He was part of the Greatest Generation. The generation that fought the Second World War, in the hope there would never be another. Members of this generation, those who returned from the horrors of war, were often quiet about what they’d witnessed. Perhaps they were just too busy catching up with their lives back home. Most probably, though, they didn’t want to bring the trauma they’d seen back to the surface. This may have been the case with Gary‘s uncle…
I was really hoping to find out “turnabout is fair play” was coined by William Shakespeare. Alas, its earliest application may be lost to history, but Abraham Lincoln was an early user of the phrase, so we’ll keep it in play with today’s story. As you may recall, my father‘s entire life of home ownership was tortured by squirrels (see Nuts to you! from 2019). He and Mom loved to feed the birds in their many backyards, from Massachusetts to…
My sister-in-law Linda sent me this video from Sunday. It was the final song of the service at their church that morning in Waterville, Maine. That’s her husband, my oldest brother Harry, singing this painful song: The Streets of Minneapolis, music and lyrics by Bruce Springsteen Note: Click the “cc” at the top-right (on your phone) or bottom (on your desktop) of the video screen to see the lyrics. I asked Harry if he was okay with me sharing the…
Mary Catherine Schmitt turned 16 on March 31, 1936. Her teacher sent her this note. A birthday greeting in verse, actually: Mary Catherine was a top student at Jasper High School here in Indiana. She was having a good month. Just a few weeks earlier, her name appeared twice in the local newspaper, showing her place in the sophomore class’s rankings. Here’s the Honor Roll announcement: Mary Catherine was the fourth born of the ten Schmitt children. Her father, Henry,…
The new year started out with a light-hearted book, but quickly turned to darker tales. Book 1: Pippi Longstocking by Astrid Lindgren I have such a clear recollection of Mom bringing Pippi Longstocking home to me from the library back in the mid-1960s. I’m pretty sure I read it in a day. When the Folio Society offered this volume with such delightful illustrations, it was time for a re-read. Pippi’s energy and strength are unmatched. And that hair! The re-read?…
Mom would call this Meatloaf Weather. Frigidly cold, snowy, with no end in sight. Here’s her recipe, which she sent to me shortly after Gary and I married. I don’t know the story behind the name – could it be her mother’s recipe? Or, more probably, it’s a combination of recipes from friends, relatives, Dad’s feedback, and the back of the oatmeal container. Momma’s Meatloaf 1 lb. (or more) ground beef3/4 to 1 cup quick oatsonion (optional)2 eggs, beaten2 Tablespoons…
In addition to being a City Mouse / Country Mouse couple, Farmer Gary and I are also polar opposites when it comes to air temperature. “Is it cold in here?” I ask him from October to May. His reply is always a slight shrug and “it feels fine to me.” Well. The other day, I decided to press the issue. With my chilled foot hovering over a floor vent, I declared the air coming through was not in the least…
A newspaper clip from 1896 caught my eye a while back: a grave robbery, it seems, might have taken a relative to parts unknown. So far, I haven’t found a direct connection on our family tree. But the surname is Pooler (Dad’s paternal grandmother’s maiden name) and the location is Waterville, Maine. We’ve got a lot of kin from that part of the Pine Tree State. Augustus was born in Waterville on January 15, 1849, the son of Ephraim and…
Who’s afraid of poetry? Good question! Mom asked this half a century ago. The answers may well be the same today: Four Tell Who’s afraid of poetry?Not I, said the football player.I don’t understand it, butthe words are kind of pretty. Who’s afraid of poetry?Not I, said the busy housewife.I even write some. It’s not goodbut it makes me feel good. Who’s afraid of poetry?Not I, said the dilettante.I never was. But I don’t like this sharing;it’s getting to be…
Yesterday morning, what may well have been a murmuration of starlings came racing through our back woods like a blinding blizzard. I just happened to be perched in my comfy chair in the sunroom, with a wide-eyed panoramic view of the squall. It was wild! Farmer Gary later explained to me the birds are rather frantic this time of year, looking for food and a bit of warmth. They flew in from the northwest and crowded in the tree branches…