“Jelly” is an occasional topic of conversation in our household. It seems Gary was traumatized as a child by all the plum jelly he was forced to consume. Growing up on a farm, with parents who remembered The Great Depression like it was yesterday, Gary knew better than to complain. So he dutifully ate plum jelly on a slice of bread (he calls it “jelly bread,” which I’ve always found confusing) when it was served to him as a kid….
“Boy am I glad to have this cell phone!” Well, I nearly cried. I’d talked Dad into buying a mobile phone well over a decade ago. It took until the other day – and the aftermath of Hurricane Isaias – to hear him praise the handiness of this new-fangled option to his trusty land-line phone. Gary and I sometimes ponder this question: What gadgets will our sons want us to use in the future? My husband is incredibly technology-adverse (although…
When you’re a child of the Depression, you have a different outlook on personal finance. Mom used to tell the story of Dad, as a young child, going door to door trying to sell his toys. He wanted to help feed his family. When I asked him about it recently, Dad recalled that he sold his alphabet blocks for five cents a piece. He raised about 25 cents, and presented the pennies and nickels to his parents. As he hit…
While researching my ancestors, I came across an obituary that included this line: He was a survivor of the 1944 Hartford Circus Fire. I’d never heard of this tragedy before. It’s a horrific yet fascinating tale. On July 6, 1944, during a matinee performance of the Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus in Hartford, Connecticut, a carelessly tossed cigarette ignited one of the nation’s worst fires. Of the approximately 7,000 fans who crowded into the huge big top on…
This story isn’t about my brother Billy, but the gentleman he was named after, our mom’s uncle Bill Regan. Since Mom’s passing last November, Bill Regan’s daughter Patty and I have been in touch via email, as we piece together stories about Grandma Cassidy‘s side of the family. Little Billy, the second youngest of Joe and Maggie Regan’s 11 children, was born in New Haven, Connecticut, in 1908. He lived to be 96 years old. Patty sent me the following…
For me, the right thing to do this past week was … to think. The world is in an uproar and we all have a place in the turmoil. Social media is a cesspool of snarling racists, preachy Karens, and nasty name-callers. How can our country still be so ugly? When we moved from Connecticut to Indiana, I was 15 years old and a sophomore in high school. It was the fall of 1973. A few weeks after we moved…
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…