Collaborating with Dad on this blog’s stories has been a joy. He got such a charge when a photo or old news article tickled his memory. And he loved talking about Mom, his Joanie.

Our final effort together was “The Maine Man,” with that surprise ending in which Dad suddenly remembered a car ride with his grandparents back in 1935 or so.

In our daily phone chats, there was never a pen and pad out of reach. Jotted notes would eventually lead to follow-up questions and texted photos. More conversations, online research, and after a few weeks – months, in the case of “The Maine Man” – we’d have a story to tell.

Sitting down to write these past few days hasn’t been easy. My brain is trained to think, “I’ll ask Dad about that this evening.” Of course, that’s no longer an option.

Thankfully, I still have scattered notes, baskets of photos, and other family members’ recollections. Piecing together these stories will be more of a challenge, but they will continue.

A bit of encouragement hopped around just outside the window of my study yesterday.

Thank goodness it was a cardinal! Unlike most of my family, I can’t easily identify types of birds, trees, plants, and flowers. But a cardinal, robin, blue jay, pigeon, or crow – no problem! I’ve got them.

Did you know a cardinal is one of the few birds that not only mates for life but stays with its mate all year?

Cardinals, of course, spread their wings wide when it comes to spiritual lore. It is believed they are sent by a loved one who is now in heaven. This fellow at my window yesterday just had to be from Dad, now that I know cardinals were named for the red vestments worn by those who are one step up from a bishop in the Catholic church.

Dad studied to be a priest for a year. Ultimately, he felt it was his destiny to instead marry Mom and have four children.

Thank God for that.

Reading through some of Mom’s poems this week, this particular love note caught my eye.

Valentine

You
who carried my books
and heart during high school
taught me to savor shrimp
and the wild flocks flying

Raising our quartet
we moved over hill and dale
still singing

I stir after seven
looking for you
thanking God through our skylight
and bumble into the morning
for a new kiss
~ joan vayo 1/14/00

Mom’s line “taught me to savor shrimp” touched off a memory of Dad reminiscing about their first date.

It was in New Haven, Connecticut. They were across-the-street neighbors. And sweethearts.

Dad was already a working stiff at 13 and 14 years old. First a paper boy and then a soda jerk.

And so their first real date was special.

Dad took Mom to the Old Heidelberg Restaurant on Chapel Street, on the outskirts of Yale University. It’s a pub now – or will be again once covid rules permit. Old Heidelberg originally opened in 1757 and reopened in 2019 after being shuttered for nearly three decades.

Remembering how they had to walk down stairs from the sidewalk to enter the restaurant, Dad’s voice softened. “There were red tablecloths and candles on the tables.”

It was at Old Heidelberg that young Hap introduced his Joanie to shrimp cocktail.

“Biggest mistake of my life! She ordered it every time we ate out for the rest of our lives – nearly bankrupted me!”

Of course, he was joking.

After Mom passed away in late 2019, Dad often mused about what heaven might be like. That got me to thinking about it, too.

A little birdie told me yesterday – with a tilt of its crimson head – that it’s something special indeed.

“Valentine” © 2000 Joan Cassidy Vayo. All rights reserved.

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