Well, St. Patrick’s Day is over — I hope I managed to find a good ham, corned beef and cabbage dinner somewhere.
I could have gone back to our dinner table on a past St. Patrick’s Day and enjoyed my mom’s ham and cabbage with corned beef, potatoes, carrots and Irish soda bread. My dad would also be enjoying it.
And I would definitely stick around until March 19 — St. Joseph’s Day — for another amazing dinner.
Saint Joseph’s Day, also known as the Feast of Saint Joseph or the Solemnity of Saint Joseph, is in Western Christianity the main feast day of Saint Joseph, husband of the Virgin Mary and legal father of Jesus Christ, celebrated on March 19. It has the rank of a solemnity in the Catholic Church.
My mom was Polish — Kraszewski was her maiden name — and my dad’s parents were Welsh and Irish.
I knew the pleasure of sitting down for a plate full of ham and cabbage and carrots. And, on previous occasions, I have enjoyed a Guinness or two.
But I also really loved my mom’s pierogies and haluski and gwumpki (piggies). Not to mention the kielbasa with mustard seeds and potato pancakes — plotzskis — sometimes with sour cream and even jelly.
And I fondly remember standing on my back porch grating horseradish roots as tears welled up in my eyes while my father would turn the handle on the meat grinder as my mom held the casings in place.
Growing up in Plymouth, I was around a lot of Irish people — and also a lot of Polish and Slovak, Welsh, Italian and Lithuanian folks, too. I know their heritage now, but I never gave it a second thought way back then. I knew them, as my mother always would say, as people — good people.
So on Tuesday, March 19 — St. Joseph’s Day — I’ll make sure to wear red and enjoy some Polish food.
Traveling in the Way Back Machine allows me to relive those days and, especially, those meals. Oh what I would do for my mom’s red soup with noodles. It was the best.
It’s a fantastic time-traveling vehicle that takes me back to those good old days to revisit places like Melody Park, North Lake, Sylvan Lake, Lake Silkworth, Harveys Lake, San Souci, Sandy Beach, Hanson’s, Brodmarkle’s, Miracle Mart, Sgarlet Lake, Plymouth High School, Huber Field, Kis-Lyn, Main Street in Plymouth and all those businesses and much more.
It’s great to hover over the Ash Diamond in Plymouth and watch those softball games, or to once again watch the Halloween parade in Plymouth, as costumed kids walk past those painted windows of all the businesses.
We can see the Shawnee Indians cagers battle the Nanticoke Trojans at the Gaylord Armory, or head to the Kingston Armory for a Barons game and see the old Stegmaier game clock way up high. I can once again watch as I take the court as a member of the Junior Barons!
George Miklosi, Walter Roman, Mike Shusta., Chris Balita can sit on my front porch and play Strat-O-Matic, or throw Topps baseball cards against the house, or head to the backyard for a game of Wiffle Ball. Or to Wadham Street and the Little League park that was our field of dreams.
Wayne Bevan might come over, and I can take out my guitar and play while Wayne sings many songs. Alternatively, we can go to the Mountain Inn on Second Street and listen to our band — the UNCLE Agents — practice on George Miklosi’s second floor covered porch, which annoys the neighbors.
We could watch a intense game of stocking ball, Wiffle Ball, or up-against, or we can relax with a bowl of cherries, a fresh peach, or plum. We can ride our bikes to Jack’s Market and buy a Yoo Hoo or Kick-a-Poo Joy Juice, a candy bar, or an ice cream before playing basketball at Huber Playground. Or, we can go to Doc Savage’s for a competitive game with the Vinnies’ kids.
I can envision walking through our front door and hearing the screen door gently banging repeatedly behind me. It was the enticing, yet soothing sound of that wooden screen door that I will always remember. The screen door kept the bugs out, let the cool breeze in, and allowed us to hear everything happening in the neighborhood. It also brought in the lovely scent of lilacs, or apple pies cooling on the neighbors porch.
I’ve mentioned before, those were the days of unlocked front doors and car doors. We found joy in the simple things in a simpler time.
I can hear the Times Leader Evening News landing on the front porch. I would quickly turn to the sports pages and read about the previous day’s events – long before SportsCenter and constant updates.
So many places to visit. So many memories to remember. The Way Back Machine takes me there whenever I activate it.
It’s not about dwelling in the past, it’s cherishing it. The Way Back Machine is inside each of us — in our minds and in our hearts.
And every trip in the Way Back Machine brings many great rewards.
Perhaps it can transport me back to Wildwood, N.J. in the late 60s/early 70s.
Yes, perhaps.
Regardless, good health to all — “slainte” in Irish, or “zdrowie” in Polish.