November 28, 2008
1959: A Rescued Life. Kritsa (Κριτσά, Κρήτη) Crete.
One of a number of documents that I rescued from the house prior to renovation. She was the previous occupant and her name was Maria Klondza. (Μαρία Κλώντζα) It is from one of her passports, issued in 1959. I have various parts of her life that I will share with you.
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Trying to decipher what precedes “pour un seul voyage et retour” (haunting enough in itself).
I’m squinting, but I can’t see. 1959 is the year she first used this passport (or the year it was granted)?
I love reconstructing lives. Sometimes I want to bring the people back to life. Then, I think: No. That is too cruel.
It was issued in 1959, there is a renewal in 1968 and a stamp for that year showing that she went to Corfu and to Porto. They clipped another photo in for 1968 so may post that as well if there is an interest.
I also have another passport issued in 1986. The many faces of Maria Klondza
Corfu en route to Porto? Reckon she went by boat, then a brief bus or train hop, yes? Ah, the days before air travel was universal.
Come to think, my first flight was in 1970. Dallas to Monterey (México). It felt pretty dramatic. By 1973 I was an old hand, sitting in the rear — smoking! imagine! — section of the plane and offering lights to my fellow smokers in what I believed to be a sophisticated fashion.
Hmmnh. No. Dallas to Brownsville or Matamoros or some border town, thence to Monterey.
Matamoros. “Kill Moors.” Yep.
I remember in 1976, an ill fated flight from Germany. That was my first flight.
My first flight was on a very large kite made from bamboo poles and bed sheets. I was conscripted for service because I was five and only weighed about 35 lbs. Things went very well until the kite, as kites will, went over in a nose dive. I would have been killed but for landing on the inclined berm of a railroad trestle. Compacted vertebra fracture and a broken arm.
Okay I lied. True story but not me in the cockpit. Another kid of similar description. I had nothing to do with it. Only heard about it while launching rockets with my friend’s valiant pet mouse, “Tit,” making several flights to the edge of space. On his last flight–again, I had nothing to do with that either, I was called in to supper early–he might have benefited from Lucy’s mouse armor.
Oh, dear. Poor Tit. Poor, poor Tit.
Come to think, my first flight was in my dreams.
I can remember as a small child throwing myself from objects convinced I could fly….not sure if the height was the problem or if flight was out of the question. I’m sure even then I sensed the danger in throwing myself from high places…even with a sheet!
I remember a dream of me in the schoolyard. A strong wind was blowing. I found if I threw myself into the face of the wind I could lift into the air. I was terrified at first, then it became fun. When I woke up, I was so disappointed it wasn’t true.
I guess Rick that is the unfortunate side to dreams, we wake to find a world potentially full of disappointments and restrictions.
I recall two other dreams whereby my disappointment upon waking was bitter:
I dreamed the bottom drawer of the chest was full, brimming, with coloring books of all sorts and hundreds of crayons.
I dreamed I was a virtuoso organist playing a massive pipe organ.
I like it that a post featuring the passport of a woman now dead has prompted thoughts of flight, escape, transcendence, waking and sleeping, dreams and regrets.
[...] far as I can tell this is Maria Klondza. (Μαρία Κλώντζα) as a young [...]
@found but not unknown – this is where the first seed of flight is sown
Hi I live in Perth Western Australia. My Grandfather was from Kritsa. He had a half sister who married a Klontza. I must dig out the tree and see if she is on it
Hi, Manny – I am in Kritsa as we speak – -Klontza is something of a common name here – -from what I am told something like Smith or Jones! Still, there may be a connection. Let me know if I may hold any of the pieces.
What a coincidence. Manny (and Phil), if both of you agree, I’ll be happy to broker an exchange of email addresses.
Sheila, I am more than happy for mine to be passed on to Manny.