was looking for something to do inside  besides reading and checking my social media.  I was sorting through some old papers downstairs and found this document about a metal sculpture.  I had no clue what this might be related to, but surmised I had brought it with us from CA.  Nothing came to mind.  What was it, why had I stuffed this piece of paper into a small woven basket? 

Whatever it was had me scratching my head and looking around tge house.  The only bronze sculptures I thought of were some antique pieces I inherited from my late Uncle in PA.  This obviously was not one of those.  

 I Googled the sculptor and could find items for sale on EBAY and an art auction.  Then I realized, it was the Frog!  A small paperweight that has been here in our living room on the mantle ledge.  A handsome guy.  

 What I should have done is enlarged the writing on the Certificate (left photo) to see that a Frog is indeed identified along with the number.   I had glanced at this and couldn't make out the word "frog."

This took me over an hour to resolve after I went upstairs.  The certificate indicates I paid $25, but today the value ranges from $95 and up. I cannot find if the sculptor is still alive.   The Frog is signed on the side and numbered, it is not clear but the certificate is.

David Chesney Studios.

I still cannot recall buying this or why, but likely it was at an art show or tour.  He is now more of a treasure for me.  Especially because the mystery is resolved.  

Right after I posted this I tried to google the sculptor again and found his obituary from 2015.  Still not jogging my memory about when, why, how I bought the frog.  "

Obituary  David Lee Chesney

David Lee Chesney, age 59, passed on July 29, 2015 of oral cancer. He was born in Torrance, CA on August 20 1955 to loving parents Thomas Chesney and Ronna Chesney. He was a renowned bronze sculptor and artist for over 35 years. Lived in the Yuba City area for over 25 years.

Another year for Clancy Shenson

 This is Clancy who comes out once a year to keep watch and celebrate his Irish.  He joined us in about 2006 after we moved here in retirement from CA,  Yesterday I mentioned Shenson's corned beef which we enjoyed in CA and is not available here.  Clancy is named for that brand.   Every year I bring out different little decorative things around certain themes.  I used to enjoy doing this much more when Jerry was alive.  Idon't know why because he always told me to not go through the bother, but he always enjoyed seeing how I'd admire my things.  So while now I seldom acquire any new home trinkets I still bring out some of the collections to amuse myself.  

Clancy is a leprechaun bear, complete with green attire and gold coins. He comes with shamrock on his lapel and on jhis hat and also has a potato on that hat rim.  He's standing next to one of the little hats I used to place down the center of the dining room table with other green trinkets and vases.  I seldom do that and didn't this year, but enjoyed seeing Clancy again.  Just about every trinket or decor item I've accumulatted over the years brings memories to my mind.  Now I know I;m getting the year on.  Someday someone will toss all my stuff and think it nothing but junk, but to me for now I'll remember the stories.  

You can almost see the worn thin sole of his shoe in this icture where he's seated.  The hat is 2 1/2 inches high and Clancy is 4 1/2 inches standing.  In this back view of him below you can see his sheleleigh in his back hip pocket.  Not visib;e isi the number across his bottom, 265971.  I don't know what that signifies,  if anything.  I recall finding him at an estate sale and immediately scooping him up,  just perfect for this March theme.  

But now Clancy will return to the box for another year.  Aaaand Easter is coming so early, I'll have to get busy here and get some of that stuff out.  

Corned beef on St. Pat's Day

 For as long as I can remember I have  cooked a corned beef, cabbage, carrots, potatoes meal on St. Patrick's Day.  It was one of Jerry's favorite meals and very easy, just put in the pot and boil simmer for hours in broth and dark beer.  Only one year, when he was in the hospital I didn't fix it that day. I bought a corned beef dinner from a local restaurant for me.  But I had the brisket in the freezer and when he was back home he wanted the corned beef dinner he'd missed in the hospital.  

When we lived in CA it seemed we got better corned beef than is avaiable here,  always bought Shenson's brand which has  never been available in this area.  Maybe it is no longer in CA either.  Anyway we enjoyed the meal and Jerry looked forward the next day to a rrepeat of left overs which were always there with just two of us eating.  

