Middle brother Dave recently came upon a poem our Grandma Cassidy mailed to him in 1975. Titled “To Joan,” she’d written this verse to our mother. Since this is World Poetry Day and Grandma’s birthday, we must share: Not that I would ever critique someone’s handwriting (sorry, Grandma), but in case you need a bit of help … “To Joan” Our Poet Your words of JoyThat your message bringsGives my heart a lift as it softly sings. Sadness and Strife…
Did your yearbook include a “class history”? I’ll have to go back and check mine from high school, but I don’t think we had one. Dad wrote the class history for his college yearbook when he was a Senior. Although the work is uncredited, he mentioned it in an autobiography he wrote in 1954. The Class History is an interesting compilation of facts and figures, sports and dances, from the earliest days until graduation. As you can see in this…
I thought of Matt the other day. We were great friends in college – both performers in the Singing Hoosiers (think Glee, but in college). I can hear his booming bass voice to this day. Just this past Saturday, there was a note online that it was actor Michael Caine’s 93rd birthday. There was a story about how he and Quincy Jones, working together on The Italian Job movie, suddenly realized they were born on the same day – making…
All of us who grew up in households headed by children of the Great Depression are no doubt familiar with the proverb waste not want not. It basically decrees that you should make do with what you have. And so it is with Amish names. Over these past 500 or so blog posts, I’ve mentioned more than once that Farmer Gary is enamored with the Amish. It was only today, though, while recording this story, that I tied together that…
The news in the registered letter Dad opened on February 7, 1951, was something no college senior should have to receive. That same day, Dad wrote to his future wife: My Darling, I got an awful shock this morning. I got a registered mail letter from dad. He’s lost his job. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I read it the first time. For a while I couldn’t move or think. Golly, you never realize the blessing of security until…
While digging around recently in our greeting-card drawer, I came across several colorful choices. I flipped them over to check the artist’s name and realized the cards must have been a long-ago gift from Mom and Dad, as the illustrator was their “neighbor” Jacques Pépin. They weren’t borrow-a-cup-of-sugar neighbors (although both parties would surely have been generous with their sucre); they lived about a mile apart. My parents were delighted to stop for a casual chat with Chef when they…
Middle brother Dave recently came across a batch of photos he took long ago. I asked him if he’d like to put together a blog post about them; happily, he said yes. Here is his story: The Brownie camera, an inexpensive point-and-shoot, democratized photography in the mid-century USA. Mom and Dad gave me my Brownie Fiesta on either Christmas 1965 or my ninth birthday the following March. These photos all date from 1966 and are of places in and around…
Have you read this book by my second-favorite storyteller, Jean Shepherd? In God We Trust … All Others Pay Cash was the inspiration for the cult-favorite holiday flick A Christmas Story. Jean Shepherd, by the way, grew up in Indiana. And his father worked for the Borden Milk Company. Today’s story is from my favorite storyteller, though, who also grew up in Indiana. Farmer Gary tells this tale with a twinkle in his eye, as he was spared direct involvement…
Our siblings and cousins are checking in this afternoon, asking each other how the blizzard is treating them. Here in southern Indiana, we did not have snow in the forecast. Yet, yesterday and today, a few flakes managed to blow around. Very few. Connecticut and New York are getting hit hard, with heavy snow and high winds. True to form, Harry’s wife, Linda, good-naturedly grumbled about only getting a few inches in Maine. This doesn’t exactly meet the “historic proportions”…
Decades ago – before we were even engaged – I told Farmer Gary if I ever wrote a memoir, the title would be Kowzerout! We’d been dating for a few months, so Gary invited me to the farm for Sunday dinner. It felt like something out of a Laura Ingalls Wilder story, as his mom, Rita, put on a nice spread. After we finished dinner, Rita shooed us into the living room while she washed the dishes. (She refused my…