I know the exact time I realized Grandma's strong faith when she told the story of how and when Eddy died.

As we sat, sipping tea in her living room at Cedar Wood, she said this "He (Eddy) was His (God) before he was ours and had every right to take him".

Her eyes were dry, mine weren't and I still tear up thinking about it.

Lois

Faith of our fathers

Henry and Ottilie's 50th wedding anniversary

It was never my intention to use this blog as a platform for sermons or any discussion of religious matters … however … when one considers the lives of Heinrich and Ottilie, some mention of their faith is warranted.

The story is told of a visit by the local clergyman to the home and family of great grandfather Michael. Michael was born into the Romanian Orthodox Church. His first wife and children were all baptized into the Roman Catholic Church. Michael’s second wife, Ludwika Brodt, our paternal great grandmother and the children born to her were baptized into the Lutheran Church. In that era, the Catholic Church held that the only place to read and learn from Holy writ was in Church, and then only at the hands of ordained Priests. They did not encourage parishioners to keep a copy of the Bible. Lutheran doctrine and policy, of course, challenged that idea. The clergyman, who we may safely assume was of the Roman Catholic Church, suggested to Michael that the Bible should be removed from the home. As patriarch of the home, Michael exercised his authority as the head of the household by advising the clergyman,  

“The Bible stays, But you can go.”

From this we may surmise that in the childhood home of Heinrich, the Bible was present, accessible, and valued.

I do not have any similar knowledge or stories of the observation of faith in the Wolf household. I can only judge by the faith, devotion and piety demonstrated by our grandmother Ottilie, that they were not passive in the matter of their religion. 

Grandma and Grandpa Ursaki were devote Lutherans and I would venture an opinion that in their era, the fellowship of those of like faith was more than a social convenience. It was in practical reality, essential to a family’s security and well being. I would further suggest that government social programs, while well intentioned, have not improved on what fellowship in the Church provided, this, more to the credit of the parishioners than the clergy.  

For me, the most enduring example of our grandparents' faith (and Christian ethos) is that they were accepting of all people regardless of which church they might attend. Grandpa and Grandma were Lutherans by birth but never opposed their son Frank’s association with the Catholic Church or Harold’s association with the Latter Day Saints (Mormons).

What was apparently important and central to them was faith in Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the Savior of all mankind. If they were yet alive in our multi-cultural, multi-denominational world, I choose to believe that they would be tolerant of any person true to their faith, whatever that might be.

In that spirit, I offer you this Season's Greetings that has echoed down through more generations than we know, and God willing, will echo forward for countless generations through Heinrich and Ottilie:

Merry Christmas

&

God Bless Us, Everyone

                                                          Michael Ursaki

Hopefully, Mike won't mind if I (Sandra) add a little to this post.  

In 1989, I was able to go to Regina and spend a few days with Grandma Ursaki. It had been many years since I had been able to spend any time with Grandma and it was precious time for me.  I was there over a Sunday, and as you all know, Grandma attended her German Lutheran congregation very faithfully.  She, however, knew that I attended the Mormon church very faithfully and she offered to attend the local Mormon services with me.  I told her I would enjoy, very much, going to Lutheran services with her which we did.  On our way there she said "I don't think God really cares which church we attend . . . He just wants us to show up"!  

Grandma had many friends from different ethnic backgrounds and different religions.  The only things that I really remember her being intolerant of were unkindness (especially to children), injustice, meanness, etc.   She didn't just proclaim herself to be a Christian, rather she went about her life doing the things that Jesus said to do . . . feed the hungry, clothe the naked, lift up the hands that hang down, give the weary a place to rest . . . that was Grandma.  To her, Jesus wasn't just a remote, untouchable diety . . . He was her friend and advocate.  Most of us know that her favorite hymn in all the world was "How Great Thou Art".  In a recent exchange of emails that I had with Patty, we agreed that we couldn't hear that hymn without tearfully thinking of Grandma!  And my guess is that we're not the only Ursaki cousins who react to that hymn, in that way. 

Cars, golf and smoking . . . some of my memories of Grandpa Henry Ursaki

Hello to cousins, from Allan Derges. I am the second eldest of the Grandchildren of Ottilie and Henry Ursaki.

