Musings from my driveway, my home and my heart
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 →
When a neighbor in her Polish village raised his rifle and shot her little dog, that was just the beginning of the heartache for my grandmother. The dog’s furry brown pelt was used as a collar on a new winter coat made by the neighbor’s wife. Grandma was reminded of the violent act every day... Continue Reading →
I like to think of Father Solanus Casey as the Post-it Note priest, since the monument above his tomb on Mt. Elliott in Detroit invariably has a pack of sticky papers on top, so that the faithful can easily attach their prayer requests. More than 60,000 people will fill Ford Field here on November 18,... Continue Reading →
When I was growing up in Detroit in the 1950s and 1960s, there were 232 bars in my grandma’s neighborhood, a mainly Polish area in the city’s sixth police precinct. It’s no wonder that a river of booze ran through my family and the community. When I rode my pink Schwinn bike through the neighborhood... Continue Reading →
Someone recently asked if my grandfather, who ran a Detroit bar for 60 years, was more like the affable Sam Malone from the TV show Cheers or Moe Szyslak, the bartender from The Simpsons who was known for his bad temper and suicidal attempts. Neither. In fact, he was more like Holly Golightly in Breakfast... Continue Reading →
My siblings and I watched the Three Stooges and the Adventures of Superman on Saturdays under the doleful gaze of a 20-inch statue of the Infant of Prague in my grandmother’s living room at 5207 St. Lawrence Street in Detroit. The Infant, a copy of a revered 16th century statue in the Czech capital, always... Continue Reading →
So macho is my father that he once removed an ingrown toenail with a hand-held drill. My brother Mike and I watched him use his fists to break up trouble at places like the old Tiger Stadium in Detroit or at Little League playgrounds in our northwest neighborhood during the 1960s. As a cop, he... Continue Reading →
My grandmother outlived five of her doctors and died just 15 months shy of her 100th birthday. I took her to many of her appointments and would watch with amusement when the docs would invariably ask her about her diet. They were seeking sage advice on how to live a long and healthy life, mentally... Continue Reading →
My mother paid me an unusual compliment shortly after my honeymoon. “You’re the first bride in our family who wasn’t drunk at the wedding,” she said, referring to my large extended Polish family and the dozens of Detroit and Hamtramck ceremonies we had attended through the years. Well, that drinking comment about other brides may... Continue Reading →
Anita's Way 