Conference turris::womannotes-v3

    My mother recently lost her best friend.  One of her playmates from
    Russia, you know, the kind you go pee in the snow with to see who can
    pee farthest.
    
    Hold on, Dad, you're making that up; little girls don't *do* peeing
    games.
    
    Ask her.
    
    Why yes, we used to climb a tree, and see who could pee farthest.
    
    No!  Babushka, what did your nannies say?
    
    They would remind us that grand princesses don't play with their urine,
    and they *certainly* don't take off their clothes and do so in the
    woods in the winter.  You know, we used to get so sick of being
    reminded that princesses do this and princesses do that; it's so
    tiresome, really.

    My great-great-grandmother was named Sarah.  I am named for her.  I
    know nothing of her, except that she lived in the Pale of Settlement in
    Russia, and that she said goodbye to her daughter, Dora, when Dora was
    only 12 or 14, and sent her to the new world with Dora's fiance's
    family.  I have a picture of Sarah.  She is dressed in the style of the
    1890s, seated at a table with tree branches for legs, and a marble top. 
    That picture makes her real for me.  She looks at me with eyes that
    know hardship, but are not bitter.  I don't know if I could bear what
    she must have borne.
    
    My great-grandmother, Dora, arrived in NYC around 1904.  She worked all
    her life, had several children, two girls (I know) and a boy (I think).
    I remember her coming to visit when I was a child.  The biggest
    impression she made on me was when I was about 8, I think.  She sat me
    down beside her one day and slowly, painfully, in block capital
    letters, spelled out her name DORA KATZ.  She said to me, "Sarale, that's
    all I know.  I can't do any more.  YOU do better than that! and learn
    everything you can!"  I named my daughter (tracy DebORAh) for Dora. I
    have a picture of her also, this one with her second husband, the one
    she married for love (the 1st was arranged).  She was so beautiful, and
    much of it is from the dignity she carried inside herself.
    
    My grandmother, Dora's daughter, was Lillian, or Lily.  Hers was a sad
    life, and it makes me angry.  She fell deeply in love with my
    grandfather, and never stopped, though he was unfaithful and deserted
    her and their children in the 30s.  She never got over him, a prime
    example of why women need their own self-worth.  But she must have had
    her own strength: she raised three children herself, and had the
    strength to survive the disapproval of family and society which blame
    the victim.  I barely remember her; she died when I was four.  I have a
    picture of Lillian, a big woman with a gentle and loving expression.
    My mom tells a story of her mother.  Lily had a friend who was a
    Baptist, in a church that practiced total immersion.  Well the friend
    was forever trying to convince Lily to convert, to accept baptism. 
    Finally Lily agreed to go and watch a baptism ceremony.  Now I have to
    tell you that Lily was obese, over 300 lbs.  So while she watched, a
    woman as big as she was came up to the pool.  She got in, the preacher
    put his hand on her head, and with his eyes on the prayer he was
    reading he gently pushed her down under the water.  Well he lost her. 
    She wouldn't come up till it was time, and he wouldn't take his eyes
    off the prayer book, so he was blindly fishing around with his hand
    searching for this woman's head... After a minute of so of this, Lily
    bolted out of the building and nearly collapsed on the sidewalk
    outside, laughing to beat all!  She saw herself in that pool, and had
    to leave before she disgraced herself laughing... the friend was
    convinced ever after that Lily had been _this_close_ to conversion...
    
    My mother, Joyce, is Lily's daughter.  I have a picture of her picked
    out too -- her high school picture.  She is another woman victim, in
    her way, of the standards of society.  She was the oldest of the
    deserted children, and internalized it.  She felt, and was always told
    she was, ugly (wrong).  She grew up dirt poor in the Depression.  She
    barely graduated from HS.  But she is such a smart woman, she has
    competently done so many kinds of jobs, and explored so many and varied
    interests.  She taught us all how to work, and do our best, and what
    devotion is all about (well, to a fault on that one!).  She is always
    willing to help when needed and has learned to be more assertive, more
    confident, than her early conditioning allowed.
    
    I don't have a picture of me yet, for the series, but the series goes
    to Tracy in time.

