I've found my people and my home—August 8, 1973

rugpiucio 8d 1973 m.

My dearest Jim—

I miss you. Receiving your letters reinforces that a thousandfold, and also brings the frustration of going back much closer. Damn it—I don't want to. And I do want you. It doesn't matter, anyway, I'm leaving in less than two weeks.

It worries me, I don't know whether my letters are any good for you whatsoever . . . so much of me has gone into them, love, both in terms of time and emotion, no matter how badly written they may be.

So. It is one day later now, I've been sick in bed all day and I'm feeling fine. . . a shower, a cleaning the room orgy and fourteen hours of sleep later. I've lost a day, I suppose. But then I could not have gone on as before. . .By the way, I went camping with about a dozen of my family this weekend, learned how to find food and prepare it . . . sang by a campfire in the late evening with a fine mist in the air. It was a fine, fine experience. I wish—and this is not only an old line but also an honest sentiment—that you had been there. I've finally met my sister's daughter, her husband, their child, all of them were there. Stasys is an integral part of the group as am I. It was a happy time, I spent the afternoon mushroom hunting, the evening swimming in a small river, the night watching clouds disappear. Like Neringa, only Neringa is a poor imitation. . .

Yesterday there was an excursion to Kaunas. We saw a gallery of stained glass and sculpture—interesting, some of it was really excellent, some of it was utter shit. For some reason, sculpture seems to touch me emotionally much more strongly than most other art forms—I may love the thing or despise it, but there is always something. I am constantly amazed at the amount of hate that burns within me, waiting . . . I've been writing a lot of poetry about waiting.
I also saw Ciurlionio galerija—an experience that will stay with me, seeing it for the first time, although I hope to be there again and again. There was a guided tour, as always, through the homes and by the churches of some of our commonly famous writers . . . and three free hours to visit all of my relatives in Kaunas. Bread and salt and cognac—Love and pain and bitterness—my father's sister—She looks much like him but is small, she was an agronomist. More, but this is not the place.

By the way, if any of the times are confusing, it's not an error.

Thank you for your letters. I have received three up to now. They come very sporadically, through very many dirty hands, but they come, and they are good. In fact, they are almost essential for me to remain as myself. Thank you, love.

Don't worry about our parting, or about our meeting—these are not essential things. The essential ones, I think, we both are sure of. Much has changed in me and much will not become clear until I leave. I have now more purpose in me than I had thought possible, more of everything. More hate, more love, more grief, more joy. I've found my people and my home. Although I'm missing my first home nevertheless, and you—in a thousand different ways I am with you each and every day and night, even when I am completely here. I don't yet know myself when I am coming back, I will probably see you in Boston . . . until our meeting, be well, be happy, know that I have been with you throughout, know that I love you.

Pretty moon tonight . . . . for you, it is midday.

When you sleep, sleep well. Yours,

Vaiva

Back to the Vilnius photos

There are a few more photos of Vaiva's first visit to Lithuania, and two more letters to enter.Vaiva with her sister Silvija, brother-in-law Alfonsas and their sons.

The woman in green is Vilija, Vaiva's niece, who would later spend summers in Durham while Vaiva was in Vilnius. Her husband is on the left. The nextletter refers to this meeting.

Change of email address

I got quite a few postings sent to jbgust.myvaiva@blogger.com in December and January, but none more recently. Unfortunately, about six weeks ago that email address was captured by spammers, and I get half a dozen spams or more every day now. They show up as draft posts to the blog.

Accordingly, I've ended the old email address and replaced it with jbgust.andvaiva@blogger.com. If you have photos or some other thought you'd like to post, you can send it there.

More Putnam ruminations

The first time I visited Putnam was in the late 1970s, I think, when I went with Vaiva and her family to the opening or dedication of a new building for the convent. It's a pilgrimage to get there, an hour and a half drive from New Haven. I did not realize then the significance that the place would have for me.

A couple years later Vaiva and I attended a couple's retreat in Putnam, an overnight program for young Lithuanian newlyweds.

But the main contact with the place was the annual Lithuanian Day picnic, at which the Neringa campers would perform traditional Lithuanian folk dances. That would include our children. The Day would attract hundreds of people, a great many of our Lithuanian acquaintances. The grounds are always lovely, trees loom over the path to the outdoor stations of the cross like nature's own cathedral. I would always walk through the cemetery and visit the castle with the children.

I thought of all of this after I spoke with Fr. Zygas in Putnam on Saturday. There was a light drizzle, but still I walked the familiar paths again. And as I did, I felt Vaiva's spirit very strongly.

We talked about whether she should be buried in Putnam, so I could easily visit her grave. I decided against that path. Vilnius needs her more. She is present in Putnam even so.

I wept all the drive home.

Next day, as I was mowing, the following came up, randomly and appropriately, on my iPod:

I'll be seeing you in all the old familiar places
That this heart of mine embraces all day through
In that small cafe, the park across the way
The children's carousel, the chestnut trees, the wishing well

I'll be seeing you in every lovely summer's day
In everything that's light and gay
I'll always think of you that way
I'll find you in the mornin' sun
And when the night is new
I'll be looking at the moon
But I'll be seeing you

Old photos from Putnam

On the grounds of the Immaculate Conception Convent in Putnam there is a wonderful cemetery, and in the woods behind the graveyard is a "castle" built by Fr. Yla. It's just one room, done as a reminder of the castles of medieval Lithuania. For the Lithuanian Day picnic, held each year in August. the castle is opened to the public.

