Born to Mile (pronounced "MEE-leh") and Simica (pronounced "TSIM-ee-tsah")Maravich Mamula on 2 June 1890, Marija (pronounced "MAHR-ee-ah") was the first of six daughters and 2 sons. She was a quiet and obedient daughter, who enjoyed attending church services at the local monastery. Maybe she liked it so much because it was a break from housework and tending to her siblings, for Marija lost her mother when she was 12 years old and her father did not remarry immediately.
When she was 15, Mile sent his daughter to a trade school in the Italian town of Fiume, where she learned to sew beautifully. Mile reasoned that a woman never knew how long her husband might live, so she should have a skill with which to support herself and her children. This was wise and forward-looking thinking, for the area was controlled by the Ottoman Empire of Turkey, and raids were not unfamiliar.
At 17 years of age, on 3 May 1907, Marija married Marko Ivanovich, a merchant's assistant from Rakovan. She came to America aboard the Saxonia out of Fiume, Italy with her two daughters and infant son to join Marko, who had gone before to pave the way and become established. Their children included an infant son who died in childbirth in 1908, Danica, 1909, Natalia, 1911, Mile, 1913 and Militza, 1920.
Marija worked like a mule in the family meat market and could lift and carry a hind quarter of beef. My mother, aunts and uncle loved her cooking, as did we grandchildren, for our "Baka" (Serbian for "Grandmother") prepared delicious food and was an incredible baker. Everything was made from scratch, including noodles for soups, and she didn't think a cake recipe was worth considering unless it called for at least six eggs and a 1/2 pound of butter. We still dream of her krafni (raised doughnuts), which were light as air. I wonder whether she learned to cook at the trade school or whether she was "just a natural." Unfortunately, nobody thought to ask her while we had her with us.
After her husband died at the end of 1939, Marija kept the meat market going for about a year, then closed up and moved to Los Angeles to be near her children, all of whom had moved there. She got a job immediately at Emerson Junior High School working in the kitchen, where she baked all the rolls and breads and also cooked. I recall when I was in the 7th grade being served by my grandmother in the lunch line and how surprised I was to see her "up front," for she was a worker and a quiet person, not given to much expression. She showed her affection by doing--ironing your clothes or cooking something special, and although she was not emotionally demonstrative, she was very accepting and looked at life on the bright side. I recall when a 5 year old cousin squirted her with the garden hose, she laughed through the drenching and said, "Oh, look, he wants to play with me!"
When I was 13, my grandmother left our house and moved 100 miles north to Santa Barbara to live with my Aunt Militza and her family. Frankly, I believe she was tired of coming home and cooking and cleaning like Cinderella after working from 6 AM to 3 PM at the junior high school. My mother, Danica, had never been one for housework, for she had been encouraged all her life to study (which she did). So, for the most part, my grandmother took over the work of running the house while my mother read books and newspapers. When "Baka" moved to Santa Barbara, housework became more of a shared experience with my Aunt, and my grandmother also worked in my uncle's pharmaceutical laboratory boxing items for shipment and packing the medicines into bottles. All-in-all, I believe she was happier there in Santa Barbara, but she never was one to reveal her feelings, so how could anyone really know?
When she was 87, my grandmother learned that her son, Mile (aka "Mike"), had died the previous year. Nobody had wanted to tell her, as he was her very favorite child, but when he didn't call, she figured it out. She lost her interest in living, and eventually stopped eating. She died of inanition and anorexia due to her year-and-a-half-long state of depression. She was buried in Forest Lawn Memorial Park, Glendale, California, next to her husband, Marko, not far from the gravesite of her second daughter, Natalie Jacobs. When she died, I thought, "May she be making a tray of "krafni" (doughnuts) for God, and may the rest of us benefit from the brownie points thus earned," for she was a very good woman who worked very hard. I hope she is resting peacefully at long last, never having to lift a finger. But that would be my wish, and perhaps not hers, for she never, ever complained.
When she was 15, Mile sent his daughter to a trade school in the Italian town of Fiume, where she learned to sew beautifully. Mile reasoned that a woman never knew how long her husband might live, so she should have a skill with which to support herself and her children. This was wise and forward-looking thinking, for the area was controlled by the Ottoman Empire of Turkey, and raids were not unfamiliar.
At 17 years of age, on 3 May 1907, Marija married Marko Ivanovich, a merchant's assistant from Rakovan. She came to America aboard the Saxonia out of Fiume, Italy with her two daughters and infant son to join Marko, who had gone before to pave the way and become established. Their children included an infant son who died in childbirth in 1908, Danica, 1909, Natalia, 1911, Mile, 1913 and Militza, 1920.
