Carnegie still has about 20 different churches, the Polish National Catholic Church being one of them. The first Saturday of every October they host a festival which has mostly to do with food, lots of it, made by the good ladies of the Auxiliary from scratch, from ancient recipes, with no shortcuts.
The big social hall is filled with tables of people eating and drinking and speaking English and Polish, which I rarely hear any more and can barely speak, though I can usually understand it if it’s spoken slowly. Everything is red and white, the colors of Poland. I greeted Father Rick and his wife Karen, priest of the church, and waved at friends.
There was an older man with a really bad combover who was playing a little electronic keyboard and singing out-of-date songs, but singing them well, a little one-man band.
I met my brother there; he is mildly disabled and a little slow after a traumatic brain injury 10 years ago, but he gets along well under many watching eyes. He’d gotten there before me and highly recommended the potato pancakes. I took his suggestion.