11/15/13 - "The Polish Grandparents"
Blogger's Note: I know, I know. I'm late. October was quite the hectic month for our humble abode. Joanna's parents flew from Poland for a visit. Today's post will be about them, so I'll get to that in a minute. I'm not sure why, but I'm nervous to start writing again. I'm sitting here with a bit of anxiety and a phobia that I won't be able to shift in gear after a month's hiatus. Joanna's parents deserve some inspired narrative, so I'm listening to (yep, you guessed it) Mason Jennings Radio on Pandora hoping to get in the right mood. I feel like I've metaphorically fallen, and I'm clapping my jeans with frustrated palms to free meager dust clouds of doubt before I pick up my stride. So, if my foreword feels disconnected or ambiguously unnecessary, then please understand that I'm trying to stretch before the workout.
On today's subject, be aware that I had to dull the knife before slicing; because I need the deepest cut for our "How We Fell in Love" story. (yeah, yeah, I know that's probably why you tuned in; it's coming next week...) To clarify, some of the best examples of just how great Joanna's parents are are resting in a heart-shaped box next to my inkwell and crisp stationary waiting to be showcased in a future chapter.
Of course we didn't think about this way back in 2007. The novel romance between a Polish bitch and an American idiot budded without much consideration for the rest of the world. You can divide property and assets and finances and responsibilities. You can't divide hearts... or people. We had talked about having children. We agreed on having two. And we would be living in America.
Nestled high in a village where cheese still comes in wheels and sausages hang from strings above meat counters and glass bottles of milk are waiting on your front porch at dawn, a familiar pop and fizz announced the opening of another bottle of Hungarian wine. Roman Madej stood beneath ivy-wrapped vines that crept through the rafters of his patio's overhang and began filling the glasses that surrounded the table. Krystyna, his wife, stepped outside carrying another tray of cheese and grapes and crackers for her family and friends to consume. Jimbo and Arek were looking at Roman's passport and cracking a joke. Roman and Krystyna had just gotten their visas and their passports a couple of weeks previous. They had never been out of Europe. Dominika was chatting with one of her uncles. Cousins and aunts and uncles inebriated with vodka and cheer communed half a world away, for a life that had no idea how celebrated his arrival would be.
Krystyna set down the tray and picked up the cell phone that was sitting on the table. Still nothing. Her daughter in America had gone into labor hours ago. She smiled and tried to appear unworried. The task of playing host to her friends and family kept her mind busy, and she liked to stay busy. A crackle from the fire pit reminded her to add more wood in an attempt to keep the moist, chill air from getting too close. Everyone would be toasting the arrival of her first grandchild soon enough, she thought to herself.
She would be by her daughter's side right now if not for some volcano in Iceland erupting and filling the north Atlantic air with so much ash that all the planes in that part of the world were grounded. Their flight would be postponed until the air cleared. Someday, her grandchild would never believe that her plans were delayed by an erupting volcano.
And then the phone beeped. She reached it first and immediately saw the text in English. She quickly handed the phone to her son who knew that hesitating the translation would result in death threats.
"Welcome to the world the newest Madej. Roman Alan Edwards was born healthy on April 18, 2010 at 7 pounds 8 ounces and 18.9 inches long. He and Joanna are both healthy and doing well," her son-in-law had texted them.
Krystyna clapped her hands to her face and said a prayer of thanks out loud while the rest of the family raised glasses of wine and shots of vodka as a cheer of "Na Zdrowia!" echoed through the otherwise sleeping Polish countryside. Everyone was on their feet and hugging and crying and talking about what America must be like and how much that weight was in kilo's and congratulating Roman and Krystyna Madej on being grandparents. They all talked about what their coming trip to America would be like. And, soon enough.... ...they would find out.
In fact, their latest trip marks their third visit. They stayed with us after Roman's arrival and to spend Christmas with us one year. After the second visit, they explained that they were getting a little old for such a voyage. They might come for a third trip if and when we have another child. And then Amelia came along...