 (b. May 28, 1947 d. not in the near future)

My Mom is Helen Ursaki Derges. My Dad is David George Derges.  I have two younger sisters, Ruth and Lois. I have many memories of Grandpa Henry Ursaki and, of course Grandma ‘Saki.

Grandpa ‘Saki and advice on buying cars.

When I was 18, it occurred to me that it was time to buy my first car and I didn’t know much about cars, of course. I knew everything else one needs to know at 18 years old but the automobile was new to me.  It only occurred to me later on in life that my Mom and Dad were way more intelligent than I thought they were at the time. My perspective was from the smartest teenager alive.  At the time, though, I was pretty sure that just four adults were way smarter than me and all four were Grandparents.

I had the blessing to know and love two sets of grandparents. Grandpa ‘Saki and Grandma ‘Saki and my other Grandparents George and Anna Derges were a big part of my life. Grandpa George Derges didn’t know the first thing about the automobile since he never bothered to get a permit to drive and he lived a good life without the burden, or convenience, of owning a car. Grandpa Henry Ursaki, on the other hand, knew everything about cars and he was my best source of information about cars. He was a mechanic at the time for a local Regina company called Bowman Brothers Limited and worked for a living by travelling around in rural Saskatchewan fixing and repairing various things about cars.

In spite of my Dad’s protests, I was determined to own a car and I went to Grandpa Henry for advice.  I recall my Dad’s admonition “you’ll be in debt for the rest of your life” or something equally prophetic. I was sure that my Dad was wrong.

I ended up with a 1953 Chevrolet. It was a Belair model, 4-door sedan with a 3 speed manual transmission. Grandpa found this beauty through an acquaintance and the $225 price was within my budget. Hoser comes to mind when I search my files for the name of the seller and I think it was Mr. Most or Mr. Moser who sold me this beauty. I think about how much that car meant to me as I write these words.  

Just for fun, let’s put in perspective the purchase of a 12-year-old car for $225 in 1965. You could by a brand new Chevy for about $2,000 but that amount of money was just a bit less than I could make for an entire year. I was in my first year of University for the second time and my summer jobs at Federated Co-op and then the Co-op Refinery paid about $190 per month. Don’t read it again if you thought that I spent two University years to get one. It’s true. As a 17 year old in the first year of university I wasn’t nearly ready or mature enough for the challenge but I got better at being a student later on. I’m still working on the maturity part but I’m getting there.

The price of a loaf of bread was 21 cents, as was the price of an 8 oz glass of beer at the pub or so I was told, as the legal drinking age was 21 at the time. The price of a gallon of gas was 45 cents or 9.9 cents per liter in the summer of 1965. The Regina price of gas today (November 30th, 2012) is $1.10 per liter or almost exactly $5.00 per gallon if I’ve done the conversion correctly.  

Buying a used Chev on Grandpa ‘Saki’s advice was no accident as he had a life long bias in favour of GM cars. The only car to drive, according to Grandpa, was either a Chev or a Pontiac and he never drove anything but, for his entire life.

The only thing I knew for a fact that he didn’t know was about gas. He always said, and my Dad also said the same, that the best gas was Texaco or BA from Moose Jaw where Uncle Harold worked some years previously as I recall.  I knew that the Texaco-labeled tankard filled up at the Co-op Refinery and the only reason why I knew that is that I worked there. Uncle Harold might want to comment and prove my case as he worked, for years, in the industry. This is totally an aside but you might want to question the price of gas when I tell you that all, or at least most, of the gasoline sold in Regina comes from the distribution center of the Co-op Refinery in Regina and the price of gas in Alberta and Ontario is lower every day in comparison to Regina.

I drove that ’53 Chev proudly for a year or so and then about five years later bought Grandpa’s ’58 Pontiac. I would have driven that ’53 Chev for a lot longer than I did except for a bit of an accident.

The demise of that first of my many cars is a story all by itself. I came home from a Rider game after entrusting my darling Chevy to my little sister Ruth. It was a beautiful summer night in 1966. The Riders lost as I recall but I’m not sure why that loss would stand out since being a Rider fan brings its own bad memories. Grandpa Henry always said that the Riders were not good at football.  

I entered through the front door and I was greeted by some of the saddest and longest faces one could imagine. Sitting there was Mom and Dad with Ruthie. Before anyone could say anything, Ruth burst out crying and I immediately thought that it might have something to do with my car since I noticed on the way in that it wasn’t parked in the driveway or on the street in front of the house. Sure enough, this was about my car and the good news was that nobody was hurt.

