Posted tagged ‘departures’

About Deadlines

July 28, 2011

I learned the seriousness of the word deadline during my work in journalism while living on Cape Cod. Of course people working in science, as well as in law and other professions, deal with deadlines, and so does everybody in their daily lives. Still, the deadlines in journalism are the harshest, I think. When as a writer I did not meet my deadline for the printed newspaper, my article was dead — it simply was not printed. That was it!

In English the word has the image of death, which is difficult to translate into my native tongue. The Polish word termin has many levels of harshness and not just one. The expression termin ostateczny means ‘final’ rather than ‘deadly’. Actually, I learned that the English word originated in this country during the Civil War. It was a real line, drawn in the dirt or marked by a fence restricting prisoners in Civil War camps. They were warned, according to Houghton Mifflin Word Origins, “If you cross this line you’re dead.” It was through the newspaper business, however, that the word deadline became used and understood as it is today.

Many deadlines can be changed or moved a bit — an appearance in court, the date of a flight or a performance on stage — but in journalism it is next to impossible! So I wish more of our Senators and Representatives had a background in journalism rather than in law or business. Maybe then they would take as deadly serious the date of August 2nd that is looming over this country. The partisan fight over the debt ceiling is dangerous. I can’t help but blame the Republican Party for the current stalemate, and I agree with the following statement from the latest editorial in The Nation magazine:

“The Republicans have once again shown themselves to be a party, to paraphrase Nobel laureate Joseph Stiglitz, of the 1 percent, by the 1 percent, for the 1 percent. It is a party that accepts no new taxes, no closing of loopholes, no crackdowns on overseas tax havens and no increase in corporate tax rates, even as the biggest corporations pay little or no taxes on billions of profits. It is a party that embraces savage cuts in the social safety net but then draws a line in the sand to protect the wealthy.”

I simply couldn’t resist making the above comment, but also wanted to tell you something about my own deadlines.

Every other week I write a new post for this blog and today happened to be my deadline. I almost missed it being preoccupied with getting ready for our (David’s and my) annual trip to the Cape. The deadline for the trip has been changed several times because of many commitments I have to fulfill before our departure. At this moment I feel overtired and frustrated and dream about having some time off from all my responsibilities. That is impossible, of course, but some ease can be achieved.

In order to meet my commitment to this blog and at the same time to work on an important publishing project (while on the Cape), plus to have time for my friends and beach visits, I have decided that my August and September posts for this blog will be a bit different. Instead of the usual essay with a few photographs I will post my photographic observations from the trip with just a few words. I truly hope you will enjoy them.

So tomorrow I am closing my studio and leaving behind sunny Tucson for two months.

closed door to Alicja's studio

Closed Studio

Downtown Tucson with highway guardrail in foreground and Santa Catalina mountains in background

Ttucson from the highway

Thank you all for reading this blog and special thanks to those who take time for writing comments.

Good luck in reducing some of your deadlines! Have some fun this summer.

Rosebush with pink flowers and blue sky behind

Flowers

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Text and photos copyright © 2011 by Alicja Mann.

My Father – Made of the Sky

June 17, 2011

“My father was made of the sky,” I concluded while pondering what I was made of in an essay in my book Looking at the World Twice. Yes, my father Kazimierz, who was fearlessly passionate about flying, was definitely made of the sky! And not just any sky, but the sky above Poland. A jet pilot and later a high ranking officer of the Polish Air Force, he could not imagine himself in any place but in Poland. He raised me with the expectation to feel the same. So my decision to emigrate from Poland was extremely hard for him to accept. “Cosmopolitan,” a word which I used often, was a ‘dirty’ word in his mind and for others with his political beliefs. It meant not belonging. It meant not being loyal. It meant not being patriotic.

A true believer in the ‘socialistic system’ of post war Poland, my father wanted me to feel the same. But I did not. I developed a strong dislike of the Soviet style system and the Soviet domination of Poland. When I was mature enough to stand against his political opinions, our relationship become painfully rocky and even hostile. Still our love and respect for each other prevailed. That respect was a crucial element of our bond and was based on a painful sincerity. At times I just wished we could simply lie….

My father Kazimierz Pieniazek, circa 1960
My father, Kazimierz, as I like to remember him from the times of my life in Poland

I love memories and images of my father from my childhood years. I loved his slate colored uniform, high boots and his strong hands that could pick me up high without any effort. The idea that he could master those powerful metal beasts and take them to the sky was very romantic. My father was a symbol of strength and courage for me and I simply adored him. I even liked the smell of the tobacco he used for making his cigarettes, as well as watching him clean his fifkas — special glass holders for those cigarettes.

