This week came the news that Covid-19 had taken its 100,000th victim. My heart aches for all those unfinished stories and all those heartbroken families. May they all somehow find peace. And so it is with utmost respect for the departed that I also mourn a tiny bit for the Copacabana. If you were around in the late 1970s, you’ll remember Barry Manilow’s “At the Copa” disco tune that endlessly told the story of Lola (she was a showgirl) and…
Mom wrote this poem, called simply Cherries, when her granddaughter Lucy was just a few months old. It may be that this cute little outfit inspired her. Cherries Lucy’s little yellow dress is cherried Take her to the hammock under cherry treesand in the early evening wrap herin the childhood cherry spreadremembering another eveningwhen we rode a ferris wheelafter a day of cherry picking Grandchildren and sister loved the cherriessent for summer birthdaysand from a country marketwe wooed each otherwith…
Here’s something I never expected to find in our family’s archives: A letter from a princess. The letter is undated, but I’d guess it was written toward the end of the 1980s. Written on the back of the folded blue stationery, it clearly states: Important. Do not throw away. I recognize that handwriting. Grandma Cassidy added the note to make sure this treasure wasn’t swept away and lost by someone with too little curiosity. The letter from the princess was…
This poem’s a tough one. Mom wrote it 19 years ago, still in mourning for the loss of her brother. Ray. Sweet baby Ray. This sounds ridiculous as I type it, but we only use that brand of barbecue sauce in our home, in honor of Uncle Ray. Mom was delighted when we served it to her on pulled pork those last years before we lost her, too. Both lost to Parkinson’s Disease. Today is World Parkinson’s Day. If you’ve…
The year was 1929. That fall, the stock market crash set off The Great Depression. Also that fall, the mothers of two cousins-to-be found out they had identical due dates: April 6, 1930. And so began The Great Competition. I’ve never thought of my mom as a competitive sort. Well, all except when it came to her poetry. The Great Competition involved Grandma Cassidy and her sister-in-law Ethel Cassidy Hungerford. Both babies would be the first born to each couple….
No, not that Jack Cassidy. But yes, Mom had an uncle named Jack whose gregarious personality both flattered and flustered. As girls, Mom and her sister, Bunny, would scurry into the pantry to hide from that big personality. I did the same years later. As a child, I cowered from my uncle John Cull’s Eugene Levy-esque eyebrows. We shy lasses eventually grew up to appreciate these fine gentlemen. Mom wrote this poem about her uncle Jack Cassidy, a steamfitter, 13…
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…
Does anyone still watch for “the first robin of spring”? That was a game, of sorts, growing up in western Massachusetts. Winters were so long that even a whisper of spring gave us a real lift. Sidenote: I fondly remember the annual family activity of clearing the driveway of the half-foot or so of packed snow and ice. It was genuinely fun chipping away the giant chunks during the February thaw and again in the spring. The only other chilly…
Bill’s wife, Barbara, whipped up another batch of comfort food over the weekend. She made several loaves of Cranberry Nut Bread, using Mom’s tried-and-true recipe. Bill brought a loaf with him to this week’s visit with Dad. They chuckled about a favorite Bob & Ray comedy routine that involved a “fast-breaking news” interview with The Cranberry Man: Mom and Dad loved Bob & Ray, and delighted in all the ridiculous characters and parodies they developed over the years. My parents…
All my life, Dad has talked about what a scamp he was as a kid. Yet, there were no stories to back up his claim. Was this silence on his part due to not wanting to set a bad examples for his four children? Perhaps. It’s only now that the confessions are spilling forth. As his confessor, I am impressed, but not yet mortified. Here’s a story: Times have changed over the generations, thank heavens. Back in the 1930s, Catholics…