Marija worked like a mule in the family meat market and could lift and carry a hind quarter of beef. My mother, aunts and uncle loved her cooking, as did we grandchildren, for our "Baka" (Serbian for "Grandmother") prepared delicious food and was an incredible baker. Everything was made from scratch, including noodles for soups, and she didn't think a cake recipe was worth considering unless it called for at least six eggs and a 1/2 pound of butter. We still dream of her krafni (raised doughnuts), which were light as air. I wonder whether she learned to cook at the trade school or whether she was "just a natural." Unfortunately, nobody thought to ask her while we had her with us.
After her husband died at the end of 1939, Marija kept the meat market going for about a year, then closed up and moved to Los Angeles to be near her children, all of whom had moved there. She got a job immediately at Emerson Junior High School working in the kitchen, where she baked all the rolls and breads and also cooked. I recall when I was in the 7th grade being served by my grandmother in the lunch line and how surprised I was to see her "up front," for she was a worker and a quiet person, not given to much expression. She showed her affection by doing--ironing your clothes or cooking something special, and although she was not emotionally demonstrative, she was very accepting and looked at life on the bright side. I recall when a 5 year old cousin squirted her with the garden hose, she laughed through the drenching and said, "Oh, look, he wants to play with me!"
When I was 13, my grandmother left our house and moved 100 miles north to Santa Barbara to live with my Aunt Militza and her family. Frankly, I believe she was tired of coming home and cooking and cleaning like Cinderella after working from 6 AM to 3 PM at the junior high school. My mother, Danica, had never been one for housework, for she had been encouraged all her life to study (which she did). So, for the most part, my grandmother took over the work of running the house while my mother read books and newspapers. When "Baka" moved to Santa Barbara, housework became more of a shared experience with my Aunt, and my grandmother also worked in my uncle's pharmaceutical laboratory boxing items for shipment and packing the medicines into bottles. All-in-all, I believe she was happier there in Santa Barbara, but she never was one to reveal her feelings, so how could anyone really know?
When she was 87, my grandmother learned that her son, Mile (aka "Mike"), had died the previous year. Nobody had wanted to tell her, as he was her very favorite child, but when he didn't call, she figured it out. She lost her interest in living, and eventually stopped eating. She died of inanition and anorexia due to her year-and-a-half-long state of depression. She was buried in Forest Lawn Memorial Park, Glendale, California, next to her husband, Marko, not far from the gravesite of her second daughter, Natalie Jacobs. When she died, I thought, "May she be making a tray of "krafni" (doughnuts) for God, and may the rest of us benefit from the brownie points thus earned," for she was a very good woman who worked very hard. I hope she is resting peacefully at long last, never having to lift a finger. But that would be my wish, and perhaps not hers, for she never, ever complained.
Born to Mile (pronounced "MEE-leh") and Simica (pronounced "TSIM-ee-tsah")Maravich Mamula on 2 June 1890, Marija (pronounced "MAHR-ee-ah") was the first of six daughters and 2 sons. She was a quiet and obedient daughter, who enjoyed attending church services at the local monastery. Maybe she liked it so much because it was a break from housework and tending to her siblings, for Marija lost her mother when she was 12 years old and her father did not remarry immediately.
When she was 15, Mile sent his daughter to a trade school in the Italian town of Fiume, where she learned to sew beautifully. Mile reasoned that a woman never knew how long her husband might live, so she should have a skill with which to support herself and her children. This was wise and forward-looking thinking, for the area was controlled by the Ottoman Empire of Turkey, and raids were not unfamiliar.
At 17 years of age, on 3 May 1907, Marija married Marko Ivanovich, a merchant's assistant from Rakovan. She came to America aboard the Saxonia out of Fiume, Italy with her two daughters and infant son to join Marko, who had gone before to pave the way and become established. Their children included an infant son who died in childbirth in 1908, Danica, 1909, Natalia, 1911, Mile, 1913 and Militza, 1920.
Marija worked like a mule in the family meat market and could lift and carry a hind quarter of beef. My mother, aunts and uncle loved her cooking, as did we grandchildren, for our "Baka" (Serbian for "Grandmother") prepared delicious food and was an incredible baker. Everything was made from scratch, including noodles for soups, and she didn't think a cake recipe was worth considering unless it called for at least six eggs and a 1/2 pound of butter. We still dream of her krafni (raised doughnuts), which were light as air. I wonder whether she learned to cook at the trade school or whether she was "just a natural." Unfortunately, nobody thought to ask her while we had her with us.
After her husband died at the end of 1939, Marija kept the meat market going for about a year, then closed up and moved to Los Angeles to be near her children, all of whom had moved there. She got a job immediately at Emerson Junior High School working in the kitchen, where she baked all the rolls and breads and also cooked. I recall when I was in the 7th grade being served by my grandmother in the lunch line and how surprised I was to see her "up front," for she was a worker and a quiet person, not given to much expression. She showed her affection by doing--ironing your clothes or cooking something special, and although she was not emotionally demonstrative, she was very accepting and looked at life on the bright side. I recall when a 5 year old cousin squirted her with the garden hose, she laughed through the drenching and said, "Oh, look, he wants to play with me!"
