On Friday, we started a Storytelling series with Bryan Brunsell's "It's the Saturday Morning Cleaning Hour -- Set to Mom's Rockin' Tunes." Here's the first round of new stories about family rituals:
For years, the family talked of having a reunion. In 1979 this dream became a reality. It was held at North Park on the first Saturday in August. Everyone was to bring a covered dish and a food product for the grand prize of a food-filled basket.
These traditions are repeated every year since then. Initially it was called The Lunieski Family Reunion, but soon evolved into the "Polish Picnic."
My cousins, the original Lunieskis, numbered six at the time and this year we are down to two. The dress color of the day is red and white and all the "outlaws" -- Italian, Irish, German, Jewish, Mexican -- are Polish for the day. Hanging on the wall of the indoor grove is a Polish flag with 1979 in the upper corner. Each year another date is added. (Wick, one of the original founders of the reunion, asked to be buried with it.) I was not part of the decision-making committee, but Wick lost.
The flag remains waiting for this year's inscription. There is a T-shirt inscribed "The Newest Polack" and this is worn by the latest baby to join the family. Family from out of town plan vacations for the first Saturday in August.
The original format remains the same. Kids games begin at 2 p.m. The original participants are now the planners, as their children and grandchildren fight hard to be the winners. Adult games have been recently downsized to just the egg toss. We used to be a more active bunch with sack races and rope tugs.
There was the year that Wick's team lost the rope tug and the entire team fell on me. I ended up with an injured ankle that kept me off work for six weeks. ( I waited until the door prizes were awarded to go to the emergency room.)
In those first years, I remember my parents and aunts being the older generation. They had comfortable folding chairs, in the shade (usually next to the barrel of beer). Everyone kissed them and told them not to get up. I am now one of those chosen few. My daughter recently told me that we have all morphed into the next generation.
After the games, the covered dishes appear: kielbasa, pierogies, pigs in a blanket, etc. Several favorites are gone -- Viola's nut bread, Aunt Bessie's cookies -- along with the people who we loved so much. A sign of the times is the Kentucky Fried Chicken, shrimp rings and Aunt Martha's pies are now served. Chuckie still brings a crock pot of dip made with deer meat -- delicious!
With our stomachs full, we are ready for the drawing of the prizes. The basketful of groceries remains the big giveaway, but everyone now brings various things they have collected over the year (one man's throwaway is another's treasure). There are also guessing games for the kids and adults. Jars are filled with candy, corn curls, coins, whatever and whoever comes closest to the exact number wins the jar and contents. (This is a highly competitive group and we take our games seriously.)
The evening usually ends with polkas playing on CDs and everyone, young and old, stomping around in their particular version of the dance.
I think this wonderful family tradition will continue. On our 20th one, we submitted recipes and hand-published a Polish cookbook. For our upcoming 30th, Terrie, a second-generation Lunieski, is getting everyone to write a story about their recollections of the affair and will put them into booklet form. I am very happy that my story has been chosen for this Storytelling series. What a coup for this year's Polish Picnic!
-- PAT TRAPANI, Penn Hills
I loved Bryan Brunsell's story about his mother getting all the kids to clean on Saturday mornings while playing great music. It brought back memories -- and those memories arise every time I clean. My mom did that in the 1930s and '40s when my sister, brother and I were growing up.
But we had only one record -- "One Meatball," about a man so broke he could afford only one meatball at the restaurant. It was perky and funny. We had to reset the needle over and over to keep it playing all morning.
We always started with a parade around the dining room table -- each one carrying a dust mop, dust rag, bucket or scrub mop. Mom always had either a yardstick which she nudged us with as a joke, or twirled tea bags or juggled potatoes.
I still sing "One Meatball" even though Mom, Dad, my sister and brother are gone. At the age of 82, I still know the refrain: "You Gets No Bread with One Meatball."
-- LORYS CRISAFULLI, Monongahela
First Published: February 9, 2009, 10:00 a.m.