I have many wonderful memories of places where I lived, loved, was loved, and felt happy.
The houses in these places differ in location, architectural style, and the time of my life when I lived there.
In Siberia, where I was born, I lived in a shack in a forced labor camp (gulag) for Estonian forced laborers
I was aware that it was cold and that hunger was rampant, but thanks to my parents, I never suffered.
After the war, I moved to a very small town in Lower Silesia, part of Poland, on the Czechoslovakian border. My eyes were wide in amazement when I saw the house we were going to live in—a villa that became available when a German physician was forced to leave after the war. It was a two-story building with several rooms and even had an X-ray machine. Outside were large grounds on which grew many fruit trees— especially pears—and a greenhouse known as a hothouse. Inside, I noticed a grand piano and a basket of oranges. Both were items of luxury in postwar Poland that I had never seen before. In this place, I started my elementary school education and witnessed the arrival of my baby brother. Despite the grand accommodations, my parents were not happy because of a lack of Jewish friends and Jewish community.
For that reason, we moved to a much bigger nearby town named Walbrzych. There, I lived in the very center of the city, in a large gray apartment house where two of my classmates also lived. On the first floor, there was a photography studio proudly displaying its best photos, and on the ground floor was the largest apothecary in town. There were people milling all around, some proudly displaying the very hard-to-get toilet paper in their transparent bags.
It was a very luxurious apartment by Polish standards. Most people lived in one or two rooms, often sharing a kitchen with another family. In this apartment, I survived my teenage years and college, acquired friends, and experienced first love.
After coming to the United States, I moved with my husband Marcel to a small apartment in the Maryland suburbs. It seemed miraculous to be able to go to the rental office and get a key to a new apartment just for us. This is where we welcomed our son and best friends from Poland, but I missed city life and its excitement.
After moving to a bigger apartment and then a townhouse, we settled in our present home in Virginia. It is a single-family house with cathedral ceilings that gives us a lot of space (especially vertically) and a dramatic look. I like the fact that it is contemporary—different from typical Virginia Colonial houses.
Inside, filling many drawers, lay my letters written to Marcel from Poland during our two-year separation and his letters to me, full of longing to be together. I am proud of a display in a beautiful cabinet: china with a platinum rim and delicate silver from North Vietnam, which was a gift from my parents. During my time in this house, I welcomed my two grandchildren, worked as a pharmacist, and—after more than 35 years—retired to enjoy all the activities nearby.
I was always known as a person who would rather be outside of the house than in it, but during the latest virus outbreak, I rediscovered the beauty and practicality of my house where I continue to live a good life. I hope to stay here for many years to come.
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