Category: <span>Past</span>

I remember our summers to be extraordinary. We spent the majority of them at my maternal grandparents’ house. My paternal grandparents both passed away before I was born (I am named after my dad’s mother) and my maternal grandparents were the only grandparents I have ever known.

Baba and Deda as I called them, owned a house with a large garden. They built that house with their bare hands after the war. My mom still remembers moving into the house before the floors were down. Thankfully, the floors, heat and plumbing had all been there by the time I came around :-).

Baba and Deda’s house, garden and yard were magical. There was a vegetable garden where they grew delicious things like red and black currants, gooseberries, strawberries, rasberries, and rhubarb. There was what seemed to be an endless row of fruit trees of every kind — tart cherries, bing cherries, peaches, apricots, apples, pears, plums (red and yellow), and walnuts. There was the vegetable garden where they harvested potatoes, beans, peas, carrots, squashes, tomatoes, and peppers.

The gazebo right outside the front door covered by grapevines that provided a welcome, shaded refuge from the summer’s sun. Everything tasted better, brighter and more special when consumed while lounging in the gazebo.

Last, but not least and perhaps what I cherished the most, was the flower garden that surrounded the house itself. I remember vividly, springtime’s pungent aromas of peonies, tulips, lilly of the valley, daffodils and roses and a faint buzzing of the bees as they worked their magic on the garden and flower beds. The flowers at our wedding reflected my Baba’s garden. We didn’t miss a single flower, each had a meaning and that is how I made sure Baba and Deda were there with me on my wedding day.

If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you already know that travel is a passion of mine, my family’s, and one day, hopefully Sophia’s. And while I enjoy travel to places, I have long thought about taking myself and those who surround me on a literary journey — back in time.

I’ve been reading blogs written by many different people — travelers, cooks, authors, moms, and political scientists for a few years now. I thought hard about starting this blog, the real motivation behind it and what I wanted to get out of it. On the surface, this is where I share my family’s life, the trials and tribulations of raising Sophia. But really, this isn’t just about that. This is a conduit for the output of self introspection, a cathartic release.

And so this series is born… a set of posts where I will share my life’s story (until now, at least) and in the process, maybe understand and share with you, why I am the person you “see”.

Born in Ukraine into a Russian/Jewish family of a mother, father and an older sister. My father was in the army (a Major at the time of my birth) and my mother was and still is a pharmacist.

My mother’s family lived in Haisin (Ukraine). My maternal grandmother was a loving early childhood educator and my grandfather a technician of sorts. I to this day don’t really know what he did. I do know that my grandfather was born in Poland, ran from the Nazis, was captured twice, escaping once and released (by a soldier with a good heart). His entire family perished in the Holocaust (his father, step-mother and sisters).

My father’s family lived in Kiev (Ukraine). My paternal grandmother was a child of Polish immigrants, married young and had two daughters. Her husband was accused of treason by the Stalin regime, tried, killed and [much] later absolved. A widow at the age of ~21, she married my grandfather. He was a gentile from an upstanding family in the suburbs of Moscow. He had fought in, survived the war and studied law.

My parents, set up by mutual friends, met in Kiev in 1972. They were engaged three months after meeting and married within the year. That is how it used to be, by the way. To contrast, my husband and I dated for four years, were engaged for two more and have been married for five come this June. My mother became an army wife and followed my dad to his first exciting posting (Almaty, Kazakhstan). My sister was born there.

After Almaty, they went to Moscow where my dad pursued his graduate education at the prestigious Frunze Academy, and then Baku which is where I grew up. By all accounts, we enjoyed a comfortable living affording a car and vacations on the shores of the Black Sea. My dad insists that my mom never had to work, but she always did.

More to come…