These photos are from 1995. Vaiva was in Lithuania with a.p.p.l.e., so her niece Vilija came to live with us in Durham and to go to Camp Neringa in Vermont with the children. This photo shows the entire castle. Sirvydas, Lokys and Liepa are sitting on the roof, Vaiva's aunt Lijole is walking into the door.

A close-up of the children on the roof. Liepa and Lokys are 10, Sirvydas is 8.

Here's the group. The boys are not happy, for some reason.

Putnam prayers

Responding to this note, I attended the 7:30 am mass yesterday in Putnam. They have a lovely chapel, and hearing the mass entirely in Lithuanian brought me back to the happy days in New Haven, when Vaiva and I were members of St. Casimir's parish, where we were married and our children baptized.

Links for Sisters of the Immaculate Conception: Wikipedia entry; home page; the grounds.

Here's a photo of the chapel, published on their web site:



The nuns and Fr. Arvydas Zygas, who said the mass, graciously invited me for breakfast after mass. Many of them remember Vaiva well, some remember her from the early days when Camp Neringa was on the convent grounds, rather than in Brattleboro. I ate with them, and talked with Fr. Zygas for more than an hour afterward. He wanted to help me with my grief, but there is no help for that.

Fr. Zygas met Vaiva at a Lithuanian summer culteral retreat in 1972, when he was 14 and she was 18. This would be the summer before her first trip to Lithuania, documented in the letters below. He still remembers his long talks with her, but their paths crossed only a few times after that. He did follow her public career.

I also spoke with Fr. Zygas for about an hour from Vaiva's hospital room last December, as she lay dying. He told me how to arrange for her to get Extreme Unction from an on-call priest, which I did. This was a great blessing, because many people later asked if we had been able to do that. I believed it's what Vaiva wanted. She was quite religious, though not fanatic or public about it. She had a bible at her bedside, and she turned to frequently.

The Vilnius mini-camping trip

These photos seem to be from the mini-camping trip that Vaiva refers to in the letter below.

Alfonsas is on the left, Silvija is in the middle. I suspect that Evaldas took the photo.

God help me if I should forget a single moment—July 27, 1973

1973 m. liepos 27 d.

My dearest Jim—

Forgive the handwriting—I am becoming used to writing in script. It seems forever since the last letter, but I have no concrete idea of how long it has been . . . So much happens each day. And I cannot tell you anything that matters, I must keep it within. God help me if I should forget a single moment. In any case—I spent most of the weekend with my relatives, intensely packed days, the most intense of my life (not excluding Rush Week). I saw an incredible amount, in them and with them, and on Sunday we went on a mini-camping trip (within Vilnius) where I found my first chance to write since coming here. It seems that a thousand songs should pour forth at the first opportunity—but no. One half-finished poem. Still, I am pleased, I can still catch something, it means . . .

My relatives are really enough, as far as being with people goes . . . as for the rest, no murmurs of the heart. I miss you badly, I have your letter here with me, it really helps sometimes. There are moments when it seems that here is the only place in the world. God knows.

The courses are helpful in my—what do you call it—enunciation. The rules of grammar—that is not the way for me to gain a practical command of the language. That only comes from talking to people, and I'm trying to do quite a bit of that. Jesus, it's half gone. I am so scared, Jim, I don't want to face MIT or Sigma Nu or the USA. Each person has their own battle.

They are showing us a lot of nice factories around here. Silk thread, 70% export. Interesting questions, oh Jim I need you. It's cold here, really cold for a summer. But I cannot criticize the weather, for all of the weather is beautiful when one is at home—and I am at home.

I'm really tired, seriously exhausted, there are no free minutes anywhere. A hot bath, or even warm water, would be so fine. [A sentence from this letter has been removed at the request of Aras Vebra.] Jim, I would like to pour out my heart, but I don't think I could even if I were free to. When am I going to sort it all out, to take it apart and put it back together? In poetry, in the end? This is probably the last letter . . . I don't know if they are reaching you, touching you, and I am only beginning to realize my situation. I will see you soon, after you see this, my love.

I'm trying hard to live, and I'm well, and I love you.

Good dreams, dearest.

Vaiva

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone

Lokys and I have been watching American Idol this season. In the final performance, Kris Allen (who would go on to win) did an excellent job with a song that has special meaning to me, Ain't no sunshine when she's gone.

I gave Vaiva an iPod nano as a Christmas present in 2006, and on the back is engraved "Vaiva: Ain't no sunshine when she's gone. . ." Among the performances I loaded on the iPod was Bobby "Blue" Bland performing that song. (This performance by Bill Withers is comparable.) At that time, Vaiva still was alternating, a month in Vilnius and a month in Durham, so my maximum sunshine was six months of each year.

Here is Vaiva opening the present.

She was surprised by the gift, but hasn't seen the engraving yet. Our tree is in the background, and the kisielius and aguono pienas are still on the dining room table.

Here are the lyrics:

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone.
It's not warm when she's away.
Ain't no sunshine when she's gone
And she's always gone too long anytime she goes away.