    My grandmother's family escaped from either Russia or Poland during
    a pogrom.  They ended up in the U.S.  My grandmother's immediate
    family made their way west and landed in Kansas.  Because of the
    anti-Semitism, they changed their last name from Kranski (or Kransky)
    to an Americanized "Crans."  My grandmother was born in Concordia,
    Kansas about 1892.  She was the oldest daughter.  By the time the
    young Leonora was eight, her mother was dying of tuberculosis. 
    As the oldest daughter, the "woman's work" fell to her.  One of
    my grandmother's strongest recollections was of standing by her
    mother's bed being instructed in how to make bread.  
    
    After her mother died, Grandma was farmed out to an aunt who used
    her as a servant and generally brutalized her.  She eventually was
    able to convince her uncle and father that her aunt was abusing
    her, and she was allowed to return home.  When Leonora was 17 or
    so, she met a man with whom she fell in love, Michael Tuchman from
    Omaha, Nebraska.  They became engaged. Michael managed to seduce
    her before the wedding, and left her alone, pregnant, and frightened.
    Feeling quite alone, Grandma packed her things and moved to Lincoln,
    Nebraska, where my mother was eventually born.  Grandma had tried
    to find her fiance, but had discovered he was already married with
    two children.  Her humiliation was complete.  Maintaining her pride,
    she bought a dime store wedding ring and set about raising her daughter
    to the best of her ability.  Whenever young Joy would ask about
    her father, Grandma would tell her tall tales of how he had died
    in an early motor car accident, and how much he had wanted little
    Joy to be born, and how much he had loved my Grandmother.  She always
    tried to instill in Joy how wanted she had been, and how happy she
    had made her mother.  Joy grew up with an idea that her parents
    had been so deeply in love that her mother had been crushed by his
    death, and therefore could not seem to remarry.  She also idealized
    her "dead" father.
    
    As times grew harder, Leonora struggled to keep Joy fed and clothed.
    She worked at any job she could find and put Joy as a day student
    in various orphanages around the city.  There were no day care
    facilities at that time.  Day after day, year after year, Leonora
    kept on alone.  She never told her family the truth because she
    was too ashamed, so she drifted apart and lost all close ties with
    those she had loved.  Eventually, mother and daughter settled in
    Denver, Colorado.  Young Joy, knowing how hard it was for her mother
    to support her, dropped out of school at age 14 to help earn money.
    Between the two of them, survival became easier.  By the time Joy
    was 18, she had a job as a salesperson for a local department store,
    and was doing some fashion modeling on the side.  Joy remained single
    for another 17 years.  When WWII hit, Joy joined the Navy.  At that
    time, Leonora, who had fallen in love with a widower, married. 
    The marriage did not last long.  Both Leonora and Issac (Ike) were
    too set in their ways to accommodate each other, so they lived apart.
    
    Meanwhile, Joy was discharged from the Navy, and returned to work
    in retail sales.  She met and married my father after a whirlwind
    courtship of two weeks.  She miscarried her first child, a son.
    She became pregnant again as soon as she could, and gave birth to
    me in 1947, and my sister, Catherine, in 1948.  Joy's marriage was
    not stable, and after separating and reuniting several times, her
    husband, Richard (Dick) finally deserted her when I was seven. 
    It was the last time we ever saw him.  Joy's mother, my grandmother,
    moved in with us and helped to raise us until we both left home.
    
    Grandma died of numerous health problems at the age of 89--three
    weeks before my third child was born, in 1969.  Mother eventually
    remarried.  Her new husband died only five years after their marriage,
    and she was heartbroken.  Mother's health was good, but it was
    discovered that she suffered from Alzheimer's, and that disease
    gradually erroded here life until she died in February of this year.
    
    Their stories are common.  Their lives seem ordinary.  It is only
    through *knowing* what it took to continue to live that their strength
    can be seen.
    
    Barb   

    This story is about my grandmother (my mother's Mom) she was very old
    when I was just 4 or 5 years old and I very vividly remember where she
    lived and the lesson she taught me... she used to live a in second
    floor of a very old but strong (stucco and concrete house) and whenever
    I visited her and wanted my lunch she would say... we have to wait to
    lunch time, go to the stairs and when you see the sun hitting the first
    stop of the stair you'll have your lunch, because it will be the right
    time... I marvelled at that and she taught me to "read" the time by
    watching the sun's move at noon, then, she would buy me a home-made
    icecream... that tasted like heaven (in those times we did not have
    commercial icecream, but homemade and sold door-to-door on the streets)
    I never forgot those steps that each one meant "an hour"...

