Musings from my driveway, my home and my heart
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 →
It’s been a monastic life for me as a writer for the past 25 years, since I’ve largely abandoned newsrooms and classrooms in favor of a home office. For 15 of those years, my faithful co-worker has been my miniature schnauzer Pinki, who would arise with me at 5 a.m. and shepherd me into my... 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 →
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 →
Anita's Way 