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

Grandma Ursaki's honey cookies

This post is comprised of a letter and recipe sent by Lois Derges VanDerVelden and a photo posted on facebook (also by Lois).

She sent a scan of a hand written recipe by Grandma Ursaki, which I would have loved to have posted here, but I couldn't get it to post clearly.  I've typed it out as best as I could read it.  Anyone out there have the actual baking time and temperature? 

I LOVE this photo of Lois and Grandma taken in the old kitchen of the home at 506 Victoria Avenue. 

     Lois Derges VanDerVelden with Grandma Otillie Ursaki

I’m sure you remember Grandma’s honey cookies. I have a number of her hand written recipes & came across this one. As I recall she cut these cookies into a couple of different shapes (do you remember what they were?)I tried to adjust it so it was easier to read after scanning. Her script is very distinct & although she was always self-conscious of her ability to read & write it mattered not to me as it was hers from the heart.  Lois

Honey Cookies

3/4 cup butter or marg
1 cup brown sugar
1/3 cup honey
3 1/2 cups bread flour
1 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. soda
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. each cinnamon and ginger
1/2 tsp. nutmeg
1/2 cup buttermilk or sour milk
1/4 cup cold strong coffee

Mix butter and sugar and honey in top of double boiler.  Heat and stir until butter is melted and sugar dissolved.  Let cool.  Sift together dry ingredients and mix with butter mixture, buttermilk and coffee.  Chill for several hours.  Heat oven and roll dough to 1/3 inch thickness. (No specification of cutting shapes, oven temperature or baking time.  I'm sure that for Grandma, this seemed pretty intuitive and not necessary to include!) 
Store (cookies) in cold place for (up to) four weeks. 

Finding Ursaki family connections

The following letter and photo were received, by us, from Lois Derges VanDerVelden (whose mother is the late Helen Ursaki Derges). Thanks so much for this contribution, Lois!  I'm wondering how old Grandpa Henry Ursaki was in this photo? He certainly is handsome.

"Uncle Henry Ursaki and my mother's parents . . . Emma Eliza and Louis Ring"  Judy Ring Anderson

Hi Sandra & Mike, Judy Anderson, is a gal I used to work with (years ago) & is now one of my Facebook friends. I always knew we were distantly related but had forgotten the connection.After posting the pic of Grandma & me, Judy Anderson (Ring) responded & then posted the attached picture. I’m sure there are many other pictures of the Ursaki clan somewhere, I haven’t seen many. Grandpa Henry is rather handsome, wouldn’t you say?  What you have initiated has obviously triggered much interest on my part & others. Cousin Lois xo

A Lovely Metaphor

     Here is a pic of Gayla and me (Al Derges)  in July 2012 about six weeks after the amputation of my right leg. I received my first prosthesis shortly after this picture was taken.
      Just to confuse things, I am standing on one leg. Somewhere, way down the road, someone might say that they thought that old guy was an amputee. You can see that I'm hanging on, pretty tightly, and using my friend, Gayla for support. I love the metaphor that this picture presents as Gayla has been my support, literally, figuratively and emotionally.