Wonder this time where she's gone,
Wonder if she's gone to stay
Ain't no sunshine when she's gone
And this house just ain't no home anytime she goes away.

And I know, I know, I know, I know, I know,
I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know,
I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know,
I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know

Hey, I ought to leave the young thing alone,
But ain't no sunshine when she's gone, only darkness everyday.
Ain't no sunshine when she's gone,
And this house just ain't no home anytime she goes away.

Anytime she goes away.
Anytime she goes away.
Anytime she goes away.
Anytime she goes away.

Unknown Kaunas monument

There are several photos of Vaiva at this monument,
including one where her head is bowed, resting on the stone gate frame.
Unfortunately, Liepa and I didn't recognize it.

Picnic in Durham, June 13, 2009

MyVaiva blog readers, you are invited to a picnic in Durham on Saturday, June 13. Time yet to be determined. BYOB.

For several years (about 10?) we celebrated the Feast of St. John with a picnic and bonfire in Durham. St. John's night is the shortest night of the year, much shorter in Lithuania than it is here, and so they celebrate it. My very first St. John's night celebration was in Vilnius in 1980, when Vaiva and I were with a tour group of civil engineers and urban planners. I think that the celebration was only marginally legal (an expression of Lithuanian nationalism, a no-no in the USSR of the 1980s).

I'm not promoting this picnic as widely as our past ones. I hope to have a bonfire, but the town ordinance now prohibits fires after dark. This picnic is not for St. John's, of course, it is the six-month anniversary of Vaiva's death.

I'm putting the date up now so you can plan for it if you are interested. Details will follow, suggestions are welcome. You don't need to RSVP, though it would be helpful for planning purposes.

I have about four separate "families" here—July 17, 1973

July 17, 1973

My dearest,

I miss you very badly. I was thinking of telegrams and telegraphs and similar things this afternoon. My love . . .

Ah, I'm feeling quite a bit better right now, 11:40 pm, slightly and healthily drunk. I had dinner with Audre's relatives and they are really nice, her uncle especially . . .

It seems as though these six weeks are running like sand through my fingers. I won't want to go back, I know, although I miss you seriously and painfully. America seems almost as far away as Lithuania once did. Though it is still impossible to believe I am here, there are flashes of understanding and appreciation of how incredible this is, but most of my living is a superficial, day-to-day experience. But . . . my sister Silvute had to keep lending me her handkerchief, now I have learned to carry my own. Many, many tears.

My God, this is incredible. While I attempt to write you this letter, I am talking to the current sweetheart of Sigma Chi at McGill University. It's hilarious—she's Lithuanian, at the courses here, and kind of neat. Totally different from me—painted toenails, false eyelashes, we're discussing fraternity—she noticed my rushbook. Incredible. [Vaiva would be Rush Chairman for the fraternity at MIT the following September. —Jim]

July 18

I've had a wonderful, wonderful day. I went water skiing, and singing and being happy, of course not what I was supposed to be doing. My relatives and their friends are really good at making me happy. I feel in love with all of them, as they obviously without boundary love me. I have about four separate "families" here, and I spend a great deal of time with them. I don't sleep—from what could I rob the time—my classes, friends, brothers and sisters, or letters home? Or sleep? I am getting along on 4-5 hours a night, less than at MIT.

July 19

I'm sorry, my love, the days run away from me. I wasn't in particularly good shape to write last night, as you can probably tell. It was a truly wonderful day, but I was truly seriously drunk, more than I ever have been at home—except once. And—what can I say—it was good. The song-singing especially—fragments of songs run through my mind continually now, perhaps I will yet learn to sing. That, and being among people I can trust, people that will laugh and cry with me without hypocrisy or shame. Yesterday I saw Lithuania, the Lithuania of our parents and their parents, for the first time. Audre and I held on to each other and wept, and spoke with a very old man and wept, and then we sang. Jesus. I don't know how to tell you—I really don't—we sang songs they no longer sing here and have "forgotten" while we have preserved them as in a glass case at home. But here they come alive. I had begun to understand my love for the culture, the nation. Yesterday I learned my love for the land. I am going to return a pretty growed-up person, my love . . .

O Dieve, Dieve, Dievuleli, I love this place so much, more than I ever realized I could. Jim . . . I hope you are well and happy, and I am sorry if my letters are just run-on sentences about myself. I can barely manage a letter to you—this was written at least six separate times and believe me, love, it is not for lack of desire—I simply cannot manage, there are times that I would like to throw a shoe at anything that moves, I would like to spend more time alone. Or with you.

The water has been freezing for several days—I think your going to get back a hardier, healthier Vaiva, if I don't turn to drink. No fear—there is too much to live for. . .

I love you, I love the people here, I love the better part of the world. The rest I hate with a fury you've never seen. But . . . ah well.

Sleep well tonight, my love,

Vaiva

Context

In addition to the background for these letters from Vaiva mentioned here and here, I thought I should note that at that time, in 1973, telephone calls between Lithuania and the U.S. were effectively forbidden. Letters were the only form of communication (and they were being read by the KGB). That's why Vaiva's letters seem at times like journal entries.

Even when I made my first trip to Lithuania with Vaiva in June 1980, international calling was restricted. Vaiva and I went to a "telephone building" across the park from our hotel, where she ordered a phone call from a clerk behind a teller's window. We waited until her name was called, and then she was allowed to go to an assigned telephone booth. I think she prepaid for some number of minutes, 5 or 10, and she called her parents in New Haven, to let them know we were OK. We assumed the KGB was listening to the call—after all, they were not shy about tailing us.

