How To Make An American Quilt

Source: flickr.com via Almara Shop on Pinterest

My life revolves and has been largely influenced by my deep passion, the great American cinema. Often, I bring up a lot of references seen in movies that had a deeper meaning or carried a specific message. One of them was a movie titled “How to make an American quilt”. The movie was about a girl named Finn who, before her wedding, decides to visit her great aunt and grandmother to work on her college thesis. There she discovers that her aunt organized a sewing group which was creating a quilt meant to be given to Finn as a wedding gift. The theme of the quilt was “where love resides”. During the making of the quilt, stories she hears from the women, slowly open Finn’s eyes to a different love that exists.

The movie stayed with me for a long time. Later on, I realized that the film presented an analogy on how fate sometimes takes us to unexpected places, events, and people. And, like the handmade quilt, our life takes on its own unique tapestry. I can see the connection...

On the day I arrived in Poland, I knew that through faith, I am letting destiny take its reins. It’s remarkable how letting go of fears, believing in God, and trusting that everything is going to work out invites positive energy.

Consequently, at the end of this year, quietly knocking on my door, thread and needle in hand; without rushing or forcing, fate has meticulously began creating my own new, brightly colored quilt. I haven’t named it yet but I know that it will be amazing...

Happy New Year everyone!

Ridiculously Good Pickle Soup

Source: wholesome-cook.com via Anna on Pinterest

Last time I tasted a ridiculously good pickle soup was this past summer. Made by my grandparent’s neighbor, it was the kind of soup that was prepared from home- grown cucumbers which were raised in a small greenhouse, harvested and then fermented in an herbed infused salt brine. And, those are not your regular supermarket pickles, ladies and gentlemen. Those pickles rock! To me they were like candy. If necessary they can be secretly stolen for your own pleasure. But, you need a good plan. They are usually kept in dark rooms, basements or cellars. You see the difficulty...

Pickle soup is considered an ordinary meal for Polish families. Well it’s not so ordinary to me. When I lived in New York, I couldn’t even mention its name. Pickle soup to most of my friends was associated with some kind of a hangover remedy. It’s far from that. It’s a wholesome goodness one can’t underestimate. In order to become a Polish pickle soup believer, you must eat a homemade version of it yourself, at least once in your life. Then you will know what I mean.

Today, on a cold winter day, I decided to make the soup myself. I picked up the ingredients in a local farmer’s market, and I put all my heart and soul into making the soup. For most people in Poland, cooking pickle soup is a breeze, for me it was a full project. Mainly because I had to make my own stock. Plus, I had try not to eat the pickles before I used them for the soup. Nevertheless, the soup came out great. Actually, it was ridiculously good! I consumed it like a madman or a madwoman for that matter. I almost drank it! Inhaling through a straw was a possibility but the soup was hot, and I didn’t want to hurt myself. I gulped down two large bowls, then sat there smiling to myself. Simple things like a delicious, homemade soup can provide a little pampering for your stomach, and some serious nourishment for your soul...

Next up, ridiculously good “pierogi” from scratch! Does anybody have a dough roller?

A Little Bit Of Home

Source: wellappointedhouse.blogspot.com via Susan on Pinterest

What happens when you sell, donate, get rid of all of your stuff, pack the rest in two suitcases and move across the Atlantic? You get home sick. Or at least you start missing some things that reminds you of home. For example, your favorite blanket, or that oversized polka-dot cup you used to drink your morning coffee. The baggy sweatpants your mother begged you not to wear outside, or the miniature stuffed teddybear you were embarrassed to display because, after all, “you’re a grown up”. For me, it’s all of those things, plus my favorite home scent, lavender. Being in a new place, I missed a well-known fragrance flowing around my new flat.

Thankfully, today I stumbled upon lavender essential oil in an apothecary. Calming and relaxing, lavender is widely used in aromatherapy. I use it in many different ways. I make air fresheners by mixing lavender essential oil with water. I put small drops of the oil in tea lights to aromatize the rooms. I add it to skin care products and body lotions. For me, in order to enjoy a relaxing evening at home I need the following: my laptop or a good book, soft music, candles, and my favorite aroma, lavender. It’s amazing how scents impact our thoughts, feelings, and inspirations. The minute I sprayed lavender around my apartment, it made me feel like I was back at home. Instantaneously, I resonated the scent with safety, serenity and my own individuality.

What can I tell you...little things make me happy. Besides, since I gave away all of the things I no longer needed, I think a little bit of familiarity is quite therapeutic for my soul. For this reason, I am happy to announce that my down feather comforter is coming from New York via mail any day now.

