It’s pumpkin-carving time! But not everyone is adept with a carving knife … or scythe. (There are photos online with people using power tools …) Mom learned the hard way that unfinished business is not acceptable when it comes to Jack O’Lanterns: Unfinished Business I’m going to write this with a brushthe outraged pumpkin on the pagewith one eye only and half a moutha loaf by his sidewith the knife engaged Finish me up he crookedly criesan ample nose and…
It’s been challenging to decide whether to include this poem Mom wrote in 1976 in a blog post. It was a turbulent time in the nation, despite the flag-waving Bicentennial Celebration. Current and ongoing news stories about violence against women and the reaction of a wink and a shrug by some provided the nudge I needed to share this: a dialogue on values during a forced entry get out of my houseshe screamed about herself as she was being raped…
What stories will be revealed as I go through this bag of receipts? The clear plastic bag was in among the family archives we brought home from Mom and Dad’s house in 2021. With the initials M&D written on a card in Dad’s handwriting, I expected it to be filled with his parents’ paper memorabilia. It was soon clear Dad labeled the bag to show it contained odds and ends from his long life with Mom. And it was meant…
In this 2004 poem, Mom remembers her youngest child’s return from the hospital as a newborn in 1964 and again from serving overseas in the Marines. Homecomings Soon after you were bornyour Father took your brothers sister berryingyour Grandmother steadied the housefor your homecoming and for the berry pickersthe two of us took off to bed after the admiration partyand the blueberries went into piesa succulent sleep in a hot ovenon a summer afternoon Years later on another summer afternoonwe…
I came across this poem in quite a roundabout way. A few days ago, it occurred to me that I don’t have stress dreams anymore. Really, that “I’ve got a final to take but didn’t even attend any of the classes and can’t find the classroom” sort of dream. Or, “it’s time to go on stage, and I really meant to memorize my lines, but hung around backstage playing cards instead.” Gone. All gone. Seven years ago. What a coincidence;…
In a search for Irish ancestors on Dad’s side of the family … … I got sidetracked. After a career of staying on course, working with a focus on specific results, it’s kind of fun to skip around on the various ancestry sites, in search of family stories. Even, that is, if they are stories from other families. Here’s where we are: We have a story from Le Nouvelliste newspaper in Trois-Rivières, Quebec. Dated 30 May 1964, this article is…
Ever since I first laid eyes on this wedding photo from 1926, I’ve wondered: Who is that second couple? A newspaper article detailing my paternal grandparents’ wedding revealed the happy couple’s attendants were Mr. & Mrs. Haag. But who were the Haags? They’re not part of our family tree, but they were there for Grandma and Grandpa on a very important day. It may well be that a newspaper ad Grandpa designed for his workplace provides an important first clue….
One hundred years ago, Grandpa Vayo was counting down the days until he married. He’d already moved to Paducah, Kentucky, and started his new job in advertising. He even authored a daily poetry column, Songs of Life, in The Paducah Sun newspaper. I wonder if he warned Grandma (his betrothed, Lucie Plante) how often her new surname would be misspelled and mispronounced. After all, “Vayo” rhymes with “mayo.” Sometimes, the condiment won out: This poem of Grandpa’s caught my eye…
When my sister-in-law told me she had a boyfriend, I was taken aback. Linda quickly assured me, though, that her admirer was a hard-headed, well … rock. My brother Harry good-naturedly explained further: A few years ago I wrote a story inspired by Linda’s dalliances. She passed on your request for the story, & I’m happy to oblige. Although it’s fiction, the rock itself & the conflict between whimsical hikers & the humorless land trust is real. As you can…
Thanks to my second-cousin Mark, I just came upon a dozen or more poems Grandpa Vayo wrote shortly after he relocated to Paducah in 1926. He was the new Advertising Manager at the J.A. Rudy & Sons department store. Grandpa must have been so lonely! Paducah, Kentucky, is far away from Brewer, Maine. And this was a century ago. It was months before Grandma traveled all those miles to marry him on Thanksgiving Day. A poet, musician, and artist, Grandpa…