My half eaten crned beef dinner last night

The past couple years, with just me now, I would find the smallest brisket and cook it, having left overs for a couple meals.  This year the smallest brisket I could find wass still over 2 lbs,  I decided I'd just forget about it because I did not want to eat it for weeks.  Then I saw a ready made just heat and eat mel at our Festival Grocery take out deli counter and thought that would work for me.  There were 3 generous slices of thick corned beef, a potato, a few carrots and some cabbage.  I figured I'd add cabbage and have left over meat for a rreuben style sandwhich in a day or so.  So I would once again have my corned beef and cabbage meal  I thought it would be better than going to the local tavern to get take out because the noise there hurts my ears Besides there would likely be a huge crowd celebrating and drinking.  Yesterday our temperatures dropped down to winter like again with a tough wind, I didn't feel like leaving the house. 

When I prepared this I added ore cabbage and carrots and another tiny red potato to some beef brroth and ale,,,I did not think I should add the corned beef until near the end to just heat it.  What a disappointing dinner!  The most tasteless bland and tough corned beef I have ever had.  I had to douse it with lots of fresh horseradish to eat it.  I only ate one of the three meat slices and thought maybe with some lacey swiss cheese it would be ok on the marble rye bread for a sandwhich or two.

Left over corned beef and potato

  Today I decided it was not even going to makea decent tsting sandwhich.  I was tempted to toss it but I get tired throwing out food.  I do that more than ever now with just me to eat.  

I decided to cut the meat up and use it in a soup.  I've never made corned beef and cabbage,carrot,  potato soup before.  I  like soups though and can always freeze some for another handy meal.  So right now the soup pot is simmering and smelling aromatic.  I chopped and sauteed half a small onion in butter in the pot till almost transparent, then added chopped celery, a small sweet red pepper chopped, some celery leaves and some baby carrot halved, worcestershure sauce, thyme, more beef broth, the left over ale broth from yesterday , a generous dollop of grainy heavy brown mustard because I had no mustard seeds and a couple big bay leaves.  I hope this slow simmer tenderizes the meat hunks.  If not the cabbage which I'll dd later and veggies will be tasty.  Some rye bread and butter and I'll have a nuttritious meal.  For sure by the smells already it will taste better than last night's fiasco.  

Soup's on

Lesson earned,  don't buy that again.  Invite someone to dinner and cook my own. 

Tell your story.

 I saw this on a widows site I partiipate in on FB.  It is so true,  and that's why I am trying to write here again...To preserve.   I continue to learn and do new things as a widow, things I never did while Jerrt was alive.  He handled everything and I was content to let that be.  Now,  awakening.  Not my preference but no other choice.   When I share something with others, especially other widows and they say, me too" and add what they did it resonates with me.  

Tell your story

Another hurdle jumped over

 As a widow I have had to learn innumerable things, techniques to do tasks I never did before.  Tasks I never thought about.  All those things Jerry did seamlessly, easily.  I was content to not know until I had to.  Until I had no choice.  If I was to continue living here in this lovely home I had to figure things out.  There was no other choice. 

 The last thing I want to do is become a pest to the good friends who stuck with me, who continued to care and be here while others vanished.  But that's another story, the vanishing.  This couple always say, "call anytime, we will be there, don't struggle.."  Sometimes I do prevail on them, like changing my smoke/ CO2 detector/alarms in the ceiling when their lifeexpectancy reached the end, alerting me by chirping constantly. First he came  disconnected  it, returned another day after I got replacements  and reinstalled new ones.  I  cannot reach those in the ceiling, even on a step ladder, so called Gary.  

Sometimes if they haven't heard from me they call or drop by just to see.  Gary has opened jars for me when I cannot.  I hesitate to buy the jars of olives and marinated mushrooms, because I don't want to bother him, but he laughs.  Judy has rescued me when I locked myself out of the house, unknowingly, accidentally by bringing over the house key.  They live nearby, a few blocks away and I do not know what I'd do without them.  Others have family to rely on, I do not.

I do hire a handyman for bigger things like back deck repair, etc. And thankfully here I have reliable trustworthy people to call for repairs too.  

