Penka and Steve Voydanoff had a little grocery store in Pontiac on Elizabeth Lake Road in the 1950s, 60s and 70s. They lived in an apartment above the store. They had immigrated from Ohrid, Macedonia with their daughter, Christina. Christina was about age eight when they made the journey to their new home. They purchased the store thinking this would be ideal to live above their business. From a young age, I recall making the drive several times a year to visit my Godparents. I knew them as Numko and Numka - the Macedonian words for Godfather and Godmother. From the time I remember making the visits, their daughter was married with her own family. Numko and Numka were probably twenty years or so older than my Mom and Dad. Since my Dad’s parents were deceased, it seemed as if he respected this older couple as his would his own parents. It would not be until I was in my fifties that I would understand how their path crossed my my Dad’s …
My Dad would park the car at the side of the building. The entrance to their upstairs apartment was at the back. We took the stairs that had a set of steps with a landing and then a turn for the last set. The walls of the entry way were a pretty pale yellow, right up to a hallway that went the length of the apartment. To the right was a little sitting room with a patterned couch covered with crocheted or knittied afghans, end tables lamps and a sewing machine. Beyond that area, continuing to the right was a sunroom. Numka had bright colored furniture in there. To the left was the bulk of the living area. The hall way with a pretty long runner of a rug went by the yellow and red kitchen. The sink was on the opposite wall with a large window above it. They had one of those small tables everyone seemed to have in the early sixties, sort of laminate top with red vinyl chairs with stainless steel. To the right of the kitchen, on the other side of the hallway and runner were two bedroom and a bathroom and then beyond the kitchen was large open area with a dining table and the area beyond the dining table was the living room complete with a television in a cabinet, also like everyone had at the time. Numko had a nice recliner chair, most men had “their chair.” The couch and matching chair in that room was a plush fabric, that reminded me of some sort of industrial navy velvet with trim in the same fabric in a mauve color. Numka had crocheted with fine yarn what looked like white doilies for the back of that couch and chair.
I recall walking up those stairs smelling the scent of her cinnamon bread. Their place always smelled like cinnamon bread baking. When we got there, she would serve Vernors in these little crystal glasses or a set with reindeer on them during the Christmas season. After the drinks, she would bring out a platters with her delicious cinnamon bread with walnuts in the cinnamon/sugar mixture, feta cheese, olives and peppers. Sometime she had sliced ham on the platters. We would have a nice visit, sometimes we sat at the dining table and sometimes on the blue and light mauve velvet seating area with the food on their pretty coffee table. Numka always wore a dress and pretty apron when we visited. There were photos framed or hung all over their home from their life in “the old country” their travels and their ‘daughter/niece and her family. Even as a small child, it was fun to walk around looking for any new photos on display. They had a large portrait hanging next to the television of Christina and her husband from their wedding. As we left, there was always at least one loaf of cinnamon bread to go, wrapped in foil. The car ride home had the scent of Numka’s cinnamon bread. We enjoyed every morsel of her bread those first few days. My Mom would toast if for us for breakfast or for an after school snacks…
About two years ago, I received a text from my son’s girlfriend who suggested I watch the movie, “The Family Stone.” The text prompted a phone call and Claire recommended the movie because of the kitchen. Her comment was that the kitchen in the movie reminded her of our kitchen. At the time I was recovering from knee surgery and a quiet evening was a perfect time to view a good movie.I have mentioned the story line in a previous post, it’s about a family with several grown children who come home for Christmas and the drama surrounding the introduction to one of the son’s girlfriend, soon to be fiancée’. Diane Keaton and Craig T. Nelson portray the parents and homeowners of the lovely old Victorian Vermont farmhouse. Claire was right, it did look a little like ours, in the same color, a lovely yellow bustling ‘snapshot’ of mementos and memories of a family…
The Victorian Home in the movie, “The Family Stone, and the memorable kitchen in the movie.
Maybe it’s because the cold temperatures had us home bound the past couple of weeks, prompting the preparation of tasty treats, hearty meals and lots of cinnamon bread baking but as I sat by the fire last night my mind went to how the places we live our lives and all of our high and lows give us comfort from the storms of life. Whether we think we have the skill or not, we each create a place for ourselves and our families that gives us a comfortable place to rest our bodies, nourish our tummies and come together with those we love. Most likely it’s the gal, the wife or the mother, but not always and not only. My husband has a favorite down throw that he likes to cover his legs with when he’s watching football in his den. Often that is thrown over his favorite chair. Think of the place where you are most likely to put your feet up to read, the lamp there, the coaster for your coffee. think of the favorite pillow on your couch or the ottoman or footstool where you put your feet up to watch your favorite show or favorite sporting event. Consider the places where your family photos are or where you display your children or grandchildren’s art work. Where do you display your Christmas cards? I recall Numka stringing them up like garland in their family room. It was fun to see her cards each Christmas. When we had our first apartment as a married couple, our cards up as a garland and to this day, our Christmas cards are displayed into March. As I look around our kitchen I see other influences from Numka from the yellow kitchen to baking cinnamon bread to the apron always hanging on the wall…
Scenes from the kitchen that holds many memories …
Maybe your kids are little and you are in your first home and it’s just starting to take shape, or maybe the kids are grown and it’s just you. Or maybe your kids are slowly leaving the nest, the graduation photos are up and the memories of family trips and children growing up are abound everywhere you look. Our homes are a biography of our lives we live…
Penka and Steve Voydanoff would occasionally go to my grandfather’s little restaurant in Pontiac. They were from the same country. My grandfather, Jovan, had come to America, like may men his age with the plan to earn enough money to bring his family. He took one trip over before loosing contact with my grandmother, Yana, when the war broke out. She fled their small village with her father-in-law, Ponte and her two small boys. One daughter got sick and died and her older son died in the war. Her father-law died and gave her a small bag of money to support herself and her boys, my Dad and Uncle David. She eventually got sick and died, leaving her two preteen sons mother-less. Kind relatives and friends helped raise the boys. My grandfather did not now what happened to his family.
During one of the breakfasts that Penka and Steve had at my grandfather’s little diner, they told him that they were taking trip to the old country. He gave Penka and Steve an old photo of my grandmother, my dad and uncle. “Please find my boys.”
They did. And that began the process of my grandfather making legal steps toward getting his sons the America. He had had a sense that something had happened to my grandmother and they confirmed that she had died. I believe that he had known about his father, Ponte, his son and daughter’ deaths. My grandfather would send boxes of Levis canned goods and Crisco-they ate Crisco on bread. Eventually my uncle came and then about a year later my Dad made the journey. At the five year anniversary, my Dad became a citizen and I suppose the same for my uncle. I recall my Dad proudly pulling out his citizenship papers, in a leather envelope when we would drive to Windsor, upon exiting the tunnel, as we visited his cousins, occasionally, as we visited Numka and Numka…That was the reason the Voydanoffs were my godparents. They were the bridge that brought my grandfather to his sons, and eventually brought them to this country. Had they not looked for Jovan’s sons, I would not be here…
From holidays to birthdays to graduations, gatherings with friends and just ordinary dinners and days ❤️
The stories, the photos, the homes, the mementos and memories are the fabric of our lives. I challenge you this weekend, as you may be indoors to find refuge from the cold, take a look around at the fabric of YOUR life; dream in your kitchen or reminisce by the fire of the times of your life that have taken place all around you. Remember those you love, the good times, maybe some sad or funny times. Let those memories warm your heart and make you smile…
It could make for a Great Day.