Next, I must search for a new, miniature teddy bear to hide somewhere in a drawer. I think I will skip the baggy pants for now...

Source: etsy.com via Beatrice on Pinterest

Christmas Day

Source: imagekind.com via Leslie on Pinterest

I'll Cry Tomorrow

A while back, I saw a classic movie titled, “I’ll cry tomorrow”. It was about a woman who’s mother wanted her to become an actress. She also wanted her daughter to be self-reliant, and strong. When the little girl was upset the mother would say, “Oh, darling, please stop crying, you can always cry tomorrow”. On Christmas Eve, like the actress, I wanted to cry. The feeling came about mid-day, when I came home from my walk. The streets were getting empty. The city seemed abandoned. People were either already away or at home, cooking. When I came back to my apartment, I was depressed that I was going to spend this important, Polish holiday, alone. Even though, I planned it that way, it felt awful. I didn’t feel like cooking or baking. I didn’t feel like doing anything. Midnight Mass was on my mind, but I never made it. Waiting for it in solitary was too tiring. I decided to go to bed early. To keep myself occupied I surfed the net. That evening, my lone quiet ambiance was interrupted by a baby crying in an apartment above me. I didn’t know babies cry on Christmas Eve. It’s a special night, everything should be pretty and perfect. I presumed the parents must have felt the same way.

Later on, instead feeling sorry for myself, I reflected on the year and made a mental gratitude list of all the things I should be thankful for. The list was long. I was amazed how a simple change of thought and the feeling of appreciation could alter my mood. Instead of feeling miserable on Christmas Eve, I started to feel grateful. I thanked God for all the wonderful and good things that happened to me thus far. I thought, “I am really a very lucky girl”. I have a wonderful mother, and a darling brother, whom I love very much. I have kind and true friends. Not to mention, upon my arrival in Poland, everything I wished for, I received. I even met a new American friend, who’s name is also Joanna. Furthermore, I am healthy and happy. I have dreams. I appreciate all the little things, and I have strong faith. Truthfully, I have nothing to complain about.

On that account, I tucked my gratitude list deep in my heart. I blew off my scented candle. I made myself comfortable under the covers, and I conjured: I don’t think that I should start crying right now. I’ll cry tomorrow...

Baked Goods

My mother knows how to bake. And, I don’t. Instead, I’m a home chef, and an eye-baller. I despise measuring. And, I have low patience for reading or following recipes.  Usually when it comes to cooking, somehow it works. But, in baking, it’s a different story. The recipes have to be followed precisely or the cake won’t come out. During my subsequent attempts to make a Polish "babka", I picked a healthier alternative, and chose rye and corn flowers. I am happy to report that I produced a handsomely shaped, whole-grain brick. I was also quite genius, and used a generous amount of raw yeast to help it, shall we say, rise. But, my brick was as stubborn, as I am sometimes, and it had no intention of doubling its size at all. Alas, if I am to continue, I must learn how to measure. 

I am a self-proclaimed health freak. I love anything unprocessed, organic, ecologically raised, non-gmo, and farm-raised. I am always on a quest to find wholesome ingredients. Being in Gdansk, this became a challenge. However, I noticed a peculiar phenomenon. There are three type of business categories that are prevalent in this city. Banks, hair salons, and bakeries. My assumption number one: Polish people no longer store their money under a mattress. Assumption number two: their hair grows faster than any other humans in the world. And, assumption number three: to ease the pain of it all they eat a lot of cake. Ignoring the first two categories, I focused on the third one. After getting hypnotized by the constant sight of baked goods, I kind of fell into this bakery madness myself. Hence my attempt to make a whole-grain version of what I see in the sweet shops. I can’t help fantasizing about the famous Polish pie with oversized portions of fresh apples called “szarlotka”. Often, served warm. But, the sweet goodies love to situate themselves right on my hips and comes Spring, “Houston, we have a problem!” I am now trying to find recipes which involve various alternatives to white flour and white sugar. And, I must admit, the quest is challenging without my old friend, Whole Foods. Nevertheless, apples in Poland are cheap, and eventually I will conquer my dilemma, and become a self-taught baker. Hopefully, no bricks. Now, which hair salon should I choose to cut my hair?

