Today is Grandma Cassidy‘s birthday. And it’s Poetry Day.

Born in 1903, Grandma wouldn’t have permitted us to calculate her age, had the luck of the Irish kept her with us all these years. Saints preserve us! Me sainted Grandmother has made her home in heaven since 1991.

I was “great with child” at the time, with middle-son John on the way and couldn’t travel to attend her funeral in New Haven. I’ve always believed her blithe spirit lives on in John, who also has a rascally sense of humor.

Mom and her sister, Bunny, sent me copies of prayer cards (the Irish Blessing, of course) from the funeral and a copy of this lovely eulogy written by my cousin Suzanne.

A Message From Cecelia

A tiny pint, but full of might
Good things come in small packages

I am “feisty” and “cute”
I would have preferred strong and beautiful
but, give me a coke and all is forgiven …
ahh, “nectar of the gods”

Don’t let them fool you
Chocolate is one of the major food groups
Sour cream potato chips make a nice appetizer

Potato salad is my specialty
You don’t need a recipe
It comes from within, like the way I play piano
A legacy to my grandson
He can finish it
I never liked school much anyway

Build a fortress for your family
Build a foundation of faith
Bricks of justice and loyalty, held together by love
Reinforce with laughter
Your children take it with them
as they go to plant their own roots

Stop to look at the images in the clouds,
to say the rosary and chase bats with your granddaughter

Beware of my invisible dog
Bunny understands
My popcorn tree and roses of peace still bloom in my garden
I write poems about them and wait for them each year

My daughter carried her words across country
A gift, a comfort from home

A mini matriarch?
A feminist in conservative clothing?
Maybe

But always wear your beads and earrings
even with your housecoat

Refinement is key here, and a nice pair of shoes

My last dime is yours

Nurture the child within
Embrace her
Anyone can be an adult … putting on the dog!
You forgot how to play

Chase your grandchildren around the house
Leave them with love and laughter

Smile when you think of me

I am with you always

Suzanne’s sister, Beth, sang at the funeral. She kept in mind Grandma’s mantra to “sing and make them cry!” (Only a colleen from the land of Danny Boy would say such a thing!)

Grandma loved her soda. She kept a stash in the basement and occasionally sent a grandchild down the creaky steps to bring her a supply. Suzie slipped a bottle of Coke into the casket. The mourners dared not glance at each other for fearing of laughing out loud.

Speaking of those basement stairs, they frightened me. The basement was fascinating, but too scary for me.

Plus, there was that sign.

About halfway down the stairs to the basement, there was a tin sign on the wall that stated the following: “Work Like Helen B. Happy.”

I was scandalized! This little second-grade Catholic girl couldn’t handle the thought that my grandparents would allow such language in their house, albeit technically underground. I satisfied myself with the thought that they knew Ms. Happy personally and admired her work ethic. Yes, that must have been it.

A true daughter of Eire, Grandma served potatoes at every meal. Her potato salad was perfection and her love of potato chips (and willingness to share with her grandchildren) always appreciated.

Grandma’s fortress for her family was a wedding gift from her parents. Their backyards overlapped, keeping their only married daughter close.

Cecelia Regan Cassidy could play piano by ear.

How is that possible? I most certainly didn’t inherit that talent. Grandma’s favorite was “Lara’s Theme” from the film Dr. Zhivago. She was so proud that grandson David became a music professor.

The “invisible dog” Suzanne mentions in the eulogy deserves an explanation. Grandma had two handwritten signs – one on the front door and the other on the back – on which was written simply: Beware of Dog!

Thing is … they didn’t have a dog! And Grandpa was a policeman. But this was Grandma’s security system, long before ADP came into vogue. I hope someone in the family preserved those signs; they served her well.

A few years back, I saw this in a catalog and ordered it for John as a Christmas gift:

Grandma loved the phrase “oh, they’re putting on the dog!” when someone’s behavior leaned toward the pretentious side. Dressing up, though, didn’t count. She loved to get all dolled up for a day of shopping at Macy’s. Compliment her attire, though, and she’d offer you that bracelet, ring, or shoes. “Offer” isn’t the right word, though; she’d make sure it went home with you even if she had to slip it into your mother’s purse. I still have that blue bracelet, Grandma. Thank you.

Grandma’s love of her children was fierce. Joan, Bunny, and Ray were her life. And they loved her dearly:

Letter to My Mother

if
in the letter I write you
I detail the children’s days
and paint the faces of our trees
and flowers I am really saying
that I love you and the only gift
I ask you place unwrapped before me
is the gift of you.

~Joan Vayo, August 19, 1975

When we lived in Pittsfield in the 1960s, Grandma and Grandpa came to visit. My younger brother, Bill, was probably four or five at the time. He’d heard Dad joke that “Grandma hates everything!” because his mother-in-law did have a tendency to use “You know what I hate?” as a segue between conversations. She meant no harm; it was a figure of speech that she probably didn’t even realize she used.

And so when she said, “You know what I hate?” the first time during the visit (we were still in the car), little Billy piped up: Grandma hates everything!

What?! Who said that? Who told you that?!

Grandma was mortified. She was a kind woman. And refined. Refinement and good manners were really important to her.

The real treat of the moment, though, was Grandpa. He howled with laughter. The poor guy could barely breathe, he was laughing so hard. Grandma tried to shush him, but he couldn’t help himself.

Another time Grandma talked herself into a pickle involved a Christmas gift. A relative had sent a present for her. Grandma shook it before opening and could tell the small package contained a liquid.

Oh, it’s some of that stinky water! she quipped as she tore open the wrapping, guessing it was cologne.

But it wasn’t.

It was holy water from Lourdes.

Oh, boy! Grandma was beside herself walking that one back, to use a modern phrase. I think we all were sprinkled with the holy water that day, as we tried not to giggle in front of our tiny matriarch.

One last story alluded to in the eulogy, was “chase bats with your granddaughter.” I think that one deserves its own post. (Hint, hint, Suzanne – let’s talk!)

Today, during this nervous time of covid-19 confinement, let’s all smile and lift high a cold glass of fizzy water and remember that great woman, who made everything better with a kiss, a laugh, and a mouthful of chocolate.

“Letter to My Mother” © 1975 Joan Vayo. All rights reserved.

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