Simple Living with Wanda Urbanska

Wanda's Diary Entries

Saturday, September 20, 2008

My 23-year-old niece, Kasia Urbanska, has been visiting Mount Airy for almost three weeks now from Poznan, Poland. Having her as a guest in our home has been a broadening experience for Henry and me, as we stretch to understand a new person and personality, and broadening we hope for her as she tastes for the first time the famous American experience.

This visit has ushered in a host of “firsts” for Kasia: her first flight (she was initially terrified but handled it gracefully despite the presence of a passenger in the next seat who monologued her almost the entire eight-hour flight from Amsterdam to Washington D.C.); first visit to the United States; first taste of Mount Airy carrot cake (she loved it!)

Smart, quiet, pretty Kasia arrived on September 2, driven from Washington D.C. by our accommodating second cousins, Tad and Ola Tuliszka, of Fairfax, Virginia. When I first greeted her, Kasia’s blue eyes sparkled in anticipation of what her vacation in North Carolina would hold; her eyes carried in them the decades-long bond of affection between her father, my first cousin Grzegorz Urbanski, and me. (In American terms, Kasia is not technically my “niece” but rather my first cousin once removed. But I prefer the Poles’ far warmer terminology; because I’m a generation older than she, in Poland, she would call me her aunt; and I would call her my niece.)

I first met her father Grzegorz — now an oncologist in Poznan — in 1977, when I was slightly younger than Kasia. I was then a junior at Harvard University, and he a medical student in Poznan. I surprised my fellow students that summer by turning down an internship at Newsweek magazine in New York and instead accepting my father’s invitation to come join him in Poland. (My non-Polish mother was supportive. “Get to know your roots,” she counseled.) Mama had no idea that that fateful visit would turn me into a Poloniophile of the first rank, quite frankly, causing me to fall in love with a nation.

Back in 1977, the Iron Curtain between Western and Eastern Europe stood strong and unchinked. I relished the experience, chronicling in my journal a period in Polish history that’s luckily just that — in the past. I came from the land of abundance, overabundance to be sure, only to see people standing in line to buy oranges, toilet paper, women’s sanitary napkins and even, amazingly, books of poetry. I was struck by so many things that summer of ’77, but one memory that stands out is the overwhelming literacy of the people — how well-versed they were in things American, including politics, literature, art and music, as well as their pride in their own country’s significant contributions to world culture.

I doubt Kasia’s visit to America will be as life-changing to her as my first trip to Poland was to me (although, you never know). However, she has enjoyed a taste of small-town life, of running into people she has met most everywhere we go, of the spirit of graciousness and Southern hospitality here. She has been pleasantly surprised by the friendliness of the people though somewhat disappointed by the quality of American bread. (It’s too airy and unsubstantive.)

Everywhere we’ve gone, some gracious soul has attempted to provide her with bread comparable to what she enjoys in Poland. In Winston-Salem, Nick Bragg with characteristic generosity bought her three coarse loaves — two at Winkler’s Bakery in Old Salem and one at nearby Ollie’s. Between those purchases, Nick took us on an amazing tour of Old Salem, the grounds of Reynolda House, downtown, UNCSA, and Wake Forest University. The following weekend was devoted to Charlotte, which Kasia loved, in part because of its similar size to her hometown of Poznan, in part because it’s a hub of urban vitality. There we toured the Mint Museum, took in “A Day in Pompeii” exhibit downtown and enjoyed engaging visits (and a few swims) with my dear friend Ann Belk and her son Paul. Like Nick, Paul scouted out a dense, braided loaf of bread for Kasia, which awaited us upon our arrival at his mother’s home last Friday evening.

Tomorrow Kasia departs on a Greyhound bus with my mother for Washington D.C. and a final week with my sister Jane and cousins Tad and Ola. I am not sure what Kasia will take home from her visit to my world. Maybe it’s the time with our cat Whiskers, who has found her to be the cat’s meow. (They can’t have a cat in her home due to the allergies of her two younger brothers.) Maybe it’s a close bond with my 11-year-old Henry, whose antics and resistance to learning Polish remind her of her two younger brothers in preadolescence.)

Perhaps it will take her a while to fully digest the experience. Perhaps she will reflect upon her time here 30 years hence just as my Polish summer of 1977 remains with me today. One thing for sure, things do not stay the same. Life is an ever-changing adventure and journey. Not to diminish the great needs that remain in rebuilding Poland as a nation, less than 20 years after it regained its freedom. But no doubt about it, the Poland of today is a vibrant, progressive place where 80% of all students study English and all are members of the Internet generation. Anyone who doesn’t realize that has a frozen picture of the Poland of the past.

Kasia and her family had a chuckle recently when some friendly Germans came to visit and brought with them such staples as coffee and tea — as would have been expected and appreciated in the ’70s and even ’80s — but are readily available now. “We have all these things in Poland today,” Kasia said.

Yes, they have all those things, but with their warm family feeling, with their rich history, their triumph over their past suffering, they have so much more.