We picked them up in Chicago, because the transfer to get somewhere closer might be confusing for someone that doesn't speak English (hell, it's confusing for people that do speak English). When they arrived, we suggested going on a real trip. Perhaps to Florida, maybe a cruise. They insisted they only wanted to stay home and spend time with their grandchildren. We did manage a small get-away to St Louis at one point, however.
Roman was a little slow to warm up. He was used to "Fickles" (that's what he calls my mom). She gives him cookies when he demands them and doesn't make him eat any of that nasty, healthy food. Slowly but surely he got there. Dza Dza (as he calls his Polish grandfather) ended up being pretty fun. He actually spent time with him, and they made incredible things from his Lego's. Together, they built a fire truck from wood blocks. He fixed his favorite toy tow truck, Mater, with a way to actually tow his other cars. He pushed him around on his bicycle and played catch with him outside. Ba Ba (as he calls his Polish grandmother) would make him all kinds of different foods. And once he got past the trauma of trying new things, he found out they weren't so bad. She would keep him clean and warm. She bought him new boots with Lightning McQueen on them and would read Polish bedtime stories to him.
Amelia never lost stride. She seemed to relish all the attention given to her by the new arrivals. Ba Ba didn't put her down for long. She kept her diapers changed and her interest peaked. They went for walks almost every day, and when Krystyna was busy cooking or cleaning, Dza Dza would wrap her up warmly, and sit her in the stroller so that she could see Roman playing in the leaves outside.
Joanna was the happiest. Seeing her parents kept her mood cheerful. When she wasn't working, she spent her days with her mom making pierogies to freeze or some homemade, organic baby food for Amelia or listening to advice on Polish remedies for sick babies or upset tummies or picky toddlers. Other days, she would spend with her father at Home Depot buying parts to build shelves in the kitchen or to fix the scratched upholstery on our couch or to make the latch on our gate accessible from either side.
I was trying to pick out words from the Polish conversations or trying to find an empty room to disappear for a while. My biggest concern was that the bathroom would be occupied after finishing my morning coffee. And I learned not to "like" their cooking too much. The Polish food was just fine; but, if I were to say, "Wow! This pork cutlet sure is good!" then I could expect it for lunch over the next 4 days. They are polite and considerate to a fault, and they want to make me happy and feel like part of the family. So, if they find out I like something, then I can expect it in triplicate. I appreciate them so much, but I guess I'm just a spoiled American that doesn't like the same thing two days in a row. Especially, when they come from a communist youth where food doesn't get wasted. They rarely leave a scrap of food on their plates. If and when they do, it gets put in the refrigerator and eaten the next day.
They are workaholics that inspire me to be more. They inspire me to be a good father, and a handyman, a good husband, an honest person. The toughest thing about being around them is the constant reminder that I'm not half as tough as they are. I come from a world of buffets and Nintendo's and mobile homes. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm a proud American; but, seeing Joanna's parents in action reminds me that I can always be better, I can always do more. Someday soon, I'll write about the things that I think we could learn from Poland (...and some things that I think they could learn from us).
Saying goodbye to them at O'Hare International Airport in Chicago, IL was painful. I know how much time they want to spend with their grandchildren and with their daughter. I feel like the villain that took their family away from them. But they don't treat me like a villain. They hug me just as hard as they hug Joanna. And when their red eyes wave their last goodbyes and round the corner to the security checkpoint, we always stand there until we just can't see them anymore. Joanna must see them like freshly-strummed guitar strings through tear-filled eyes; I hug her and tell her we'll be seeing them soon. In fact, we're planning a trip next June because that's when Joanna's brother will be getting married. Until then, we'll talk to them everyday on Skype and on the phone.
I know in my heart that my children's spirits are better after spending time with Joanna's parents. Some days, Joanna and I toy with the idea of moving to Poland. Who knows, maybe someday we will. We will continue to visit as often as we can. And Roman and Amelia will know the people that they are named after. but for now... Da Widzenia...