As it turned out, Ruthie had taken the car for a little drive and then had this great idea to let one of her friends drive it. Ruth had driven my car previously and I was more than happy to give her the keys once in awhile as she was really quite a good driver having been trained well by Dad. The mistake she made was letting her friend behind the wheel. I guess it seemed innocent enough except for a little detail in that her friend didn’t have a driver’s licence. They thought that driving in a pretty well empty parking lot at the Golden Mile Plaza was a good place to start. Unfortunately, they didn’t get out of the parking lot as a light standard got in the way and the damage was enough that my poor old ’53 Chev was written off and towed to its final resting place. Ruthie took all the blame by telling the police that she was the driver. I have always thought that my ’53 Chev was my best car. I’ve had other cars.    

Suddenly without a car, I made a quick, and not a very bright, decision without consulting Grandpa ‘Saki. I bought a brutal ’55 Plymouth. This thing had a push button automatic transmission instead of a gearshift and in spite of this wonderfully unique feature it was easily the worst car I have ever owned. It didn’t last long before it just quit running one day and I went back to Grandpa ‘Saki for some advice. This time Grandpa knew about a ’57 Ford Fairlane 500 that was owned by a friend of Uncle Frank’s. Even though Grandpa was a Chevy or Pontiac guy, through and through, he checked out this Ford and advised that it was a good buy.

I was lucky enough to drive that Ford for about three more years. It must be convenient and selective memory but I cannot remember what happened to that car. It’s likely that I crashed it but I can’t recall with any detail. I remember driving through a stop sign at the end of a grid road through a ditch near Saskatchewan Beach and I also recall an incident at the corner of Victoria Avenue and Broad Street and then, later on, ending up in a snow pile on Grant Road. I might have died along the way and this is possibly just some evidence that the spirit lives through writing about stuff. 

All I know for sure about that car is that along the way I had a conversation with Grandpa Henry about smoking.

This is for all those who have never smoked a cigar or a cigarette.

Grandpa Henry Ursaki and my Grandpa George Derges were committed smokers. One day, Grandpa ‘Saki noticed cigarettes in my pocket and decided to intervene. He didn’t advise me to quit but merely told me that I was smoking the wrong brand. His advice was that if I switched to his brand, I would never have a smoker’s cough. He went on to say that his brand, Rothman’s, was made by a Jewish company and that his cigarettes were kosher. No kidding! You can’t make up this kind of stuff. This advice was from the same guy who would make a special effort to cut the “fattiest” piece from a bone-in ham. All I know is that Grandpa ‘Saki lived to 81 and it likely wasn’t smoking his kosher cigarettes or the fat from the ham that got him in the end. He also loved cigars.

We have been told, for just about ever, to avoid the fatty part of meat. I think that it is reasonable, however, to believe that the people in our Grandparents era did not have the bombardment of chemicals in their food. Their food was pure and they believed that a bit of fat was not only NOT bad for you but the most enjoyable part of a cut of meat. At least Grandpa ‘Saki thought so.   

Not many reading this had the pleasure of driving with Grandpa ‘Saki or golfing with him, for that matter. My very first ever time on a real golf course was with my two Grandpas. I was 11 years old, 1958, when Grandpa ‘Saki and Grandpa Derges took me golfing to Boggy Creek #2 which came to be known in later years as the Murray Golf Course. Some memories are more indelible than others. I can remember standing on the first tee and hitting my first shot ever on a real golf course. It was a big deal for me and quite intimidating, actually. Grandpa Derges was a very good player and was known to play golf at around par quite regularly. Grandpa ‘Saki was not nearly as good a player but loved the game just the same. Those two old guys were regular golf partners and, to be sure, they each had a “flask” in the golf bag. I was absolutely thrilled and honoured that they would allow me to golf with them. I loved those two old Grandpas.    

Cars, smoking and golfing are just some of my memories of my Grandpa Henry Ursaki.

