Two lives linked by past, future
In these hot August nights, the 3 a.m. “existentials,” as I call them, often come to visit. They visit as regrets or as longing for deeper connections in this world that seems so disconnected. When the existentials descend upon you in the sleepless night, think of the story I’m about to tell, a story of connection and hope. It might help.
The story begins in 1929 when the mother of Ann Holmberg immigrates to the United States from Czechoslovakia. The mother never learns to read or write English, never drives a car, never writes a check. She works in factories, while her husband toils in a public works job, and she raises three children. Ann grows up to be a teacher and psychologist who marries Harry, a well-educated man who excels in his career as an educator. Ann and Harry live the life the old immigrants dreamed for their children.
Ann, 68, always remained appreciative of her mother’s immigrant past. So when she read my column last October about Valentina Korenovskaya, a new immigrant and artist from Kyrgyzstan, Ann wanted to connect with her. Ann and Harry were building their dream home, building it in the hills between Post Falls and Coeur d’Alene, a home with 180-degree views of trees and city lights, a home for their retirement and for respite from still-busy lives.
Valentina traveled to their house-in-progress last December and drew for the Holmbergs a mural of multicolored grapes flowing from the letter H. A simple piece of artwork, perfect for a wall in a space the Holmbergs call Harry’s Bar.
Friday, Valentina and I visited Country Ranch, the name the Holmbergs have given their now-completed home. Valentina returned to sign her mural. Marianne Steen, who teaches English to new immigrants at the Adult Basic Education Center on North Monroe, drove us all to Country Ranch.
If it weren’t for Marianne, none of the connections would have connected. Valentina and Marianne formed a special bond when Valentina took English from Marianne four years ago. Marianne encouraged Valentina to pursue her art here.
So Valentina drew the alphabet for a project at the ESL center that led to my column that led to Ann and Harry saying, “Please, Valentina, come do some art for us.”
Valentina and her husband live in a small apartment in Browne’s Addition – three rooms, a bathroom, a kitchenette. It was hot with August in there Friday, despite a good fan. Valentina insisted we sit down, sip sweetened tea and eat the pastries she baked for us that morning. We did.
Valentina, 65, wore her best dress and a sheer scarf that covered her gloriously gray hair. When we arrived at Country Ranch, the Holmbergs, an energetic and handsome couple, greeted us all with warm hugs. And then we got the tour. Oh, my. Tall ceilings, wide-open, air-conditioned rooms, vistas right out of the dreams in which you fly over Technicolor landscapes.
“This is very nice place,” Valentina said over and over.
The Holmbergs showed me photos of Valentina working on the mural in the cold of winter, Marianne acting as artist’s helper and translator. And photos of their two visits to Valentina’s apartment.
Valentina cooked the Holmbergs dinners of borscht and stuffed cabbage as her thank you for paying generously for the artwork.
Valentina’s English is not the best and much of our conversation Friday escaped her. She looked a bit uncomfortable, but then, as she mixed her paints, the artist in Valentina emerged.
She turned confident and focused.
She explained her unique signature, the melding of her name with her grown daughter’s name. Valentina’s daughter, her only child, remains in Kyrgyzstan.
Valentina may never see her again.
It’s an “existential” that no sleep will banish.
Valentina posed for photos with Ann. The two women are now connected in hope. Connected by the past, through the memory of Ann’s mother, and connected by the future, through Valentina’s new life here as grateful friend and proud artist.