Skip to content
Call Us Today! 212-533-4646 | MON-FRI 12PM - 4PM (EST)
DONATE
SUBSCRIBE
Search for:
About Us
UNWLA 100
Publications
FAQ
Annual Report 2023
Annual Report 2022
Annual Report 2021
Initiatives
Advocate
Educate
Cultivate
Care
News
Newsletters
Sign Up For Our Newsletter
Join UNWLA
Become a Member
Volunteer With Us
Donate to UNWLA
Members Portal
Calendar
Shop to Support Ukraine
Search for:
Print
Print Page
Download
Download Page
Download Right Page
Open
1
2-3
4-5
6-7
8-9
10-11
12-13
14-15
16-17
18-19
20-21
22-23
24-25
26-27
28-29
30-31
32-33
34-35
36-37
38-39
40
ren, so I blew my budget. It was a black and gold lame sheath, well made and comfortable lined. It looked rich and elegant and made me feel that I had finally arrived and had taken my place in the gown circle. From that time on, it did not matter what I wore. Of course, one would not want to wear the same gown two years in a row or, when a new gown was bought, face the horror of having a duplicate dancing around the floor. This, of course, did happen occasionally. In that case, the two ladies caught in the unpleasant predi cament would make sure not to see each other. For me it became a game — the secret stores, special fabric outlets, and my own originality and creativity as my dressmaking skills improved. Jewelry also played a big role in the gown scheme. One year I made my gown two days before the Ball out of some black “ шмата” which I dressed up with an American Indian necklace. The first year my husband was president of the Phi ladelphia chapter of the Ukrainian Engineers Society, I again officiated at the debutante presentation and pinned the red sashes on the debutantes. Polyester was the fabric of the decade and my gown was quite regal — a 100% pure polyester creation with long sleeves and a high neck — a real pressure cooker. I was well done by the end of the evening. The second time my husband was president of the Philadelphia chapter, we hosted another Ukrainian En gineers’ Society chapter president and his wife. It was at Plast camp many months later that the wife of the other chapter president approached my husband, expecting to be recognized and remembered. My poor embar rassed husband tried hard to remember the lady. She noticed my husband’s dilemma and offered to refresh his memory by describing her ball gown in absolute detail. “ Now I remember,” said my husband, “ it was beautiful,” later confessing to me that he did not re member what I had worn that night let alone what had been worn by a person he had just met that evening. It brought to mind a song sung in Lviv in my mother’s youth about engineers who are great gentlemen who don’t notice beautiful eyes, a pretty face or a good fig ure, but are only interested in making money. This year, as for almost forty years now, there will be an Engineers’ Ball in the old European carnival tradi tion. Having attended most them in the past, a break is in order and I am not going. It may be selfish of me not to volunteer for duty at the buffet table, but I’ll be having a ball of my own — baby-sitting my grandchildren. But my gown is going to the Engineers’ Ball as usual. In the best style of a Victorian novel, my favorite pice of memorabilia, the black and gold lame sheath that I wore so many years ago, shall be removed from a modern day trunk and be proudly worn by my own daughter. ELVINA STRANCE U K R A I N I A N L E G A C Y BY SUSAN M. DEAN During the period when my husband and I were building our cabin in the Andirondack Mountains, my father was busy in our hometown of Amsterdam, NY, with a project of his own: the renovation of St. Nicholas Ukrainian Catholic church, that white wooden building of my early childhood Sundays. Being a second generation Ukrainian-American I have lost most of the traditions from the homeland, but I recall the sound of the deep Slavic harmonies from the men’s and women’s pews and, downstairs in the musty church hall, the canvas mural brought here from Ukraine decades ago showing the traditional thatched houses and dirt roads of the countryside. And I’ll never forget the smell and taste of the pyrohy, my family’s favorite ethnic food at holiday gatherings. My father, William Hrycaj, has never been known to pass by a motorist in need, or a pedestrian, or a plate of pyrohy for that matter. He gives generously of his time, money, humor, and considerable skills. When it was decided that his church was in need of major refurbish ing, Dad volunteered to become heavily involved in doing a complete restoration to the authentic Byzantine roots. It was a job in itself to strip away the layers of non-traditional changes which had been made over the years, but with the blossoming awareness and pride in the Ukrainian cultural tradition, the small wooden church was transformed into a bright sanctuary of devotion. One of the most beautiful features is the authentic Greek iconography which adorns the walls and ceiling and the tall panels in front of the altar. It took two years to complete the church project, but it was finished just in time for a momentous occas- sion, the baptism of the first grandson to bear our family name. The birth of little Andrew wasn’t even anticipated when the restoration began, but this happy christening day was a more-than-equitable reward for the labor of love my father had undertaken with no ulterior motive. Within each of us that day was an awareness of, and respect for, my grandfather and all the other immi grants who had come to this country from Eastern Europe during World War I to make a better life for themselves and for us of the future generations, a wish that was fulfilled. So the Christening was celebrated in homage to past generations and in anticipation of future ones, and it is to both of them that I dedicate this tribute. 18 ’НАШЕ ЖИТТЯ”, СІЧЕНЬ 1995 Видання C оюзу Українок A мерики - перевидано в електронному форматі в 2012 році . A рхів C У A - Ню Йорк , Н . Й . C Ш A.
Page load link
Go to Top
1 
2-3 
4-5 
6-7 
8-9 
10-11 
12-13 
14-15 
16-17 
18-19 
20-21 
22-23 
24-25 
26-27 
28-29 
30-31 
32-33 
34-35 
36-37 
38-39 
40 