After Lithuanian independence we could talk on the phone when we were separated by the ocean, and we did. But the result is that I don't have the kind of written record for the 1990s that I have of this earlier period.

. . . the most moving day of my life—July 15, 1973

Sunday, July 15

My dearest Jim,

I have not written for several days for two reasons: a genuine exhaustion and lack of time, and fear. I cannot write what I must write, what must be expressed or my mind will stop functioning entirely. I want so badly to tell you exactly what I have been doing, what and whom I have seen and how, and without telling you what has happened, how can I tell you what I think and feel about it? I cannot, and I feel like a fool, all the more so because my sorrows and frustrations are comparatively nothing. . .

When did I last write, in the middle of the week sometime, yes? Since then I've had a lecture on the national environment, (i.e. geology, biology) and one on attempts to publish the 15? volume dictionary. Both of these, they must have been on Friday because I remember them best, were genuinely inspirational. They have brought back the buffaloes, not American buffaloes but Polish ones (stumbras) and the man was pretty enthusiastic about it. He also spoke of pollution control, although apparently he did not tell us everything, from conversations about it with my scientist relatives. But . . . It's not all that bad yet and the local people (Lithuanians) are very seriously concerned about it, perhaps things are changing . . .

The second lecture was given by the man who is primarily responsible for the huge dictionary getting published. His enthusiasm for the Lithuanian language was incredible, I've never seen so great a professional joy in my life. He gave us his home telephone in case of us wanting to acquire any books (finding a specific book is often impossible in the city—all of the copies are bought as soon as they are off the press, or sooner). He was apparently a student in the times before of our great men such as Salys, who he mentioned—Salys died in Cleveland? last year. I really, really liked this man. I'm getting pretty good at recognizing that which is genuine from that which is not, and this man was obviously neither insulting nor injuring, a man after my own heart, so to speak.

My own heart—this evening on Friday was spent with my brother and his family and other relatives kept coming and going, apparently simply to catch a glimpse of me. Old photograph albums . . . I saw quite a bit more, my brother has traveled quite a bit in the USSR because of his scientific abilities.

And then I went home early, which means before dawn, to sleep for the trip to Kaunas about which I can tell you absolutely nothing except that it may have been the most moving day of my life. Unfortunately I felt very ill in the morning and could not go with the excursion. It is forbidden for me to go outside of city limits without the excursion, so I can tell you nothing of what they would have shown me. Kaunas is a place to see much, you know, my father's sister married to his closest friend, just returned from Siberia. His name is Leonas Raciunas, the composer's brother, he is apparently a man without equal on the face of the earth, he is—he lives in the house where my father lived, he cried when he knew I was here, he loves me and my father very deeply, and I have quite a few relatives in that direction, and I love him very, very much, and all of them . . .

I am making a terrible mess of this. I'm sorry—I want you to know everything that happens to me. I try, but it's impossible, it comes out as something neither you nor anyone else will understand. Subtleness is not one of my strong points, especially as I am seriously forgetting English, and good riddance. Now there's a fine English expression.

Oh, my very dear Jim, you seem much farther away than on the other side of the world. It's frightening. I need some contact with you very badly, although throughout my trip I feel my trust for you very strongly. That trust—it is nothing, it is theoretical, I need a gentle word, a hand on my shoulder, not a love and trust as far away as the moon. Although Alfonsas (whose brother was a priest before he died and is a very saintly sort of man) tells me he can see New Haven reflected in the fullness of the moon. I cannot see you in the moon, Jim, although sometimes I can see you by my side. Perhaps I should write more about the weather. I wonder whether you receive these letters—Or the scenery—it is very different here, but perhaps another letter, you would like that? I wonder whether I will see you again sometimes—no, that's not true, please don't worry.

With much, much love,

Vaiva

A note from Putnam

We are pleased to inform you that the deceased

Vaiva Gust

has been enrolled as a Perpetual Member of the Sisters of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Holy Mass for the repose of the soul of our Perpetual Member will be celebrated in the convent chapel on

May 23, 2009, 7:30 am

The Sisters will also offer their prayers for our Perpetual Member on that day.

We remember our benefactors in our daily prayers. On special occasions during the year Novenas are held and Holy Mass is offered for them. Every Friday we offer the Stations of the Cross for our Perpetual Members.

May our Lord grant our Perpetual Member Eternal Rest and happiness in His presence!

The Sisters of the Immaculate Conception

of the Blessed Virgin Mary

Sister H. Bernadette

Provincial superior

Outdoor photo

On the left is Vaiva's brother Valdas,
then Leonas, then Vaiva's sister Silvija,
then of course Vaiva. I don't know the rest.

More from the Kaunas meeting

With Leonas Raciunas. I don't know what they are looking at.

Ready for dinner, the woman to Vaiva's right
is Teresa, I believe, her father's sister.

