I'm trying

No way.
I can't let November pass by without a single post. I just spent the last couple minutes looking over the writings of one year ago and thinking about what has happened in the space of one year. Even since I've been in Chicago, there is so much I could be writing about, but the time just slips away. I think it's that things are moving too fast for any time for reflection. My body moves faster than my brain, I guess. C'mon! there's my decent performance at the apple pie baking contest, my two jobs (teller at a bank and, although less and less frequently, "fitness specialist" for seniors), my running club, my French club, MY BIRTHDAY!, Chic-A-Go-Go, stress over a CO-emitting furnace, lots of Annie dancing, a saucy piece of performance art, and a six-hour production of "The Great Gatsby."

But speaking of the bank job, even if it is the kind of job where people tell you when you are allowed to go get a cup of coffee and where you have to wear a uniform, I think it will improve my Polish and at least keep my Spanish from rusting away unused. I got my little rubber stamp bearing my initials, so I am pretty much as official as an employee of Community Savings Bank can get. Clearly, I understand the benefit of a stable job in a time of economic volatility that provides health care, a free 20 lb. turkey next Tuesday and a Christmas bonus can't be all that bad. I just hope it will not resemble a career in any way.

I plan on writing more now that the love haze of a new routine is beginning to lift from my vision. Maybe it's just the freezing temperatures making me want to stay indoors and enjoy computers + Netflix.

See you soon, I promise.

Dream a Little Dream...

Here is something weird that has been happening ever since I moved into my new apartment: I am remembering my dreams. I have always been the odd one out when any conversation turned to dreams because after about the age of 8 I was never able to remember the deep sleep musings of my REM cycles. However, for some reason, barely a week goes by when I don't have some crazy, split-second long flashes from my subconscious. Strange changes. Oh, and just as a side note, Annie and I affectionately called our apartment -before I knew what would transpire in the midnight hours- "DreamHome#1". Fitting.

Another thing that hasn't happened to me since I was I'm sure past the toddler age was waking up in the middle of the night out of hunger. That, too, happened to me last week. Turns out it was the beginning of a week-long stomach sickness. Luckily, my mom came down to Chicago to celebrate her annual flee from the Education MN conference (and to have fun for her birthday). There's no better time to be sick than when your mom is around. She brought me soup, made me cream of wheat and hot water bottles, did my errands, and was okay with skipping the Institute of Art in favor of sleep.

By Saturday night, I thankfully still had the stomach for my first, epic entry into the world of... competitive baking! That's right, I entered an apple pie baking contest. As if I were a 4-H -er! For some reason I really wanted to give it a go and to get some outside validation on my growing gourmand ego. Turns out my first ever entirely from scratch pie was a semifinalist! Out of 75 entries, ours made it in the top third! Of course, I wouldn't have even thought twice about entering if not for the fact that Minnesota Mama was here (her, and the other women of my family present in my kitchen through all the stories my mom was telling as she rolled out our secret recipe pie crust).

Just because it was a hoot, here is the website for the pie contest. Why was this contest so awesome –besides getting a free mug, a Home Depot gift card, and aggravating my stomach with more pie than was good for it...? Their slogan: "Pies You Can Believe In."

catholic = universal = multilingual at the very least

There is a Catholic church about two blocks away from my Chicago apartment. It is known as Holy Innocents Church OR Parafia świętych Mąodzianków OR Parroquia Santos Inocentes. Yes, this church serves the three communities that live in the neighborhood - the Polish, the Hispanic, and the English. In other words, it's perfect for me. :)

I went to a mass the other week (which happened to be in Polish, and while it's not a church that will take your breath away like some grand cathedral, but it has it's charms. Like for example the two side altars at about the halfway point of the church. On the left as you face the altar is the obligatory tribute to the Holy Queen Mother of Poland, Matka Boska Częstochowska. <----- She is done in a mosaic of golden tiles and resplendent in all her jewels. It is a rich but subdued statement of devotion. Who does Matka Boska stare at from across the nave? None other than Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe! Yesssss, there she is. In duplicate, maybe even triplicate. Surrounded by 3-d tissue paper flowers of many colors. And other photos whose significance is lost to me. By comparison to her European altar, this one might seem a bit cluttered, but the point is the eclecticism and the vibrancy. This is a Mary with spunk! Contrast #1 in my perceptions of the two cultures that this parish serves.