Nice idea, Lee.

Years ago, talking to my mom about her kidhood, she told me
that her older brothers and sisters thought she was spoiled.
Mom was allowed to go to high school for one semester, while
the seven older kids went to work full time right after
8th grade.  

Mom worked as a copy holder for several years. She married
before graduating to proofreader ... in those days (early
'20s) the apprenticeship took several years.  

One of my second cousins started as a copyholder in 1921. 
She moved from Chicago to the Wisconsin woods a few months ago,
but still proofs medical textbooks for a Chicago publisher.

I'm the third generation to fiddle around with the word
business, but the older folks printed and proofed them, 
I'm the first to write 'em.  And if they saw the typo's
I commit in notes, they would disown me  :)

    
    Well my grandmother raised 8 children by herself.  Would
    have been nine except that one of my mom's older brother's
    died when he was four.
    
    My mom was born in 1943 and she's the youngest.  She was 8
    or nine years old when my grandfather took off on Grammy
    and the rest of the family.  My mom's sisters all had to
    take turns washing my mom's hair just to help Gram out as
    my mom's hair was long enough so that she could just sit
    on it.  They weren't very well off to say the least.  They
    had cereal with evaporated milk diluted in water to make it
    last longer.  But Gram did ok.  She's in her 80's now and
    thin as a rail and not really healthy but considering all
    she went through, I'd say she turned out a good bunch of
    people. (only one of my uncle's turned out to be not such
    a nice guy)
    
    She hit a hard time but strived to raise her family the
    best she could.  Thanks Gram...
    
    JJ
    

    I do not have any herstory at all.  I was left on the steps of a London
    hospital soon after birth.  It is wonderful to read of other peoples
    roots but on the other hand its great to be the start of a new tree.
     
    
                           TRACEY

    Tracey,
    
    To paraphrase another noter's personal name, I bet you look for the 
    pony, too!  
    
    I wish I had your attitude.
    
    E Grace

    RE: .8
    
    Yours is a herstory in itself! So's mine!
    
    Eileen

    I just found out that my maternal great grandmother was a very strong,
    self motivated woman who taught herself to read.  Unfortunately, she 
    died in childbirth after an unsuccessful Ceasarean.  The baby died two 
    days later and another, earlier child was stillborn.  This was in the
    days where childbearing lasted a couple of decades, and her death 
    occurred after my grandmother (her daughter) already had two children
    of her own.
    
    I'm hoping to visit my grandmother at Thanksgiving and ask more about
    both of their lives.
    
    Karen.

    My grandfather's mother, Katherine Gray, was a noted horsewoman in
    her rural Oregon town.  One day when she was returning from her
    morning ride  -- we think she was already past marriageable age
    then -- she saw a fine carriage and pair drawn up in front of her
    house, with a fine gentleman in the seat talking to her father.
    
    At the sight of home, the dogs who had accompanied her on the ride
    bounded forward, barking, and startled the gentleman's horses. 
    Despite his efforts to control them, they bolted.  Grandmother
    Katharine galloped after them, grabbed the reins, and halted the
    runaway carriage.
    
    They were married a few months later . . . 
    
    Unfortunately she died in childbirth, too, when my grandfather was
    about 10.  I wish I had known her; from all accounts this action
    of strength and decisive action was typical of her, not a fluke.
    
    My daughter Kathy is named for her.
    