What I'm listening to now

I was mowing the field with the iPod shuffle set to randomize, and first I got Janis Joplin singing "Me and Bobby McGee" (I couldn't find a decent link):

Freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose
Nothin', don't mean nothin' hon' if it ain't free, no no
And, feelin' good was easy, Lord, when he sang the blues
You know, feelin' good was good enough for me
Good enough for me and my Bobby Mcgee

From the Kentucky coal mine
To the California sun
There Bobby shared the secrets of my soul
Through all kinds of weather
Through everything we done
Yeah, Bobby baby kept me from the cold world

One day up near Salinas, Lord
I let him slip away
He's lookin' for that home, and I hope he finds it
But, I'd trade all of my tomorrows
For one single yesterday
To be holdin' Bobby's body next to mine

Freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose
Nothin', and that's all that Bobby left me, yeah
But, feelin' good was easy, Lord, when he sang the blues
Hey, feelin' good was good enough for me, Mm-hmm
Good enough for me and my Bobby Mcgee

Next up, Louis Armstrong, St. James Infirmary Blues:

I went down to St. James infirmary
Saw my baby there
She was stretched out on a long white table
So cold...so sweet...so fair

Let her go...let her go...god bless her
Wherever she may be
She can look this wide world over
But she'll never find a sweet man like me

When I die, bury me in straight lace shoes
I wanna a boxback coat and a stetson hat
Put a twenty dollar gold

piece on my watch chain
So the boys'll know that I died standing fat

I am worried about causing trouble—July 10, 1973

Tuesday, July 10, 1973

My love—

Vilnius is incredible. I really do love this city, although it is only 45% Lithuanian. They say it is becoming more so. I want it to be "mine," in a sense, to know and understand as well as love it. The University, the buildings, (many remaining from 14th 15th centuries) is right. It is as it should be. But much is not as it should be, and I am worried about causing trouble, internal or external.

I wrote that I would like to have free time . . . I won't. Seven days a week, 8 to 6, I will usually have an "activity" to go to. Many, many of them will be worthwhile, excursions and meetings with prominent people and "documentary films."

But that is not the important thing, although it's very, very important. The important thing is that I met my brother Valdas yesterday (I've already written you about Silvute, Evelina? I'm sorry if I haven't, I'm still really disoriented.) Valdas looks like my father might have, forty years ago. . .

I had dinner with Silvija and Alfonsas and their two sons, clearly a special dinner arranged for me. They had Jello, which is priceless here, a gift from my father in a package. It was a very fine evening, to be followed by many similar ones, I expect. The two sons are shy and won't talk to me. They (the children) have pictures of Julie (Eisenhower) on the walls. They think like me but more so, we listened to the radio together, they are good people.

Wednesday, 6:00 AM

I didn't write yesterday because too much happened, and now I don't remember it. I came home at seven and have slept til now. I don't "not remember," there is just too much conflicting stuff to write down or even keep in my head. Yesterday . . . I didn't see any relatives, there wasn't time. There were two lectures in the morning— 9-12:30, one of which was seriously upsetting, I remember. During the lunch break a friend (Audre) and I sat in a park, fed the pigeons, watched the people watching us as though we were crazy, to give bread to birds. And in the afternoon there was a tour of the old University (they're building a new one), which was truly fine because they showed us the University Church (15 - - ) [note, Vaiva's Vilnius funeral was held in that church —Jim] to be a museum and we had an enthusiastic guide. I'll tell you the details . . . And we came home and my friends went somewhere or other and I went to sleep. No clothes hangers in this city.

And now I write in the afternoon, and again it is useless because I can tell you how I feel now, but I can't tell you how I felt ten minutes ago or 10 hours ago and it is hopeless to try to explain, although I feel an amazing need to . . .

This is not the place for someone with easily expressed emotions, or shown, and mine are, as you well know. In the space of this day I've felt joy and nostalgia and gaiety and peace and sorrow and anger and bitterness and that feeling which I feel when I am beyond those last three. It's not one that you have ever seen. There were 3 lectures today and eight "documentary films"—the day lasted from 7 to 7, more or less, and now it is 10. They brought an old woman to sing for us, and that was very, very beautiful. The speaker that was respectable (by me) this morning gave me a gift—I went up to him and spoke to him after class and he wrote in his book on folklore essentially "Until another meeting very soon" and gave it to me, which means very much to me and generally more than it may seem.

The films are not writable aboutable in this letter. And after it all ended, Julius (my father's sister's husband's brother's son) took me home for dinner and a ride on his morocycle, which was really fantastic and the first time in my life. He's like a brother . . .

Write to me, love. Yours,

Vaiva

Vaiva meets her Kaunas relatives

Note the picture on the wall behind Vaiva in both photos. It depicts the chemical engineering laboratory that Vaiva's father helped to design, architected by Landsbergis, where he worked until he was taken by the Nazis. Made of inlaid wood, this treasure was carefully preserved by the family through the 40s, 50s, 60s and 70s as a memorial of Vaiva's father. It hangs in Durham now.

The man standing is Leonas Raciunas. I believe he was the husband of Vaiva's father's sister, Teresa.

"I will repay"—July 8, 1973

Sunday, July 8, 1973

Dearest Jim—

I am in Vilnius, this is the first day here, my thoughts and emotions are as jumbled as ever in my life. It is hard to believe that I am on the other side of the world, and even harder to believe that I am here.

Moscow was awful, I hated it, it was supposed to make me feel gay and carefree (the largest hotel in Europe?). . . .