My memories of that time are painted in earth tones: colors of the forests where he taught me the art of mushroom hunting and gathering hazel nuts; the bluish gray of the lakes and rivers where he was tirelessly fishing in summer and hunting in fall; the color of the wheat fields and brown horses in the countryside where I spent part of my summers to “experience life so different than ours,” as he used to explain. It was my father who read with me my first real books and talked about geography and distant countries where he would fly occasionally on governmental missions.

When I finished first grade, I was asked to write my name as beautifully as I could (my nickname Ala to be exact). It was then traced, made into a gold inlay, and placed in the upper right corner of his hefty, silver cigarette case. The other corners were occupied already by his monogram (KP), my mom’s name, and the emblem of the Polish Air Force. I felt very proud to see my name on that silver surface each time he used his cigarette case. And he used it often. Now I am the owner of that case. I inherited it in the year 2000.

My father's silver cigarette case Alicja Mann, about 8 years old
My father’s cigarette case Me, Ala, at about 8 years old

It was at the beginning of 2000 that I moved to Tucson, leaving behind familiar Cape Cod. Just as I had settled a bit into my new place, a night call from Warsaw interrupted that settling. The voice of my uncle was filled with urgency. “If you want to see your father alive, come to Warsaw as soon as possible!” he stated.

I was not surprised by that call, but I did not expect it to come so soon and to be so urgent. I knew that my father, who suffered from Parkinson’s disease, was having some new health problems and had been in and out of the hospital a couple of times, but….

That night in late February I learned that Kazimierz was diagnosed with advanced lung cancer and that not much could be done for him, “especially considering his age,” as the messenger of the bad news stated. “But 79 is not so old!” I cried into the black phone receiver. There was no response — only the long characteristic sound of disconnection. The next day I booked my flights to Warsaw.

When I entered my father’s room in the hospital a few days later, he was greatly surprised. “Why are you here?! I thought you were coming in June,” he scolded me. After hugging he continued, “So why are you here? Is it sooo bad?!” I did not know what to say.

The next day, after consulting with me, the lead doctor decided to deliver the verdict to my father personally and asked me to be there. My father looked at the doctor’s eyes straight with all his attention, understanding the importance of the visit. He did not blink when the words “lung cancer”, “impossible”, and “we are sorry” entered the room like deadly bullets. Some explanation of why Kazimierz could no longer stay in this hospital followed. My father behaved like a good soldier. He did not ask any questions and responded shortly — “I understand.”

The hospice in which I placed him was very pleasant — modern, well furnished and with an excellent kitchen. That made my father happier for a while as he liked to eat well and was tired of boring hospital meals.

I spent a lot of time in that hospice witnessing his ups and downs. His body was failing him and that made him angry, especially when he lost his ability to walk and had to stay in bed most of the time. Later he calmed down.

We did not talk about death as I thought we might, nor did we talk about the future. We talked about his meals and about my new place in Arizona. He became preoccupied with the small 8.5 x 11″ laminated map that I brought for him from Tucson — one side had the USA and the other had the World. He examined that map endlessly and would not part with it for anything. I wondered where he was flying….

The final visit before my return to Tucson arrived and it was filled with silence. I could almost hear my pounding heart. I sat on the side of his bed and we stared out the window nearby. It was April already. The trees looked energetic with their new green leaves and the sun dancing on them. The outdoor world that my father loved so much looked beautiful!

I procrastinated as long as I could and finally gave him that last, long hug. I whispered into his ear, “I wish you a soft landing.” A short silence and his “me too” followed. I wasn’t sure if it was for him or for me.

The next day I landed safely in Phoenix. Two days later he landed softly in the everlasting darkness.

Alicja Mann and her father Kazimierz Pieniazek Cover of CD by Michael Mann: Pilots Will Always Fly
My father and I — as I like to remember him from numerous visits to Poland after my emigration Michael’s CD

You may click to hear the special song composed by my son Michael for my father — his dziadek.

Polish and English lyrics of "Pilots Will Always Fly"
Text of the song in Polish and English

Eleven years have passed and I still wish I could call him this coming Sunday to say “Czesc Tato — Happy Fathers’ Day!”

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Pilots Will Always Fly and CD cover copyright © 1999 by Michael Mann. Text and photos copyright © 2011 by Alicja Mann.


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