Grandmother memories

My maternal grandmother, Waleria Rabenda, passed this month. Unfortunately, I was unable to attend the funeral, but what I can do is tell you about some of my fondest memories of her. From what I've been told by my parents, I did treat my Grandma to one of her worst evenings ever by screaming and whining for five hours non-stop while they where out on a date night. Of course, as soon as they came back home, I was all smiles again. I do recall her taking us on several occasions to the Łazienki Park and travelling on the tram with her. Though I have not been there in ages, I still vaguely recall some of the grand buildings. She also took us to a nearby forest several times. If I had to guess I would say it was most likely Las Bielański but don't take my word for it.

My grandma never drove a car or had a need for one. Once we moved to Wuppertal, Germany the only way she was going to come visit us was by train. I remember waiting at the main train station in Wuppertal many times for the train to arrive and finally bring her. Back then the trains from Poland to Germany were never punctual. Maybe it was issues with passport controls or delays in changing of the wheelsets to adjust for different wheel and track width between Eastern and Western Europe, but there would always be a story. Once she did arrive though she would stay thankfully for months at a time.

I recall vividly her picking us up from Elementary school and walking us home and of course her baking and cooking. I really miss the Szarlotka she made, which is a traditional Polish apple pie. It is quite different from the American apple pie in that it has several layer and is a lot less sweet. It had a fairly thick and buttery lower layer, then a tart apple filling, and a grated top layer to give the pie a very crumble-like texture. I must have eaten hundreds of these pie slices. I don't have her recipe and will need to call the Internet for help to recreate it one day.

We did visit her on multiple occasions in Poland as well. Her flat was a humble one, with a kitchen, one bathroom, a living room, and a single bedroom. It had a lovely balcony from which we often looked over the street and counted cars. The staircase to her flat was extremely steep. I don't know how she managed to ascend it in her later years. The door to her flat was a fortress with a least three or four locks to keep it shut - better safe than sorry I suppose. It goes without saying that every time we came over the table would be filled with delicious food, sweets and candies, and a lovely hot cup of tea.

Once we moved to the United States the visits become more sparse - flying was expensive back then. She did visit us once when we lived in Atlanta. I may be wrong, but I think this was the one and only time she ever traveled by plane. I recall her marveling at the size of our house in the United States and wondering why people needed such mansions. Never having the need for a drivers license, the American car centric culture was also puzzling to her, after all how is an elderly person supposed to get to church she mentioned.

The last time saw her in person was when my sister and I visited her during our college days. We must have been in our early twenties. One day we were about to travel from Warsaw to Monki to visit the paternal side of our family and when leaving she stepped onto the balcony to bid us farewell. I took a picture of that moment, wondering if I would see her again - it was not meant to be, at least for now.