Today I swam in the Neris, I wonder if you can conceive of the significance of that to me. I've met my sister and her husband and about ten other relatives who appear to be ready to give me all, everything that they possess. They are pretty wonderful people—trying incredibly hard to make this pleasant for me.

There are red signs everywhere, with exclamation marks, printed in Lithuanian and Russian. The signs are very enthusiastic about the friendship of nations—you will excuse me, I will stop here, I am about to go too far. The courses begin tomorrow morning at nine and last until one each day. That's not bad, a good amount of free time, and much to see and ponder. I'll spend part of it walking . . .

When I live in Boston, I don't miss muy parents much. I certainly don't actively long for them. Yet here, as I was sitting in the garden of my father's other daughter, I suddenly realized how wrong, how stupid it is for me to be here alone. I know now what genuine sorrow and grief feel like—I could almost see my father sitting there, among his children and grandchildren, it was a tangible image. I cried but it meant nothing, this is a sorrow beyond sorrow, and anger beyond anger. I have never felt an emotion of this strength before, towards anyone or anything.

Where does the quote come from—oh—Anna Karenina, "I will repay." For this, no one could repay. I have no words, nothing to hold onto, there is no point to feeling anything.

Now I know how much I love my father. It boggles the mind.

I will write very soon dearest,

Vaiva

Five months

Vaiva died five months ago today.

Vaiva's family background

For those who are unfamiliar with Vaiva's family, here's a very short summary. The context is needed for the letters to make sense.

Vaiva's father, Juozas Vebra, was an army colonel in Lithuania between the wars, running a chemical engineering lab in Kaunas. (He was the science advisor during the building of the lab, the architect was Landsbergis, whose son would, fifty years later, help lead the drive for Lithuanian independence. Small world.) Juozas was married with two sons and a daughter.

He was arrested by the Nazis for his anti-Nazi activity, though he never was told specifically what his crime was. (He was, needless to say, anti-Nazi.) Sentenced to die, he was liberated by the Allies just in time, days before the sentence was to be carried out.

By this time, waves of Lithuanians had left their homeland, fleeing the invading Russians. Juozas' family did not leave, however. They stayed behind, but he could not return to them, because he faced the certainty of death or deportation at the hands of the communists.

Accordingly, he went to a displaced persons camp, I believe in Germany, where he found the Zidonis family, whom I believe he had known before the war as well. He and Genevieve joined forces then, but I'm not certain when they married. They traveled together and lived in France for a while, later they emigrated to the U.S. and settled in New Haven.

Vaiva was born in 1954.

Although he could not go back, Jouzas did not abandon his first family. He sent packages of stuff to them for years--canned goods, clothing, coffee, things that would be hard to obtain or that they could use for trade. This amounted to many tens of thousands of dollars worth of material support over the years. I imagine that in the 1950s he hoped to return one day, but this hope must have dimmed over the years.

Vaiva participated, accompanying her father when he went to arrange for another package. (I went along once also.) Therefore, she considered his first family to be her own family, she considered her half-siblings to be her own brothers and sister, though she had never met them, didn't know if she would ever be able to meet them. What a strange circumstance for growing up.

Against this backdrop, Vaiva's first visit to Lithuania, her first chance to meet the rest of her family, must have been as terrifying as it was potentially exhilarating.

On a more serious note

I have more photos to post from our student days, but for a week or so I'm going to shift to something that will be more difficult to do, but perhaps more important.

I'm going to post about Vaiva's first trip to Lithuania.

Vaiva was accepted to a program for visiting college students in Vilnius for six weeks in the summer of 1973, when she was 19 years old. It was her first trip abroad. Vaiva had finished two years at MIT, and she was already emerging as a force in the Lithuanian-American Community. For example, in June 1973, before this trip, Vaiva was asked to make a speech comemorating the June deportations and the self-immolation of Romas Kalanta the year before, protesting the lack of Lithuanian freedom and independence.

I don't have that speech. But I do have the letters that Vaiva sent to me from Lithuania, and I have some photographs of her from that trip. I will post excerpts from the letters, and Liepa has helped me identify some of the people in the photos.

Keep in mind that some self-censorship was necessary. The Russians opened the incoming and outgoing mail—we marked our envelopes, and they did not try to hide their espionage. Rather, they flaunted it, to be the more intimidating. But they did let the letters through.

Vaiva's final Mother's Day

A light Mother's Day lunch with me and Lokys. The tongs
on the table suggest I grilled fish outdoors.

Followed by more work in the garden, continuing what was
started at Easter (here are the 2006 post-Easter garden photos).

You can see that we were very ambitious last year.

Oddly, I don't have many photos from the last ten years from Mother's Day, because Vaiva was typically in Lithuania in May. Prior Mother's Day posts are here, here and here.

The orchard is in bloom

This photo is taken from the same spot as this one from last December

(the top one in the set). You can see the rooftop

at the upper edge of the frame.

Fragrances

The wisteria was Vaiva's favorite, they had them in New Haven.

This one she transplanted just a few years ago, to get it away from the house.

The rhododendron has a potent scent also.

Liepa's drawing for Vaiva

For Mother's Day.