Photo: chillibite.pl

Christmas Wafer

As I walked the streets of Old Town in the freezing cold, I could feel my toes getting numb. Today was minus 12 degrees Celsius. I was bundled up top to bottom, and I could still feel the penetrating chill. To prevent frost bite, I covered my face with a scarf. Even though the weather was frigid, the mayor hosted his yearly Christmas Eve supper for citizens of Gdansk. Tonight, the square had a large stage where choir singers were chanting Christmas carols. Below the stage, white-faced angels were calmly swaying on stilts. In the middle of the square, there was a holiday table set with bread and candles. Girls dressed in white medieval cloaks and red hats, were handing out chocolates, and Christmas wafers. An old, Polish tradition. After the mayor’s speech, complimentary baked goods and tea were handed out to hungry takers. I looked up to check out the moving stars, purposely being reflected on the walls of the historic buildings. A unique ambiance among an understandable quiet of this Catholic tradition. I didn’t realize that Christmas was so dear to Polish people. 

The sidewalks were covered with ice, and I started to feel pain in my toes. I really felt like hanging out a bit longer. But it was shivery cold on this pre-christmas eve. When I heard the Basilica's bell ringing, I proceeded to make my way home. I walked down the cobblestone streets leading to my apartment, Christmas wafer in hand. It felt so natural to carry that wafer. Like it’s normal to just walk down the street with a paper thin cookie in your hand on a freezing, cold night. I think it would have looked quite strange if I walked around the streets of New York City carrying a Catholic wafer. Living in Old Town sometimes feels like being a character from Sherlock Holmes novel. There is something mysterious yet magical about this place. Especially when it’s dark and the streets are covered with snow. Maybe at some point I’ll see a Christmas troll. Or maybe I have already seen one...I think, like Holmes, I am prone to “drawing large conclusions from the smallest observations”.   

Old Town

Christmas wafer. 

Monastery...

Today was a very cold and slushy day. All that beautiful snow that fell over the weekend turned into grey sorbet. People on the streets of Gdansk were busy Christmas shopping. I could feel an escalating sense of rush a week before Christmas. It hasn’t hit me yet but I’ll be spending Christmas and New Years alone this year. My first Christmas in Poland since childhood. Lots of time for reflection. Or for writing...

I read a question today which said “What is the best thing that happened to you this weekend?” For me, it had to be my visit to the12th century Dominican Monastery in the Old Town. It is the most beautifully decorated church I have ever seen. The white-robe monks. The unexplainable calmness. The spellbinding artwork. A place where time stood still. On Sunday, I attended a quiet afternoon mass accompanied by a small singing group of young parishioners. Everything about that mass was perfect. The beautiful melodies sang by the choir, the candles glimmering from the altar, the poise of the monk attending the mass. The recognizable spirit of the Advent. 

I sat in the awkward, wooden pews, close to the altar. As I listened to the mass, I bundled up against the chilly winter cold inside the ancient friary. All of a sudden, a thought occurred to me. I realized that I was among my natives. I was in my own country. I felt safe. I knew I belonged here. And in spite of lingering doubts, I knew that I made a right decision by moving to my own country. After all, that was the plan. I must throw away my fears. I have to believe that one step at a time, everything I need to know will be revealed to me. What a relief! 

When the mass was over. I realized that a few blocks away from my apartment lays a soul healing organization. Free of charge...how convenient.  

I am here...

Gdansk Old Town, Poland

On November 24, 2012, two days after Thanksgiving, the biggest American national holiday, I boarded a plane bound for Europe. On me, a passport and two suitcases. In my hand, a brand new book purchased at the airport, “The Happiness Project” by Gretchen Rubin. On that day, I began my very own Happiness Project. Destination: Poland.

I had so many expectations and, at the same time, so few that I did not know what to expect. The only fact that resonated with me was a strong will to move to my Motherland for at least one year. I wanted to experience life in Poland two decades after I left as a teenager. Naturally, I had so many questions. What is Poland going to be like? Will people accept me as an American or as a Pole? Will I like Poland now? I realized that the only way to find the answers to such questions is to come to Poland and live here. So I did. 

On the first day of arrival at my hotel, except feeling jet lagged, I felt like I just fell off a Christmas tree. Right in time for the holidays, I thought. Then, without unpacking my suitcases, I began searching for a flat. We, Americans call it an apartment, Europeans call it a flat. 

Waking up late, due to jet lag, I had little day time left to see the city. I managed to book appointments with some real estate agents. After three days of looking and seeing a good number of places. I located an ideal apartment in Old Town. The place was a perfectly sized, small studio with a separate bedroom and a big bed. I loved the place, and the location. Relieved, and tired, I took it! 

