Musings from my driveway, my home and my heart
When I was in the fourth grade at St. Mary of Redford elementary school, Sister Eudora gave us a classic assignment: what do you want to be when you grow up? “A police officer!” I wrote, explaining in great detail how much I admired my father, a Detroit Police detective. I got an A+ on... Continue Reading →
When my dog Rosie died peacefully on March 26, it marked the end of 14 years in the witness protection program. Just like the human programs run by the U.S. Marshals Service and other government entities to create new identities and protect innocent victims from harm, Rosie’s canine version was designed to keep her safe... Continue Reading →
My 13-year-old sister Claudia became something of a celebrity stalker in 1968, when every kid in my family and on our block was obsessed with baseball and the Detroit Tigers, who were in a heated pennant race and would go on the win the World Series. One summer afternoon, she jumped on her purple Schwinn... Continue Reading →
The Detroit bar I grew up in appears to be ground zero for creeping gentrification as the Motor City’s urban renewal edges beyond the downtown area. Once a landmark in a blue-collar neighborhood of factory workers, the bar – known as the Rose Café when my Polish grandparents owned it – now is called the... Continue Reading →
My 14-year-old niece Julia has been absorbed by the story of St. Genevieve, a Catholic nun who lived in the fourth century and successfully faced down Attila the Hun as he and his hordes threatened Paris. Julia chose “Genevieve” as her confirmation name, a Catholic tradition that is part of Confirmation, a sacrament that signals... Continue Reading →
The time and date of my wedding were inconvenient for my extended Polish family, a gambling group who liked to place bets on everything from the World Series to the next pope. I got married at 5 p.m. on May 6, 1978 at Our Lady Queen of Hope church in Detroit, which coincided with post... Continue Reading →
"Anita Lienert is a master storyteller, using all of the skills she acquired as a reporter to weave together remembrances of Detroit that are both personal and provocative. This is a true blog, taking readers on a journey beyond quotes and facts and into territory they can feel. Whether writing with style and substance about... Continue Reading →
I always ended up with garlic breath after digging into my Easter basket as a kid. That’s because unlike American-style baskets, which were filled with chocolate bunnies and jelly beans, mine had a distinctly Polish flavor. My Polish grandmother, whose day job was running a little bar for Detroit factory workers on Michigan Avenue, always... Continue Reading →
When my grandmother Rozalia Krzemienski stepped off the Majestic – the sister ship of the Titanic – and arrived in America in 1928, she was an immigrant with a third-grade education, $2 in her pocket and a dream to come to Detroit and start a new life. Like many immigrants, she did not appear to... Continue Reading →
My sister and I spent nearly every Christmas Day when we were growing up at the Greyhound bus terminal in Detroit – going nowhere. Our family fell a little short of the Norman Rockwell version of Christmas. Like many people, my mother struggled with the pressures of Christmas Day and dealing with three small children.... Continue Reading →
Anita's Way 