Contrast #2 came from the church's 103rd anniversary celebration mass, which involved songs and readings in all three languages. I was already intrigued. (Plus, there were going to be refreshments afterwards. I was in.) In 103 years, this was going to be the first service in which all three languages were going to appear in the same Mass. There was a small paper program outlining the order and which readings or responsorials were to be sung in each language. For example, the first reading was read from the lectern in Spanish, but the program had the text in Polish and English.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I'd like to back up to the beginning of the Mass. After the opening song, the next two parts of the Ordinary are also sung: the Kyrie and the Gloria. The Kyrie was in Polish. The text is as follows: Kyrie elesion / Christe elesion / Kyrie eleison, or Panie zmiłuj się nad nami / Chryste zmiłuj się nad nami / Panie zmiłuj się nad nami, or Lord have mercy / Christ have mercy / Lord have mercy. To me, the Kyrie seems like an acknowledgment of something done wrong, a plea for atonement. It is very solemn, and the way it was sung by one soprano voice invoked the modality of Gregorian chant. And the subtext under the Greek text points to the exotic and conflicted Baltic region and the weight of history on Baltic and Slavic shoulders.

Next up, the Gloria. Here is where I burst into laughter in God's house. The Gloria is a song of praise and thanksgiving. Its text is much longer and more complicated. It verbosely talks about the Father and the Son with metaphors and allusions to Scripture. So what better musical setting for this upbeat text than a Mariachi band?? That's what Holy Innocents thought. Keeping in line with its Latin roots, the lines were sung in Spanish accompanied by guitar, keyboard, tambourine (yes, tambourine) and a host of voices declaring, "Gloria, Gloria, cantamos al Señor," and other joyful, joyful strains.

Maybe it's just me and my experiences in a Slavic and a Hispanic culture, but the way I felt when these two peoples stood face to face, I couldn't help but deem their musical interpretations and choices as extensions of their cultures and their respective worldviews. No doubt about it, the whole experience was so cool! I'm not sure if other parishioners felt the same, but then again, I'm not sure if any others have had the chance to see spirituality from both (or all three) sides. The bottom line is exactly the motto of the church, as echoed in the words of the pastor's homily, the church is a house of prayer (dom modlitwy, una casa de adoración) for all people (dla wszystkich ludzi, para todas las gentes)...

Roller coaster, wah ooh ooh ooh, roller coaster, of loooooove (a.k.a. My roller coaster of an Indian Summer)

Yet again I am face to face with that seemingly eternal problem of where to begin… Ever since leaving tennis camp in August, I’ve been burning the candle at both ends – and from the middle too. First, there was Vladimir’s visit, which lasted a good three weeks. We went together though Minnesota, Iowa, Illinois, Washington, D.C., and New York. I came back on a rainy Friday afternoon to my cheery, amazing Technicolor apartment and have happily stayed put since. Relatively speaking. My new task is to find that elusive beast called “job security.” In case I need any more evidence that the old adage “It’s not what you know – it’s WHO you know” holds true, I need to look no further than my dream house teammate, Annie. Annie works at a fitness center for senior citizens, and recently she told me that her supervisor had asked them to recruit possible new employees. And while I am typing this post sitting at Annie’s very own fitness center, I am still only less than part-time. A substitute. I do have a rather busy October, but now come the first time in my life where I really have to consider how to make ends meet (and how to justify my membership to Netflix and a pair of new running shoes…). The holiday season might be interesting since I did agree to work at an outdoor Christmas market for a Polish home goods store. At the very least I can practice my Polish with the shop owner and hopefully earn a tidy sum in an environment that I can only hope resembles the Rynek Krakowski.

