YOU! Close the door and lock it. Class begins on time. No latecomers! It was the first day of class. My final college class. And the professor was a madman. A MAD man, actually. Fred Brewer eventually told us he was a former editor of MAD Magazine, the irreverent comic-book-style periodical. He’d served as editor of the British edition. But this was Indiana University in June of 1980, my senior year. All I had left before leaving campus was one…
Today is the last day of summer. The temperatures have already cooled and the fields are ready for harvest. My darling tomato-picker has been busy all summer: Cameron wasn’t sure he’d like the taste of a grape tomato, but sampled a few each time he visited us this summer. He’s still not sure. When Gary and I went to spend some time with Dad in Connecticut earlier this month (quarantining all the while, as per the Nutmeg State‘s Covid rules),…
“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….
As a kid, it ticked me off that certain things were “boys only.” For example, my dad took my brothers bowling. But not me. “I’ll take you bowling on your wedding day,” Dad promised. I reminded him of that oft-spoken vow on Gary’s and my big day in 1982, but didn’t hold my father to it. It was the mid-1960s, and my older brothers were donning the special robes, lighting the candles, ringing the chimes, and burning the incense. My…
“I don’t know why you want to vote. You vote them in, the shit-asses do whatever they want anyway.” – Mike Mehling, circa 1940s Tuesday was the 100th anniversary of women getting the vote, so I started asking family members if they had any stories about our female ancestors voting for the first time, presumably in 1920. Gary’s immediate response was the above quote from his maternal grandfather, Mike Mehling (1888-1964). He certainly made no bones about his opinions, usually…
An estimated 10 percent of the population favors their left hand over their right. They are what’s known as left handed. As today is International Left Handers Day, online “facts” abound. Yes, I’m one of the ten-percenters. The weird thing is – so are two of my three brothers. That would make you think it’s genetic, right? Not in this case: Both of our parents are right-handed yet only one of their four children favors his right hand. And, if…
Digging through family photos is never dull. … especially when you uncover a photo like this: Dad! You look like a mobster! Dad was 12 or 13 years old in this photo. His family still lived in Lowell, Massachusetts, but would soon relocate to New Haven, Connecticut. Alas, Dad doesn’t have a story to go along with this photo. But while digging around in Fold3.com (the military arm of Ancestry.com), an FBI Report caught my attention … FBI Report? Before…
“You’ve got to pay more attention to current events – today is HUGE!” It was August 8, 1974, and my friend Jenny was beside herself with glee. Although just 16, she followed politics closely and was overjoyed that President Richard Nixon was about to resign in disgrace, following the Watergate Scandal. Despite Jenny’s urging, I simply wasn’t into politics – or current events for that matter. The “news bug” would bite me in college as I took journalism classes, but…
“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…