It's been two weeks in my new, fortunately for me, furnished pad. I have been able to see most of the Old Town of Gdansk, as well as, some areas of the city. The following are some interesting observations thus far. 

People in Poland drive cars that are rarely seen on the streets of New York City. Most people here drive cars year 2000 and below. Some have SUV but those are still not that popular/affordable, due to high gas prices. Driving is far more aggressive than in the states, so is the speed. But I haven’t driven here yet, so they better get ready for some defensive New York City driving once I hit the road. On a positive note, Polish people are very polite, clean and health conscious. Most cook meals at home and are family oriented. Christmas season for Poles is very important. Especially Christmas Eve, due to its Catholic influence. 

It’s mid-December, and I am freezing! Yesterday was 19 degrees Fahrenheit. I quickly learned that warm clothes, wool socks, and comfortable shoes are key. You must be covered from top to bottom if you don’t want to feel freezing pain while walking outside. It snows here very often, but the area where I am has not been buried yet. I heard it’s because Gdansk is close to the Baltic sea. 

Favorably, most food in Poland is of very good quality, and comparing to New York City, quite inexpensive. Restaurant dining can get pricey in touristy areas. However, I found out about a local farmers’ market, and I am in love. Last week, I bought fresh cow’s milk! Moo. 

Interestingly, in Poland there is a general perception about life in America that stems from Hollywood movies and American TV shows. This image is not always the true image of how things are back in the states. Thus, the overall perception of the USA can be sometimes distorted. 

These are just a few of my observations for now. I am sure going forward, I will have much more thoughts on living in the ancient, 1000 year-old city of Gdansk, Poland, population half a million. After all, I am just getting started. Most importantly, I no longer feel like I fell of a Christmas tree. On the contrary, I see them everywhere I go. Handsome, brightly colored, real Polish holiday trees. Plus, Santa Clause's in various sizes and ages. Some even on motorbikes. Thank God, I am no longer jet lagged!  

It’s almost 6pm, I looked outside the window, it’s snowing. The streets are covered with a thin coat of white powder. I saw yellow lights flickering on a Christmas tree in my neighbor's window. The Old Town, with its beautiful churches, antique street lamps, unique post-war Flemish buildings, and cobble-stone streets looks especially romantic in the winter. 

I made black tea, (Polish national beverage aside from beer, by the way), and I baked pumpkin/prune/banana muffins from scratch. Whatever was in in the fridge plus serious eye-balling. I guess I was craving for something home-made and sweet. With the snow falling outside the window, candles lit, and fresh muffins piping-hot out of the oven, it feels very warm and pleasant in my cozy flat. Half of December is already gone, and I am starting to feel quite content. Happiness Project? Fully launched. 

New home...old home.

"...We left home on a cold, February day early in the morning. Six months prior, I finished eight grade at the local elementary school. A family friend drove us to the airport. We flew to Frankfurt from where we transferred to another, larger plane bound for New York. "Mom, are we really going to our new home?" My little brother asked impatiently while fidgeting with his seat belt. She looked at him with a warm smile and said: "Yes, darling, we're relocating, and now we're flying to our brand, new home." It's during that moment, on that plane, that it finally occurred to me. From now on, my new home will be a country, a city completely unknown to me. But what about my old home? Will it still be there when I get back? Am I ever going to come back? I looked outside the window and all I could see was white, randomly shaped clouds. I imagined that the clouds where moving with the plane. I tried to look harder through the window and see if I could spot anything else. I couldn't see a thing. I was hundreds of miles up in the air. I couldn't wait to finally hit the ground."(excerpt from a memoir by J. Pietkiewicz, 2012).

As I am making preparations to move to Europe, I am wondering about my new home. For a long time, I've been trying to figure out where my home is... I've lived in New York for over twenty years. In a few months, I will be making a complete u-turn. I will be moving back to Poland. Not visiting, as I have done in the past but actually moving addresses. In addition, I will be moving my disposition, my memories, my life experience and much more...It's funny, someone once told me that no matter what happens and how long I live in America, I'll always be Polish. On the contrary, coming back to Poland, I'll always be an American. I am curious if they were right...

Stay tuned, as I will be updating this blog on what happens when you make a complete 360...and go back to your homeland after twenty years of living abroad. Will I be happy with my new decision? Will I stay? Or will I go somewhere else in search of the ever elusive "home"?

As my Mom would say..."home is where your heart is..."

Google images, Audrey Hepburn quotes.