It’s been challenging to decide whether to include this poem Mom wrote in 1976 in a blog post. It was a turbulent time in the nation, despite the flag-waving Bicentennial Celebration. Current and ongoing news stories about violence against women and the reaction of a wink and a shrug by some provided the nudge I needed to share this: a dialogue on values during a forced entry get out of my houseshe screamed about herself as she was being raped…
What stories will be revealed as I go through this bag of receipts? The clear plastic bag was in among the family archives we brought home from Mom and Dad’s house in 2021. With the initials M&D written on a card in Dad’s handwriting, I expected it to be filled with his parents’ paper memorabilia. It was soon clear Dad labeled the bag to show it contained odds and ends from his long life with Mom. And it was meant…
In this 2004 poem, Mom remembers her youngest child’s return from the hospital as a newborn in 1964 and again from serving overseas in the Marines. Homecomings Soon after you were bornyour Father took your brothers sister berryingyour Grandmother steadied the housefor your homecoming and for the berry pickersthe two of us took off to bed after the admiration partyand the blueberries went into piesa succulent sleep in a hot ovenon a summer afternoon Years later on another summer afternoonwe…
Leo and Minnie Wagner waited a long while for a son. They’d married in 1909 and settled down on a farm a few miles west of Gary’s ancestors here in southern Indiana. Minnie was a Mehling. In our family tree, she is Gary’s first cousin, twice removed. By 1922, Leo and Minnie had five daughters. That July, though, a son was born. Think of the love and care Andrew Matthias must have received from all those sisters! The next year,…
I came across this poem in quite a roundabout way. A few days ago, it occurred to me that I don’t have stress dreams anymore. Really, that “I’ve got a final to take but didn’t even attend any of the classes and can’t find the classroom” sort of dream. Or, “it’s time to go on stage, and I really meant to memorize my lines, but hung around backstage playing cards instead.” Gone. All gone. Seven years ago. What a coincidence;…
What’s that out in the woods? Farmer Gary is so patient with my ignorance of all things nature. “Sumac,” he replied. “It’s a shrub.” The leaves were orange last week. Now they’re red. Mom had something to say about sumac back in 2005: What Red What red returns in Autumnin sumac dogwoods the sugar maples We follow itin hills and hollowsthe ponds reflecting The color calls in days alive and readyin this reign of red ~ joan vayo ~ 25…
It’s that time again: Banned Books Week. Here – in no particular order – are a score of the banned books I’ve read and written about on this blog over the past seven years. A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway As is customary around this house at the end of each month, I checked to see if the book had ever been banned. It makes sense that the Italian fascist state wasn’t crazy about it. But parts of the…
Please don’t think for a second that we’ve run out of family stories. It’s just that Farmer Gary has this “Bubba” story he’s been wanting to tell in the worst way. (You may notice I just set up the old gag Abraham Lincoln used for describing his dancing abilities. “I wanted to dance with Mary in the worst way – and I did.” Although with Gary’s accent, maybe it should be “wurst way”?) This audio clip is a tiny bit…
In a search for Irish ancestors on Dad’s side of the family … … I got sidetracked. After a career of staying on course, working with a focus on specific results, it’s kind of fun to skip around on the various ancestry sites, in search of family stories. Even, that is, if they are stories from other families. Here’s where we are: We have a story from Le Nouvelliste newspaper in Trois-Rivières, Quebec. Dated 30 May 1964, this article is…
As the calendar rolls into the tenth month of the year, the trees in our backyard are just beginning to turn golden and orange. And so, I went looking for a poem from Mom. She wrote this in 1950, early in her junior year at St. Joseph College in Hartford. Ever-Green Follow me, Sunberry,Mine is the rootThat steps into oceansWith one white foot. I hold a moonstone:A boon for the childWho sings in the jungleAnd never grows wild. Here is…