My brother Dave continues to delve into his storage box of childhood memories. Some are delightful, others bring a tear. This one makes me cringe. It’s a poem from the literary annual our high school produced each spring. Either I didn’t give it a title or there wasn’t room for one … so let’s call it “The Terrible Teens.” This is from 1975, my junior year. P.S. I really couldn’t care less about “our team” winning or losing. But it…
It’s weird to think that the town where I got my first driver’s license is now the nation’s top implementer of roundabouts. There’s one of those roundabouts under construction about a dozen miles north of us, causing all sorts of delays. Traffic jams all summer long (one driver fell asleep at the wheel waiting to be flagged through). Back when I was ready for my license, we lived in Carmel, Indiana. No roundabouts then; plenty now. Back in 1974, it…
Farmer Gary and I recently attended what is now, I believe, an annual reunion of cousins on his mom’s side. The two of us gave presentations to the group of 40 or so (mostly) retirees. And no, for some reason I didn’t take photos. But there will be a video. Here’s last year’s: The cousins are the offspring of Mike and Rose Mehling’s progeny. The photo below is from 1924, so Gary’s mom isn’t in it. Rita was born in…
Farmer Gary has been buying and cooking sweet corn like mad these last few weeks of the season. He’s also been complaining about the prices – ranging from four ears for a dollar to a dollar a piece! His shucking and cooking of corn on the cob reminded me of childhood summers. And rhubarb. Mom used to stew it and then top a scoop of vanilla ice cream with it. There was something else she’d make with it, but I…
Grandma Cassidy was one heck of a letter-writer. We may have lived 1,000 miles away from her New Haven kitchen, but she kept us up to date. (Long-distance phone calls were ridiculously expensive back then.) Grandma wrote pages upon pages to my brother Dave in April of 1977. He was a sophomore at Indiana University and, thankfully, saved her correspondence. This letter in particular tells the story of the break-in at her siblings’ house in Orange, Connecticut. Moment by dramatic…
Sue May Whiteside Williams is an impressive name. For 44 years, I’ve wondered who she is … or was. Why do I know the name, but not the person? Well, long ago she wrote it in a book. It was a book we received as a wedding present. I read it aloud to my groom during our first month as husband and wife. The book was a gift from my godmother, Georgeanna Lane, who wasn’t able to make it to…
It’s been nearly two centuries since Hans Christian Andersen wrote the fairy tale “The Emperor’s New Clothes.” Do you remember the story? Two con men trick the vain emperor, who thinks only of himself and his fancy clothes, no matter what the cost. They “weave” him a magnificent set of new clothes at great expense. The clothes are magical, in that they’re invisible to anyone who is incompetent or stupid. The emperor can’t see a stitch of the clothes –…
Every year about this time, the church picnics begin. Every weekend there’s one, and for decades the prime drawing card (and money-maker) was the same: Turtle Soup. Farmer Gary loves Turtle Soup. When I found a family recipe the other day, it got him to telling stories. Not just about the soup. About the man. Johnny Lange. The Turtle Man: Johnny Lange (pronounced “LONG-ee” … Gary would never forgive me if I didn’t add that Johnny had a brother whose…
When we moved to Indiana in 1973, I innocently believed the Ku Klux Klan was a thing of the past. That is, until a trick-or-treater arrived at our door wearing a white robe and hood. When I questioned the young boy, he replied with a racist slur. I hollered and he ran off … In college, I remember learning about the 1915 silent film The Birth of A Nation. We were taught it was a technical breakthrough, a landmark in…
It’s a good thing I like the Beatles so much, because one song in particular has been rolling around in my brain for seven years or so. ,,, and that’s because of the number of phone calls I get for someone named Michelle. From the beginning of mobile phones’ ubiquity, mine was provided by my workplace. So when retirement was anon, it was time to let someone else carry around that noisy contraption. (When grandson Cameron was a toddler, he…