When I was 13, my grandmother left our house and moved 100 miles north to Santa Barbara to live with my Aunt Militza and her family. Frankly, I believe she was tired of coming home and cooking and cleaning like Cinderella after working from 6 AM to 3 PM at the junior high school. My mother, Danica, had never been one for housework, for she had been encouraged all her life to study (which she did). So, for the most part, my grandmother took over the work of running the house while my mother read books and newspapers. When "Baka" moved to Santa Barbara, housework became more of a shared experience with my Aunt, and my grandmother also worked in my uncle's pharmaceutical laboratory boxing items for shipment and packing the medicines into bottles. All-in-all, I believe she was happier there in Santa Barbara, but she never was one to reveal her feelings, so how could anyone really know?
When she was 87, my grandmother learned that her son, Mile (aka "Mike"), had died the previous year. Nobody had wanted to tell her, as he was her very favorite child, but when he didn't call, she figured it out. She lost her interest in living, and eventually stopped eating. She died of inanition and anorexia due to her year-and-a-half-long state of depression. She was buried in Forest Lawn Memorial Park, Glendale, California, next to her husband, Marko, not far from the gravesite of her second daughter, Natalie Jacobs. When she died, I thought, "May she be making a tray of "krafni" (doughnuts) for God, and may the rest of us benefit from the brownie points thus earned," for she was a very good woman who worked very hard. I hope she is resting peacefully at long last, never having to lift a finger. But that would be my wish, and perhaps not hers, for she never, ever complained.
When she was 15, Mile sent his daughter to a trade school in the Italian town of Fiume, where she learned to sew beautifully. Mile reasoned that a woman never knew how long her husband might live, so she should have a skill with which to support herself and her children. This was wise and forward-looking thinking, for the area was controlled by the Ottoman Empire of Turkey, and raids were not unfamiliar.
At 17 years of age, on 3 May 1907, Marija married Marko Ivanovich, a merchant's assistant from Rakovan. She came to America aboard the Saxonia out of Fiume, Italy with her two daughters and infant son to join Marko, who had gone before to pave the way and become established. Their children included an infant son who died in childbirth in 1908, Danica, 1909, Natalia, 1911, Mile, 1913 and Militza, 1920.
Marija worked like a mule in the family meat market and could lift and carry a hind quarter of beef. My mother, aunts and uncle loved her cooking, as did we grandchildren, for our "Baka" (Serbian for "Grandmother") prepared delicious food and was an incredible baker. Everything was made from scratch, including noodles for soups, and she didn't think a cake recipe was worth considering unless it called for at least six eggs and a 1/2 pound of butter. We still dream of her krafni (raised doughnuts), which were light as air. I wonder whether she learned to cook at the trade school or whether she was "just a natural." Unfortunately, nobody thought to ask her while we had her with us.
After her husband died at the end of 1939, Marija kept the meat market going for about a year, then closed up and moved to Los Angeles to be near her children, all of whom had moved there. She got a job immediately at Emerson Junior High School working in the kitchen, where she baked all the rolls and breads and also cooked. I recall when I was in the 7th grade being served by my grandmother in the lunch line and how surprised I was to see her "up front," for she was a worker and a quiet person, not given to much expression. She showed her affection by doing--ironing your clothes or cooking something special, and although she was not emotionally demonstrative, she was very accepting and looked at life on the bright side. I recall when a 5 year old cousin squirted her with the garden hose, she laughed through the drenching and said, "Oh, look, he wants to play with me!"
When I was 13, my grandmother left our house and moved 100 miles north to Santa Barbara to live with my Aunt Militza and her family. Frankly, I believe she was tired of coming home and cooking and cleaning like Cinderella after working from 6 AM to 3 PM at the junior high school. My mother, Danica, had never been one for housework, for she had been encouraged all her life to study (which she did). So, for the most part, my grandmother took over the work of running the house while my mother read books and newspapers. When "Baka" moved to Santa Barbara, housework became more of a shared experience with my Aunt, and my grandmother also worked in my uncle's pharmaceutical laboratory boxing items for shipment and packing the medicines into bottles. All-in-all, I believe she was happier there in Santa Barbara, but she never was one to reveal her feelings, so how could anyone really know?
When she was 87, my grandmother learned that her son, Mile (aka "Mike"), had died the previous year. Nobody had wanted to tell her, as he was her very favorite child, but when he didn't call, she figured it out. She lost her interest in living, and eventually stopped eating. She died of inanition and anorexia due to her year-and-a-half-long state of depression. She was buried in Forest Lawn Memorial Park, Glendale, California, next to her husband, Marko, not far from the gravesite of her second daughter, Natalie Jacobs. When she died, I thought, "May she be making a tray of "krafni" (doughnuts) for God, and may the rest of us benefit from the brownie points thus earned," for she was a very good woman who worked very hard. I hope she is resting peacefully at long last, never having to lift a finger. But that would be my wish, and perhaps not hers, for she never, ever complained.