    --bonnie

    My grandmother, Mary Jyurdyga /Campbell/Juskow is a source of great
    inspiration to me in my life.  Her parents came over from Poland I
    believe, and owned a farm.  Mary's father was very strict and
    economical, he would turn lights out at 7pm, while she was reading,
    and when she was late coming home, she had to kneel on corncobs for
    punishment.  She married a man who fathered two chidren, my dad and 
    aunt, but unfortunately he was an alcoholic and they divorced. She
    raised two children alone during a time when being divorced was not
    fashionable or accepted as it is now.  She worked hard as a waitress,
    and kept her house by renting to boarders.  She fell in love with and
    married a man who boarded there, John Juskow.  They had ten short years
    together in which they had my Uncle David,then Grandpa Juskow died of
    heart attack when I was about 10.  She had to sell her house, and
    encountered health problems leading to amputation of one leg.  She 
    worked hard to get back out on her own, joining several seniors 
    organizations, but her happiness as always, was short-lived and she
    died from lung cancer in 1979, nearly 10 years after her second
    husband.  I remember her for her strength, courage and the fierce love 
    for her kin, and how she always believed in me, even when I didn't.
    In the past ten years since she died, my life has taken many turns
    similar to hers, and one of the thoughts that helped me get up each
    time I fell, was, "If Grama could do it then, I certainly can do it
    now!"  I really miss her. Wish she could see how happy I am now, and
    how beautiful my two boys are.  She would be proud.
    
    Kim

My father's mother did not talk about her personal past much.  She did teach 
me such old wives tales as "Red sky at morning, sailors take warning, red
sky at night, sailor's delight" and "that ring around the moon means it will
rain tomorrow".  She got me interested in birds and needlecraft.  

The one story that sticks out is when she was learning to drive a car - she
came up over a hill and suddenly saw the ocean spread out in front of her.
She was so scared she got right out of the car and never drove again for as
long as she lived.

My mother graduated from Northeastern with a math BS, and honors too.  She
got a job as a programmer with a firm in NJ.  She was good at SOAP (an IBM
language) and programming with plugboards. But the guys in the shop 
got raises and promotions faster than her, even though they weren't as good.
She got married to one of the other programmers, but had to keep it secret.
If they found out she was married they would have fired her, figuring she
was only going to get pregnant and leave anyway.  She kept me hidden as 
long as she could :-(   

She had me and two other kids.  When we were all off to grade school she 
started up a book store.  When we all left home, she got back into computers.
She is now the head of computers at a small soil exploration firm.  

Mom is a no-nonsense type, and was a great role model for me (although I 
am prone to occasional fits of nonsense ;-).  It never even entered my 
mind that girls aren't good at math, or that they couldn't be engineers
or anything they wanted to be.  

My mother's mother is a hot shit.  She is currently working as a park ranger
for the Customs House in Salem, Mass.  She takes after my mother and me.  In
the last few years she has gotten a home computer and become very proficient.
She brought her knowledge to work with her and straightened out the computers
at the tourist shop at the park.   She's now in charge of the computers there.

			Bb - second generation computer geek - or is that 3rd?

    How sad.......... according to my mom, one morning before I
    was born my grandfater went down cellar and called up goodbye
    to his wife, who he called Missy and shot himself in the head.
    It was 1929, the year of the depression but also the week of
    my mom's wedding.  She told me that she was never sure if 
    he committed suicide (sp) because of the stock market crashing
    or because she was getting married.  He loved her very, very,
    much and they were very close.  My mom was a lovely, wonderful
    woman with so much love in her heart for everyone.
    

    
    
    My Mom was the oldest of 12 children and was born in Puerto Rico.  
    When she was in 2nd grade she quit school so she could help my 
    Grandmother working at home.  They embroidered women & children's 
    nightgowns and hand-sewed kid gloves in the living room while her 
    younger sister (she quit 1st grade) watched the other kids.  
    
    When she was 17 she came to NYC with a friend of my grandparents,
    Dona Dellia.  She spoke no english, had never been in a subway,
    never ridden an escalator or elevator or seen a building taller 
    than 5 stories.   Dona Dellia had seen an ad in the paper for
    sewing machine operators, and cut the ad out for my mom.  One
    of the other girls who lived with Dona Dellia worked in the same
    neighborhood, so she took my mom down into the subway to Brooklyn 
    (which is where the factory was) and pointed her to the right street, 
    but when my mom got to the building, she was scared of the elevator.
    So, she walked back outside and noticed the fire-escape.  She climbed
    up the fire escape to the 4th floor and came in through the window.
    People were talking and laughing as she came in.  The manager came
    over and asked her something, but she didn't understand him, so she
    showed him the ad cut from the paper.   He was pretty amazed that
    someone would climb in through a window to get a job, so he hired her.
    
    Whenever I'm feeling "oh poor me, my life is SOOOOO difficult",
    I think of my Mom.  
    
    Miriam

    re .16 ooohhh, that's a GOOD one!