This post is about a lot of things: my Polish grandfather, myself, and some way-cool cards–the pot at the end of a rainbow while searching for a bit of my heritage.
“Old Gypsy Fortune Cards” aka my Polish cards, c. 1920’s-1940’s; reproduction by L. Forestell
There’s no one to ask about my Polish grandfather. He died when I was 6 months old (so it’s safe to say I am not him, reincarnated). He’s a mystery to me–I don’t even have a name by which to call him. We called my grandmother “Busia,” but I never learned the Polish word for grandfather, since he wasn’t there to be called. I usually think of him as “mom’s father” or “my Polish grandfather.” His name was Jan. Continue reading
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