Now when I sat down, I thought I would have oh so much to write about: our fabulous apartment and neighborhood, how much I love biking in Chicago, how my bike got stolen, how I found a new bike, adventures in domesticity (how I actually like cleaning and cooking!), being in Obamaland during election season, the orchestra I want to try out for, the books I’m now reading, my upcoming Fulbright deadline, the joys of paying bills, the hassle of banks, my fabulous running finds……. but it’s so hard to take the time out from living my life to write about it. Maybe that’s been my problem with feeling overwhelmed. The other day, when I simply did not want to get out of bed –and, in fact, I spent plenty of the day there­– Annie did say to me that she thought I needed to write. Yes, I do. I have a good WDN article in me. I think I have some other things in me as well. Perhaps with the time and the office-like space we have at home, I’ll finally be able to get something down in the way of writing once again. Aside from the notable downs, there have been a lot of ups in getting to know not only the city but, after traveling around the world, I’m finally getting to know myself.

CHICAGO

Dear Friends and Others,

I am still alive. I realize I have not been around in the blogosphere for a few months, but come Friday, when I will get incredibly expensive broadband internet installed in my new Chicago apartment, things will change. Fear not for plenty of exciting things have been happening in the Sarosphere, so stay tuned. :)

Pozdrawiam,
Sarah

Go Gdańsk!

What lovely timing, just when I am really missing Poland and Europe, that this article came out in the NY Times travel section. It really paints a positive picture of Gdansk and Sopot. What is even more impressive is that the Times readers who voted where this correspondent should travel overwhelmingly chose Gdansk over Copenhagen and Hamburg. Plus, the writer gives props to the Solidarity museum - definitely one of my highlights.



I am so happy that I made it to this beautiful city. It was definitely one of my favorite weeks of the entire year; the Trójmiasto, coupled with the journey to my family's villages, northern Poland is fantastic. Take me back...

WDN article

Here is the pre-publication version of my latest Winona Daily News article. (It certainly been a while since I have written one of these...) It felt good to get it down. I think finally that I am feeling better about being here/being back home.

What’s in a name?

We tend to think about foreign travel in terms of what we can gain: experience, photographs, souvenirs, new ideas, new friends, and a broader perspective. But what if we shifted our focus to think about everything we could stand to lose as a result of travel? Some answers are obvious. Keys, money, and passports stand among the most common. You can easily lose your way in an unfamiliar place. Meaning gets lost in translation – just think of reading the English on a menu in a foreign locale. You might lose your stomach if you are my mother on an airplane. (Sorry, Mom.) But one of travel’s prime benefits is that it can strip us of some of our stereotypes, our prejudices, and even our fears.

Now that I am returned from my year in Poland, I can thankfully say that I have gained everything from that first category and lost little among the materials from the second group. However, I might end up losing something more personal, something that is literally who I am. Thanks to living abroad, I might lose my “witz.”

I don’t mean that a year in Poland permanently damaged my hold on sanity, although certain moments during a dark winter brought me close to the brink. I am referring specifically to my last name. W-I-T-Z is not an ending common among the Polish nation; rather, it should end in W-I-C-Z (pronounced “vitch”).

In May, I took a solo trip up to Kashubia and to my ancestral villages in northern Poland. I gazed at the pages of an old church register over a century old. Sure enough, the children among my antecedents who were born, baptized, married, and buried all bore the surname “Merchlewicz.” CZ at the end.

Wondering if the change took place as one of those countless Ellis Island-type mistakes of orthography, I reported my find to my grandfather, the oldest living family member of the line, who replied, “Oh, no, it got changed when I was about seven or eight years old.”

That fact indicates that I am only two generations away from the way my last name, my very inherent identity, had been known for who knows how many generations before that.

The question now is whether or not I should do away with the American “invention” that hangs at the end of my signature and go back to my roots or to leave it and embrace the inevitability that both time and people change. Preparing for such a long period of time away from the United States, I anticipated having one big, life-changing experience. I didn’t expect, however, that my stay would have an effect on how I might introduce myself to other people.

The way the world sees you is an important factor on how you view yourself. As anyone who works with kids will know, if children grow up hearing enough comments about how they are “bad”, “stupid”, or “untalented”, then they will eventually begin to believe them regardless of their unlimited potential. We can think of ourselves as being a certain person, but, thinking exclusively of names, we are only what the world calls us.

In this quest for authenticity and who I have become after visiting the so-called motherland, I frequently think about the name of my forefathers as it relates to my identity.

There is one aspect to a name change back to the way it was that could bring an undesired association: the altercation in English pronunciation would render me as Sarah Merchlewitch, and that, I think, might actually drive me crazy.