  

Mixed Smoke Signals

Odd as this may sound, one of the most pleasant aromas on earth is the smell of tobacco. I don’t like smoke and there is nothing worse than coming out of a smoke filled venue with the smell of stale cigarettes clinging to my cloths, but to stick my nose in a can of tobacco or smell a freshly open pack of cigarettes takes me to a happy time and place long past. Kind of odd, don’t you think, for a guy who has never in his life smoked (anything) and has made a point of telling other’s to abstain. Perhaps the picture below is the key to the riddle of my ambivalence toward tobacco.

Apparently, I became less tolerant of the stuff as I matured as evidenced by this little story passed on by Patty:

Grandma used to love to tell the story of when you visited as a little boy and quite sternly said to Grandpa when he was smoking:  "My Dad don't smoke -- we're Mormon!"   It gave her a chuckle at the time, and she repeated it over and over through the years.

Incredibly, after all these years, I have distinct memories of sitting on Grandpa’s lap and rifling through his shirt pockets. Of course there was always a deck of smokes and pack of Chicklets, another smell that evokes memories, and if I’m not mistaken, from time to time, the sweet smell of whatever he might have had a nip of that day.

                                          Michael Ursaki  

What's in a name?

From my earliest childhood, I remember my dad talking about our ethnic roots, emphasizing that his ancestors were principally German but that our Ursaki name was Romanian and that we had an ancestral line that went back to ancient Rome. Dad says that the Roman Emperor, Constantine, was asked what should be done with the Christians who were still living an underground life, hiding out in the catacombs.  He replied "send them to Dacia" which was just one of many lands that had been conquered and occupied by Rome. The following is some information about Dacia that I found online:

In ancient geography, especially in Roman sources, Dacia was the land inhabited by the Dacians or Getae as they were known by the Greeks—a branch of the Thracians north of the Haemus range.

At times Dacia included areas between the Tisza and the Middle Danube. The Carpathian Mountains were located in the middle of Dacia. It thus corresponds to the present day countries of Romania and Moldova.l Dacians (or Getae) were North Thracian tribes.^[7] Dacian tribes had both peaceful and military encounters with other neighboring tribes, such as Celts, Ancient Germanics, Sarmatians, and Scythians, but were most influenced by the Ancient Greeks and Romans. The latter eventually conquered, and linguistically and culturally assimilated the Dacians.

A Dacian Kingdom of variable size existed between 82 BC until the Roman conquest in 106 AD. The capital of Dacia, Sarmizegetusa, located in modern Romania, was destroyed by the Romans, but its name was added to that of the new city (Ulpia Traiana Sarmizegetusa) built by the latter to serve as the capital of the Roman province of Dacia.

The Romanian language is the purest of the Latin derivative languages with the word "ursa," of course, being the Latin word for bear.  Think of the constellations "ursa major" and "ursa minor,"  the great bear and the little bear.Grandma and Grandpa Ursaki  had a neighbor (I'm assuming Romanian) who told my dad that the name Ursaki  was actually derived from a truer spelling of Ursache, which translated to mean "Bear Man".  The neighbor said that the name Ursaki referred to men who wrestled or boxed with bears.  So who exactly were these "bear men" that we're obstensibly descended from?  Well I'll tell you . . . I don't know! However, two summers ago, while standing in the Roman Colosseum I had a thought or two while I was reading the following about the history of the nasty place: 

"Construction of the Ancient Roman Colosseum was started by Emperor Vespasian in 70 A.D. After Vespasian's death in 79 A.D. his son Titus completed and inaugurated the Roman Colosseum in 80 A.D. The opening ceremony is documented to have lasted 100 days and between 5000 and 11000 wild animals were killed.  The Colosseum was used for gladiatorial combat until about 435 A.D. and wild animal hunts continued until the early 6th Century."

The majority of the entertainment that took place in the Colosseum involved killing . . . people killing people, people killing animals, animals killing people and animals killing animals.  I read (while at the Collosseum) that entire species of animals became extinct during the "games" (gee, I wonder why the Roman Empire fell).  For the first couple of hundred years, the Roman emperors brought in a lot of large, exotic animals (lions, tigers, giraffes, elephants, etc.) but when Rome's glory days were coming to an end it was mostly bears (Eurasian brown bears and Syrian brown bears) that were used in their blood sports. So, it occurs to me that just possibly, we could be descended from a gladiator or slave who was sent into the arena to fight with bears.  Maybe this gladiator or slave became Christian and eventually was sent (or found his way) to Dacia.  That's a lot of "maybe" but it just rang true to me while I was standing in the Roman Colloseum!