New Whirlpool frig

  But so much for all that background, today I noticed a red warning light on the refrigerator freezer door controls  to change the water filter,  I had a new one ready that I'd purchased from Whirlpool.  I bought this new Whirlpool refrigerator  last August.  Instructions recommend changing the water filter every 6 months.  But with just me here, mostly,  I figured I could wait another month or so.  But the refrigerator disagreed.  Our former GE Profile could keep the same filter for nearly a year.  We have good clean pure city treated water.  Ok so I'm ready to do this and get rid of the red light. 

The instructions on the filter indicate it is in the right corner inside the refrigerator, but inside mine nothing. WTH?  I close and open the door a couple times incase I'mmissing something,,same, nothing.  No water filter to be changed? WTH?. So I'm thinking I'll have to call Gary later or even worse the local refrigerator repaorman who is reasonable but would surely have to charge me something.  Then Idecide to get the manual.  I look inside about water filter, same instructuons!  WTH again?  Then I notice a Section 2 for refrigerators like this model with red light indicator on the door. 

And there is another instructuion.  Aha, the water filter on this is on the base!  Thart's different.  I get down on the floor and find tthe little door but realize I can't fully open it to eject the filter.   Hmm?  Don't tell me the freezer door blocks it!  So I pen the freezer door and victory I can open the filter cartridge door.  I do, it ejects the old cartridgee.  I open the new one insert it and feel I have earned my 2nd cup of coffee and maybe another donut!  Victory dance and proud of me.  As we widows say among ourselves, a YAY ME MOMENT!!

Comic actions unintended

Yesterday I went to our local hardware store intown to get batteries replaced in my remote control for the back sunporch blinds.  I could not get the back off the contraption.  Since the directions said it would take two watch batteries and the local hardware store is where I always get my watch batteries replaced, I figured they would help me.  Sure enough the woman at the counter did and then asked if there was anything else.

  I said I needed a C battery for an old clock at home but didn't find it there among all the batteries they had.  I said I would have to go home and check for sure and just come back.  She asked if I was needing a C or D and I replied, "C"  She asked me to show her where I looked and  that they usually had C batteries.  I continued my chattering as we went to the battery display.  "I need a C but you only have C2 or C4 and I'm not sure."  I pointed to the packages.  And she very courteously told me the 2 and 4 were only the number of the batteries in the packages, they were C batteries.  I smacked myself upside my forehead and grinned.  Who knew?  Obviously not me.  I attribute this to widow brain fog a condition that seems to emerge every so often even after 3 years., When Jerry was alive and I did something this lame he'd laugh and shake his head.  I bet that the hardware store lady had a good laugh the rest of the day telling this story!  

One of my widow friends laughed with me and said she would have done the same thing, reminded me that we have lifetimes of things to learn now that our husbands always handled.  So true, no wonder we get confused.  AND +: 

Puzzles, perceptions, reality/

 

2018 3 16  Jerry starts a new jigsaw puzzle. 

 I have never been a fan of jigsaw puzzles like   so many are around here especially in winter.   Jerry liked them too.  I found them frustrating.  I   might try to get a few pieces in place but really   was  not interested enough to keep at it.  Short   attention span?  Maybe ,but concentrating on   shapes and fitting them didn't appeal to me. 

   Now words puzz;es like word search, jumble,   even crosswords and I'm in.  I have been doing   Wordle on line daiy now for over a year.  I lost   my original statistics when I had the laptop hard   drive replaced.  Don't understand why since it   was online with the Wordle site, but it happbed.  So I resumed and began again.  But this time I am using online hints before I try my Wordle solution. Onesource I use is Forbes which has ahint and clue, sometimes neither arehelpful to me.  But along with the Wrdle hunt there is commentary and a weekly puzzle.  Sometimes these are not of interest to me but today this solution to yesterday's puzzle was interesting.  

Which square is darker A or B?

Answer,  neither.  It is an optical illusion

I still cannot see it as an illusion,  I'm convinced A is dark and B is light.  Apparently my perceptions rule reality.   

This is called the Checker Shadow Illusion and was created by MIT professor of vision science, Edward H. Adelson, back in 1995. While the ‘A’ square appears darker, it’s just an optical illusion. If you printed this image both squares would use the identical mixture of ink and are displayed with pixels of the same exact color, which is rather astonishing. Just looking at the first picture, I still can’t make my brain accept that they’re the same. Wild! It just goes to show how much our perception of things influences how we think about them—and how unreliable our senses truly are.