My dear sister Iris and I spent hours together under the
grapevine trellis,
fantasizing about what we might do after graduation from high school.
Iris wanted to be a violinist, and the entire neighborhood knew it.
This is why we spent so much time together: preventing her from
practicing her scales protected my eardrums and those of our
neighbors! But when I remember Iris as a young girl, she was gracious and kind, and always laughing. She
later went on to study music and become a music teacher and choral
conductor, that Iris. We stopped communicating in 1989 though.
Zlata
wanted to be a nurse, and on Sunday afternoons, she would experiment in
the kitchen, with all sorts of outlandish and never before heard of
cookies. My goodness Zlata cleaned houses for rich women, and somewhere
along the line, she served us something called a chocolate chip cookie,
which being rather new and unusual, was met with some bit of
resistance. But oh they were delicious. I loved my sister Zlata. She
followed her dreams and attended College Misrecordia, got her degree and
never married. Me? Well, I dabbled in many things, and during WWII, I
did my fare share of going to work in the factories when all the boys
went off to war. Early on, I showed a natural aplomb with needle and
thread, but more on that at another time.
Iris made a couple hostile comments to me when I
was in mourning after Zlata died. I was devastated by the loss, and
once I came to grips, I said "to heck
with Iris and her sourpuss attitude!" I never thought she'd call my
bluff, but to this day there's a stalemate about who is supposed to
return a phonecall. She lives up the line in the Greenridge section of
Scranton but we never talk.
Many years ago, my teenage
years in the Valley were filled with girlish summer afternoons on the
backyard glider, underneath the valley sunshine without a care in the
world.
Mother and I enjoyed quiet time together when we weren't tearing one
another's eyes out. She was a strong personality and so was I. She
truly was the pioneer of our family, bringing herself and my Papa to the
USA at age 16 after a terrible electrical storm on her parents farm,
where she had been living with her husband, newborn and parents. The
infant son
was struck by lightening in barren cornfield of Slovakia while she was
holding him, engulfed by a surprise surge of lightening that also burnt
their home to the ground moments later. She was unharmed, and lost both
parents and all of her property. Well, that type of experience changes
a
person forever, and at age 16 mind you! This is probably why Mother
never cared to hug or be
sweet, but I spent many many years under the impression that she just
didn't like me, which was very confusing to my heart.
After
that fire in Czechoslovakia, they came to the US on a
boat of squalor and pain to start a family again on American soils via Ellis Island. They
clawed their way from New York City a bit west to a small town called
Swoyerville, in Northeastern Pennsylvania where the coal industry was
booming. Back when this town really had something to show for itself.
They swallowed the pain and left Eastern Europe to obtain life beyond the
farms of Slovakia, and their family grew to 10 young children.
Over
the years, Daddy worked for several coal companies of the era, he was a
giant man and he won a lot of respect for being so agile and
adventuresome so far underneath the ground. He was only at Red Ash for ten years, a few years at Jeddo,
another ten at Glen Lyon, etc. Mom and Papa were able to afford a car,
and Papa never cared about loyalty, employee of the month awards or
educating himself further. I suspect we were a lucky family in that we
had such a shrewd Mother and Father at the helm, keeping us clothed and
fed! We were by no means rich, but with destitute people around all us
during the depression, I was reminded every day in church to cry real
tears of thanksgiving that I was not one of those Swoyerville derelicts
of which God had forgotten. I didn't understand, but my tears really
impressed the adults, and I learned there were great rewards in life for
those who toiled and prayed and gave daily thanks to the Almighty.
But in that
small home, we were not allowed the life of folly some families have
enjoyed. It was a stern and dour existence filled with devotion to Jesus
Christ
and fear of eternal Hellfires. There was very little time for laughter or
joy.
Yours in the Love of Christ,
Maureen Katsellas
No comments:
Post a Comment