My letter to Epsilon Theta

30 April 2009, Durham CT

Dear Epsilon Thetans:

It is with infinite sadness that I report to you the death of your alumna, my wife, Vaiva R. Vebra, on December 13, 2008. She pledged ET of SN in September 1971, became a member in January 1972, and served as Rush Chairman in September 1973, a notably successful Rush that quite literally saved the fraternity. Vaiva resided at 259 St. Paul St. until she graduated with a BS in biology in 1975.

You will find additional biographical details at myvaiva.blogspot.com. At the time of her final illness, Vaiva was serving as counselor for education matters to the President of Lithuania, Valdas Adamkus. Earlier she was a Deputy Minister of Education in Lithuania, and still earlier she founded a private voluntary organization to promote the cause of education reform in newly independent Lithuania, after the fall of the U.S.S.R. The American Professional Partnership for Lithuanian Education (a.p.p.l.e.) provided in-service teacher training to fully one third of Lithuania’s educators over roughly 15 years.

I should have written to you earlier, but I’m having a difficult time of it. I joined ET of SN in 1970, the first year of “coedity.” I was the pledge trainer for the critical pledge class of 1971, the rush chairman for the disastrous rush of September 1972, Commander for 1973, the spring when the Dean’s office almost shut us down. (I think that they did shut us down, prospectively, but then changed their minds.) One consequence of that dreadful spring was that I did not graduate with my class in 1974, but instead graduated with a double major in 1975.

Many of the photos on your website from this period were taken by Vaiva or by me. I’ve posted some additional photos on the blog, labeled “MIT student days.”

Vaiva and I were among the first couples from SN of ET to marry, I don’t know if you keep track of that information. I also expect we were among the first to have children, that is, children whose parents are both ETers.

Enclosed please find the fulfillment of a $1,000 pledge I made on our behalf some years ago, when you were undertaking renovations.

Sincerely,

James B. Gust ‘75

ET of SN 500

Back on the mountain

I believe that this photo is from the ski trip to Pleasant Mountain, so it goes with this one.

A moment of history

Scott Fulton and Joe Sacco are reviewing drafts of a document restating the purpose and operation of our "co-ed fraternity." This would be during their freshman year (also Vaiva's freshman year, they were in the same pledge class), probably spring 1972, which was the second year of "co-ed living." The document was prepared in anticipation of attending Sigma Nu's "Grand Chapter" meeting in the summer of 1972, where we would futilely ask for a waiver to allow initiation of our women members.

When the document was completed, it was bound with a yellow cover. Hence, it came to known as the "yellow bomb."

This document was both idealistic and naive. It glossed over certain inevitable facts of life that are inherent to men and women living together, and so it boomeranged upon us during the 1972-73 academic year.

In the back right corner sits Safwan Bengelloun. I accompanied Safwan for a one-month visit to his family in Morocco in January 1972.

More studying

Brenda Hankins writes

Such sad news.

I arrived at ET in '78 - later than you and Vaiva, but you two were legendary and did still show up there on occasion. So I have always noticed mention of Vaiva's Lithuanian work. The passion was evident even from this distance on the West Coast. If we all strove to make such an impact, the world would be a much better place.

While you would have no reason to remember me, I shall never forget you two as I spent a memorable Thanksgiving (along with Phil Dordai and Steve Hazelrig) in 1979 at your N.Hudson cabin. Tho' you had not previously met me, I was graciously welcomed. The food, all from an issue of Gourmet (a magazine with which I was unfamiliar at the time), was inspirational especially in contrast to the primitive surroundings. Two of those recipes became part of my annual repertoire thus prompting me to regularly think of you.

Wishing you the very best moving forward,

Brenda (Hankins) Troisi
btroisi@spiritone.com

Meredith Warshaw writes

I'm so sorry to learn of your loss. Your blog is a wonderful remembrance of Vaiva. Looking through the College Days section reminded me of meeting both of you when I was a pledge, when you were new grads and seemed oh so grown-up and dignified to this freshman. I remember what an impression Vaiva made on me - serious and vibrant.

You are both in my thoughts.

Best,

Meredith
mwarshaw@uniquelygifted.org

At the beach

Some people build sand castles at the beach.
MIT students build replicas of the Institute,

Vaiva with Scott Fulton, and just behind is Larry Hardy.
I'm not certain why this photo looks more aged than the rest,
it might have been an effect Vaiva created deliberately.

Vaiva really loved the ocean.

September 11

On my other blog I have an Article of the Day bit going. I'll choose a controversial article and see if it generates any debate. I'm cross-posting today's entry on this blog:

Don't start nothing, won't be nothing, by Gregory Kane, is an excellent article about the morality of war and torture. I'm surprised I haven't read anything by him before: he's brief, to the point, and very convincing.

I remember where I was too, of course, even though I wasn't stateside. I'd just begun my Erasmus year at Vilnius University and I was at home in Riese. My uncle Alfonasas ran over to the house and yelled to turn on the television, that America was at war. I ran upstairs to get Sarunas Krukonis, who was living with me at the time. For at least a half hour he didn't believe it: he was utterly convinced that I must be playing a practical joke on him, or else that it's all a hoax.

My mother was in a windowless room with blocked cell phone reception in Brussels, I believe: the doors on this conference were locked until the delegates could hammer out a new strategy on education. Imagine her worry when she walked back into the world and was flooded with ambiguous sympathetic text messages from Lithuania: she thought I was dead.