If any of you are more up on your history than I am,  and can shed some light on this, I would love to hear from you.  In the meantime, I'm going to think of myself as descended from someone who fought with bears in the colloseum (or one of the other 70 arenas in the Roman Empire used for blood sports).  That's my story and I'm sticking to it!  'Til next time, Sandra

My Memories of Grandma and Grandpa Ursaki

As Mike stated in the previous post, we were lucky if we saw Grandma and Grandpa a couple of times a year, since we never lived in Regina.  I remember always feeling very excited when I knew we'd be making a trip to see them and the other Saskatchewan relatives.  Grandpa always was ready for us with cherry and peppermint chicklets gum, candy bars and small bottles of soda pop.  Grandma usually had a batch of  warm, homemade donuts ready for us.  We all got our own little bowl of sugar to dip them in . . . oh, how I loved those doughnuts!  I want one right now!  Grandma said that she preferred to let everyone dip their own doughnuts because not so much sugar got on her kitchen floor . . . she disliked the feeling of sugar crunching under her shoes when she walked across the kitchen floor.

Grandma had a drawer ( if memory serves) where she had some things for us to play with . . . some wooden building blocks, rubber canning rings, etc.  We preferred to entertain ourselves, however, by waiting with a glass of water, under the stairs, and then pouring water (through a knothole in the hardwood floor) on whoever was sitting on the toilet down below!  What a set-up.  That toilet was directly beneath that knothole.  Anyone else remember doing this?  I know it really annoyed Grandma and she tried to plug up the hole with rags, but we'd just unplug it and do it again!  She called us "angels" and "sugarplums" anyway.  The only time I remember Grandma really getting upset at me was when Lois and I pulled out  a bunch of her clean linens (sheets,etc. that she had no doubt ironed) and built a fort.  She was pretty upset because she knew she'd have to rewash and re-iron all of those sheets!  I blame Lois for this unfortunate incident!

The only time I remember catching heck from Grandpa, I was with Lois again (anyone see an emerging pattern here?)  We decided it would be fun to crawl up into the big crabapple tree in the back yard.  When Grandpa saw us he yelled for us to get out of the tree before we broke the branches.  Lois got cheeky with him and said something like "You wouldn't care if we fell out of the tree and broke our necks, would you!?"  Oy.  The truth is, I LOVED playing with Lois and we had a ton of fun together.  

Another of my favourite memories of Grandma and Grandpa's house was the old bathtub downstairs.  I remember my mom filling the tub from two black hoses . . . one of them came straight from the water heater. When we were really little, she'd just throw all three of us . . . Mike, Elaine and me, into the tub at once.  We had a jolly old time soaping our butts and sliding down the sloped back of the tub.  I swear that more water flew out of that tub than stayed in.  Does anyone know what happened to that tub?  

That house at 506 Victoria Ave. always smelled of fresh baking, roast chicken, pipe tobacco and Dove soap.  I loved that smell.  I still think of Grandma and Grandpa when I smell Dove soap.

I seldom saw Grandma sitting down . . . it seemed like she was always busying around cleaning and cooking but I some memory of her watching her "stories" on TV.  Whenever we visited I always got to sleep with Grandma.  I can remember her in her long flannel nightgown with her hair in a long braid down her back and her teeth in a cup beside the bed.    She was always up and dressed in a dress , nylon stockings and an apron before I ever opened my eyes in the morning and I often woke up to the smell of bacon frying and coffee brewing.  Even though I'm not a coffee drinker I still love the smell of brewing coffee to this day.

I remember that Grandpa would give me 50 cents or a dollar and I would walk down to the corner store to buy candy and ice cream treats.  I don't remember the name of the lady who ran the store but she knew I was Henry and Ottilie's granddaughter and she was always so friendly.  

This summer, Mom and Dad and I drove to Vernon and stayed with Lynne (Ursaki) and Brian for a couple of days, as I've mentioned in a previous post. While there, we watched some of their old family slides and I took photos of some of the slides as they were being projected.  Here are a few of them.  I don't know what particular years any of these were taken.

 I particularly love this photo of Grandpa and Grandma with their grown children.  This was a very attractive group of people.  I wonder what Uncle Eddie would have looked like, had he lived to adulthood?

