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 I asked Harry if he was okay with me sharing the video, and asked if he had anything he wanted to add. This was his reply: Linda & I were in Portland (Maine) when…
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…
Sometimes when searching for family information in newspaper archives, there’s a story that simply must be shared. Today’s search was in the Bangor Weekly Courier. The year: 1854. I was looking for Olympe Josephine Poulin Lambert, my great-great-great grandmother (her daughter Olive was George Vayo‘s mother). The poor woman only lived to be 35 or 36. I was hoping to at least discover her date of death and burial place. Using the unusual first name of Olympe, the search began….
The mercury hit 57 today and may make it even higher tomorrow. That is what you call a January Thaw! Thing is, there’s nothing to thaw. No snow since last month, and even then, not much to brag about here in southern Indiana. No doubt that will change in the coming weeks and I’ll eat my words, crunching on icicles all the while. Growing up in western Massachusetts, we had a January thaw each year. The best part (next to…