The thought that she had to think that for even ten seconds before getting touch with me brings tears to my eyes. Where can I sign up to waterboard terrorists myself?

What I'm listening to now

I switched my Pandora station to Leonard Cohen, and the first song that come up was There ain't no cure for love.

I loved you for a long, long time
I know this love is real,

It don't matter how it all went wrong

That don't change the way I feel.

And I can't believe that time's
Gonna heal this wound that I'm speaking of
There ain't no cure,
There ain't no cure,
There ain't no cure for love.

I'm aching for you, baby
I can't pretend I'm not
I need to see you naked
In your body, and your thought
I've got you like a habit
And I'll never get enough
There ain't no cure,
There ain't no cure,
There ain't no cure for love
. . .

I walked into this empty church, I had no place else to go
When the sweetest voice I ever heard, whispered to my soul
I don't need to be forgiven for loving you so much
Its written in the scriptures
Its written there in blood
I even heard the angels declare it from above
There ain't no cure,
There ain't no cure,
There ain't no cure for love

Another fraternity photo

Kim Roddis, who sent the post below, unknown date.

Thinking of Vaiva

Jim:

I was just reading your blog. I think of Vaiva, but have not contacted you before about her. My condolences. Some thoughts below.

Kim

Remembering Vaiva I think of maturity, quiet, strength, gentleness, her hospitality and generosity. I remember noting at one visit to her home that she had a variety of home baked pies to offer drop in guests. My favorite cookbook, The Silver Palate, is one I got because Vaiva recommended it. I once planted bulbs with her. Although Lindsey and I did not keep in touch with Vaiva and Jim after we moved to the Midwest, I followed news of her activities at a distance, always admiring her. Looking at Jim’s blog, the photos of Vaiva’s flowers growing and blooming resonate.

Kim Roddis

--  --  ******************************************************  W. M. Kim Roddis, Ph.D., P.E., F.ASCE Professor and Chair  Civil and Environmental Engineering Department  School of Engineering and Applied Science  The George Washington University  801 22nd Street NW  Washington, DC 20052 USA   Phone: (202) 994-4901  Fax:(202) 994-0127  Email:roddis@gwu.edu  WEB:www.cee.seas.gwu.edu  ****************************************************** 

Jack Kemp, RIP

Here's the Jack Kemp obit in the New York Times. Note the prominent mention of the Kemp-Roth tax cuts, which were probably Kemp's most important legacy. Less widely known, Kemp was a friend of Lithuania.

Vaiva and I traveled to a demonstration for Lithuania and the Baltic States in Washington DC in the late 1970s. If I can find a photo I'll post it. The point of the demonstration was to raise the visibility of the Baltic States in U.S. foreign policy. Remember, Carter was President, so the U.S. was in a global retreat at the time. I think it was held near the Lincoln Memorial, and was attended by a few hundred people. It seems to me we got t-shirts of the occasion, but I can't quite remember.

Here's the important point. Four Washington politicians addressed us. Two offered generic platitudes, one spent most of his time worrying about Soviet Jews. Only one politician came prepared for the audience he was speaking to. This singular politician gave a "stem-winder" of a speech that hit every hot button the crowd had, hit every nail right on the head. Only one politician had done the homework.

That man was Jack Kemp.

Kemp put a remarkable effort into understanding and synthesizing the hopes and dreams of the Lithuanian, Latvian and Estonian diaspora. This was not a big voting block, but Kemp took it very seriously, and gave it a full measure of respect.

The only other politician who ever did that, in my experience, was Ronald Reagan.

So, Jack Kemp, thank you, and rest in peace.

One of my favorites

Vaiva is writing something.
She had blue stuffed dog, it is by her left arm.

New flower photos

Vaiva planned the garden so that there would be
new blossoms all spring and summer.

Rhododendron begins to bloom

Flowering trees

In the Diane Arbus mood

At the time I was an MIT student, 1970 - 1975, the head of the photography department was Minor White. He was a celebrity, I never had him as a professor, but I saw him in the department from time to time. I had three semesters of photography, and they were the most interesting classes I had.

Alas, I don't recall who taught the first two courses I took, but the third semester was run by Tod Papageorge. He was a rising star in the world of art photography, one who seemed bored to be teaching us, we could tell that MIT was a just short-term paying gig for him. In 1979, he moved on to head the photography department at Yale. Still, I feel that I owe him a debt, as he introduced me to Eugene Atget, Garry Winogrand, and especially Diane Arbus, among many others, and I learned something about how to think about photographs and art from him.

I found this 2007 interview with Papageorge, and it all comes rushing back. The way he describes and analyzes photographs, quite distinctve, quite unchanged.

Below is the only photograph I took for which Professor Papageorge indicated any approval.

Snowshoeing in the Adirondacks

I was taking photography courses at MIT, as was Vaiva. Some of the photos, such as these two, are prints that one of us made in the photo lab, so the edges are irregular.

I mentioned earlier that Vaiva's father had a hunting cabin in the Adirondacks, in North Hudson, which is north of Schroon Lake yet south of Lake Placid. A few of us from the fraternity would go there to camp, even in the winter. There was no heat in the house, or running water, but there was electricity, a fireplace and a wood stove.

In these two photos, Vaiva is putting on and then using her snowshoes for a walk in the pine forest.

Vaiva on her desk

With Bill Dynan and Joe Sacco.