 I think that the other couple in this photo are Grandpa's brother George and his wife.  Can't remember her name. Perhaps, Millie?

 These photos must be of a wedding anniversary, perhaps their fiftieth?  A rare photo where Grandma and Grandpa are holding hands.

Thanks for indulging my little stroll down memory lane.  I'm going to be going through my old photo albums and scanning some photos of Grandma with some of my kids.  Grandpa died very shortly after the birth of my first son in 1978 so I have no photos of him with any of my kids. 'Til next time.  Sandra

As I Remember

As I Remember

My earliest recollections of my grandparents are of a woman who seemed anxious to hold me on her lap and shower me with love, affection and admiration, and a man who always seemed delighted to see me, but gave me a comfortable amount of space. I responded by shying away from grandma and being drawn to grandpa. He did fascinating things (he smoked), so I always stayed close by and kept an eye on him. I never knew him not to have Chicklets in his pocket, which he was always willing to share.

This first memory would have happened at a little house in Sherwood Park sometime in the mid 60’s. I’m sure there were earlier meetings, but that’s the first one I remember. Since we lived just outside of Edmonton and they lived in Regina, we were lucky if we got to see them more that a couple of times in a year. Moving to B.C. in 1968 only increased the distance between us and reduced the frequency of visits. None the less, my memories are sufficient and remain vivid all these decades later.

It is difficult, in my memory, to separate grandma from the kitchen. She spent a disproportionate amount of her life in the kitchen for which we are all grateful beneficiaries. When I consider what came out of her kitchen (which was whatever kitchen she was in at the time), I marvel at the order, organization and cleanliness that she maintained. I, personally, can decimate the room in the act of making a sandwich. The products of her labours will endure in memory as long as I’m allowed to tarry on this earth. I often said of my mother-in-law, “if the angels of heaven could taste her cooking, they would take her home to heaven immediately”. The same could be said of our grandma Ursaki. Hospitality came so naturally to her, that I wouldn’t be surprised to find her in some celestial kitchen cooking to her heart's content to the joy and delight of all of our dearly departed. I hope, that when (or should I say “if”) those angels come to collect me, they’ll bring a plate of her apple strudel. I don’t know if I’d be smart enough to go toward the light, but I know I’d follow that strudel to extremities of God’s creations.

Grandpa was no less useful to have around. I like to believe the streak of handyman in me comes through whatever genetic material he passed down. Don’t get me wrong, he couldn’t hold a candle to grandma when came to tending to domestic necessities, but he was always looking for something to fix, finding it and fixing it with whatever resources were at hand, a budget of $0 and a lot of practical skill and common sense. Grandpa had other useful skills and advice for anyone smart enough to listen. He once taught me how to throw an elbow at a pick pocket. That timely lesson was offered as we were leaving for the exhibition during one of our summer visits to Regina.

When you’re young, you think you’re immortal (which explains extreme sports). The passage of time, that finite commodity of our lives, slowly reminds us that this life was never meant to be permanent. In retrospect, I now understand why, with each successive visit, the time of parting became more difficult. I have, indelibly etched in my mind's eye, the image of grandpa standing beside grandma waving good bye with a pinched smile and tear on his cheek. The last such parting would have been when I was 15 years old. I had spent the summer in Ottawa and a week long stop over in Regina had been arranged. They were loading me onto a jet bound for B.C. I remember that last embrace and I will never forget how bitterly I wept knowing that we might not be together again in this life.

Grandma’s sense of her own mortality was less acute. Not that she was in any way morbid about it, but she always seemed ready and waiting for a chariot of fire to take her home. I wonder if her life’s greatest trial was living to the age of 93.

Never content to idle away her time, she prepared for her day of parting by doing what she did best, working. I do not know any person so willing to live and let live, so uncritical of others, so prepared to put on an apron and pitch in, as was our grandma Ursaki.

I’m not so naïve to think that grandpa and grandma didn’t have some character flaws. I may stand corrected when it comes to grandma though. Maybe the fact that I saw so little of them has something to with my lack of memory when it comes to any faults they may have had, or maybe they were just on their best behavior around me and my young impressionable mind.

Memory is like opinion. It is correct only in that it offers one person’s perspective. The absolute truth lies in the collective perspective. I would love to see my grandparents through your eyes.

- Michael Ursaki