Blogger's Note: I know, I know. I'm late. October was quite the hectic month for our humble abode. Joanna's parents flew from Poland for a visit. Today's post will be about them, so I'll get to that in a minute. I'm not sure why, but I'm nervous to start writing again. I'm sitting here with a bit of anxiety and a phobia that I won't be able to shift in gear after a month's hiatus. Joanna's parents deserve some inspired narrative, so I'm listening to (yep, you guessed it) Mason Jennings Radio on Pandora hoping to get in the right mood. I feel like I've metaphorically fallen, and I'm clapping my jeans with frustrated palms to free meager dust clouds of doubt before I pick up my stride. So, if my foreword feels disconnected or ambiguously unnecessary, then please understand that I'm trying to stretch before the workout.
On today's subject, be aware that I had to dull the knife before slicing; because I need the deepest cut for our "How We Fell in Love" story. (yeah, yeah, I know that's probably why you tuned in; it's coming next week...) To clarify, some of the best examples of just how great Joanna's parents are are resting in a heart-shaped box next to my inkwell and crisp stationary waiting to be showcased in a future chapter.
Of course we didn't think about this way back in 2007. The novel romance between a Polish bitch and an American idiot budded without much consideration for the rest of the world. You can divide property and assets and finances and responsibilities. You can't divide hearts... or people. We had talked about having children. We agreed on having two. And we would be living in America.
Nestled high in a village where cheese still comes in wheels and sausages hang from strings above meat counters and glass bottles of milk are waiting on your front porch at dawn, a familiar pop and fizz announced the opening of another bottle of Hungarian wine. Roman Madej stood beneath ivy-wrapped vines that crept through the rafters of his patio's overhang and began filling the glasses that surrounded the table. Krystyna, his wife, stepped outside carrying another tray of cheese and grapes and crackers for her family and friends to consume. Jimbo and Arek were looking at Roman's passport and cracking a joke. Roman and Krystyna had just gotten their visas and their passports a couple of weeks previous. They had never been out of Europe. Dominika was chatting with one of her uncles. Cousins and aunts and uncles inebriated with vodka and cheer communed half a world away, for a life that had no idea how celebrated his arrival would be.
Krystyna set down the tray and picked up the cell phone that was sitting on the table. Still nothing. Her daughter in America had gone into labor hours ago. She smiled and tried to appear unworried. The task of playing host to her friends and family kept her mind busy, and she liked to stay busy. A crackle from the fire pit reminded her to add more wood in an attempt to keep the moist, chill air from getting too close. Everyone would be toasting the arrival of her first grandchild soon enough, she thought to herself.
She would be by her daughter's side right now if not for some volcano in Iceland erupting and filling the north Atlantic air with so much ash that all the planes in that part of the world were grounded. Their flight would be postponed until the air cleared. Someday, her grandchild would never believe that her plans were delayed by an erupting volcano.
And then the phone beeped. She reached it first and immediately saw the text in English. She quickly handed the phone to her son who knew that hesitating the translation would result in death threats."Welcome to the world the newest Madej. Roman Alan Edwards was born healthy on April 18, 2010 at 7 pounds 8 ounces and 18.9 inches long. He and Joanna are both healthy and doing well," her son-in-law had texted them.
Krystyna clapped her hands to her face and said a prayer of thanks out loud while the rest of the family raised glasses of wine and shots of vodka as a cheer of "Na Zdrowia!" echoed through the otherwise sleeping Polish countryside. Everyone was on their feet and hugging and crying and talking about what America must be like and how much that weight was in kilo's and congratulating Roman and Krystyna Madej on being grandparents. They all talked about what their coming trip to America would be like. And, soon enough.... ...they would find out.
In fact, their latest trip marks their third visit. They stayed with us after Roman's arrival and to spend Christmas with us one year. After the second visit, they explained that they were getting a little old for such a voyage. They might come for a third trip if and when we have another child. And then Amelia came along...
