One of these days, I’m going to figure out the story behind my maiden name: Vayo. Stepping back three generations on Dad‘s side, one family spelled their surname in three ways: Veilleux, Vayo, and Veayo. Just now, I double-checked all of great-grandpa George Vayo‘s siblings and parents and there is, frankly, no rhyme or reason that I can find. Several family members – including his parents – changed their surnames from Veilleux to Vayo, while a few of George’s siblings…
October’s books were packed with Halloween vibes this year. Despite my dear mother’s DNA, I remain a scaredy cat when it comes to evil witches and things that go bump in the night. Nevertheless, I made it through some classic works without having to hide under the covers in fear of bad dreams. (Full disclosure: I’m still not in any hurry to watch any of the film versions.) Book 1: The Witches by Roald Dahl Witches are everywhere, according to…
Oh, how I miss talking politics with Dad! At least once a day, I’ll hear or read a news story and immediately think to call Dad – or at least text him the link for later discussion. Here’s an example: Did you hear about the Benedictine nuns in Erie, Pennsylvania, accused of voter fraud this week? They’re not taking it lying down. Dad would have gotten such a kick out of reading about their leader’s barely contained furor. When I…
This poem of Mom’s caught my eye the other day, just as Farmer Gary and I were reminiscing about the bittersweet work that goes into clearing out a long-loved house and finding another family who will make it home. In 2002, Dad was executor for Mom’s uncle Pip’s estate. Her cousins and even some of their children gathered to help clear out the home that for decades served as a gathering place for four generations of family. May and Pip…
September was a month of reading three novels from the 1800s and two from the 1900s. When, in the more contempory book, the characters were on social media and making video calls, it was quite a shock. But the biggest shock of all was to discover that Agatha Christie mystery on my shelf … wasn’t. Book 1: What Katy Did by Susan Coolidge Here’s another children’s book I somehow missed as a child. This novel is set in the 1860s…
This clock is not an unusual one. Or is it? I remember it sitting on a shelf along with books in my parents’ library. Mom and Dad both passed away in that room, which seemed fitting, given their love of words, books, poetry, and plays. It’s a pretty clock. An anniversary clock. I assumed it was a family heirloom, thinking it was from Mom’s aunt May’s home. But no one else remembers that. At first, the clock made its new…
Have you ever gotten that weird feeling that you were being watched? Turns out, it wasn’t just a feeling. Farmer Gary and I were enjoying our morning tête-à-tête in the sunroom, when he froze – sort of the way a bloodhound does – and intently squinted out one of the east-looking windows. “There’s a squirrel in the tree. He is surveilling us.” Sure enough: Gary calls him Sylvester, after a pet squirrel his cousin Renus had as a child. I…
We’ve all heard “don’t judge a book by its cover.” This month, I learned not to judge a book by its title. Or a perceived typo. It’s been a month of reading confusion. Book 1: A Circle in the Fire and Other Stories by Flannery O’Connor Flannery O’Connor is one heck of an Irish name, so naturally I looked forward to his tales from my ancestors’ land. Ah, but there the confusion lies: Flannery was a woman. She was a…
These days, social media is full of parents bemoaning the bittersweet moment of driving away from colleges and universities that just six months ago they were bragging about joyously. This time, though, they leave without their child. I remember that acute pain. Walking by a bedroom that no longer vibrates with electric guitar or bass riffs rattling the door knob. “Oh, how I’ll miss this,” I thought more than once. I still do. No one asking for a clean shirt….
Yesterday evening, it was time to choose which book to read next. I select at least a few fancy Folio Society volumes each month, as the collection was lovingly built by my parents. As I open each new (to me) classic, I look for hints that Mom or Dad (or both) may have read it years ago. That just makes it more special. They were both tidy souls and so there aren’t any smudges or tears. But once in a…