We picked them up in Chicago, because the transfer to get somewhere closer might be confusing for someone that doesn't speak English (hell, it's confusing for people that do speak English). When they arrived, we suggested going on a real trip. Perhaps to Florida, maybe a cruise. They insisted they only wanted to stay home and spend time with their grandchildren. We did manage a small get-away to St Louis at one point, however.Roman was a little slow to warm up. He was used to "Fickles" (that's what he calls my mom). She gives him cookies when he demands them and doesn't make him eat any of that nasty, healthy food. Slowly but surely he got there. Dza Dza (as he calls his Polish grandfather) ended up being pretty fun. He actually spent time with him, and they made incredible things from his Lego's. Together, they built a fire truck from wood blocks. He fixed his favorite toy tow truck, Mater, with a way to actually tow his other cars. He pushed him around on his bicycle and played catch with him outside. Ba Ba (as he calls his Polish grandmother) would make him all kinds of different foods. And once he got past the trauma of trying new things, he found out they weren't so bad. She would keep him clean and warm. She bought him new boots with Lightning McQueen on them and would read Polish bedtime stories to him.
Joanna was the happiest. Seeing her parents kept her mood cheerful. When she wasn't working, she spent her days with her mom making pierogies to freeze or some homemade, organic baby food for Amelia or listening to advice on Polish remedies for sick babies or upset tummies or picky toddlers. Other days, she would spend with her father at Home Depot buying parts to build shelves in the kitchen or to fix the scratched upholstery on our couch or to make the latch on our gate accessible from either side.
I was trying to pick out words from the Polish conversations or trying to find an empty room to disappear for a while. My biggest concern was that the bathroom would be occupied after finishing my morning coffee. And I learned not to "like" their cooking too much. The Polish food was just fine; but, if I were to say, "Wow! This pork cutlet sure is good!" then I could expect it for lunch over the next 4 days. They are polite and considerate to a fault, and they want to make me happy and feel like part of the family. So, if they find out I like something, then I can expect it in triplicate. I appreciate them so much, but I guess I'm just a spoiled American that doesn't like the same thing two days in a row. Especially, when they come from a communist youth where food doesn't get wasted. They rarely leave a scrap of food on their plates. If and when they do, it gets put in the refrigerator and eaten the next day.
They are workaholics that inspire me to be more. They inspire me to be a good father, and a handyman, a good husband, an honest person. The toughest thing about being around them is the constant reminder that I'm not half as tough as they are. I come from a world of buffets and Nintendo's and mobile homes. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm a proud American; but, seeing Joanna's parents in action reminds me that I can always be better, I can always do more. Someday soon, I'll write about the things that I think we could learn from Poland (...and some things that I think they could learn from us).
Saying goodbye to them at O'Hare International Airport in Chicago, IL was painful. I know how much time they want to spend with their grandchildren and with their daughter. I feel like the villain that took their family away from them. But they don't treat me like a villain. They hug me just as hard as they hug Joanna. And when their red eyes wave their last goodbyes and round the corner to the security checkpoint, we always stand there until we just can't see them anymore. Joanna must see them like freshly-strummed guitar strings through tear-filled eyes; I hug her and tell her we'll be seeing them soon. In fact, we're planning a trip next June because that's when Joanna's brother will be getting married. Until then, we'll talk to them everyday on Skype and on the phone.
I know in my heart that my children's spirits are better after spending time with Joanna's parents. Some days, Joanna and I toy with the idea of moving to Poland. Who knows, maybe someday we will. We will continue to visit as often as we can. And Roman and Amelia will know the people that they are named after. but for now... Da Widzenia...
1 comment:
my polish parents in law wanted to have my son so much that they even ordered my polish wife to stay in poland (in szeczin as they call it) when she was on summer holidays in 2007. She came back to her husband in Switzerland some months later only when she discovered that her parents wrote me, her husband, a letter demanding a livelong rent for supporting my wife and my son as I am a father not caring for them and not able to do so(, ... I was never good enough for them: why is he not a millionaire, why does he have no house employees, why does he have no one family house etc). She then took a distance and emancipated from her patriarchical polish parents demanding so excessivly much because of their 'love' to 'their' daughter and 'their' grand child by help and intensiv support of a psychatrist. As a punishment they completly broke the relationship to their 'bad' daughter for some year but with help of a psychatrist she could stand it, and emancipate ...
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