When your mother is a prolific poet, it may be best not to try and figure out too much about each individual poem. Mom loved words, the sound of words. And weaving them together into poems was one of her life’s great delights. Perhaps unfortunately, there’s something in me that is so literal, I have to spend at least a little bit of time to try and “figure out” each verse. As if it’s a riddle. Which I know it…
Dad was not one to hoard receipts and other paperwork from his nearly 91 years. But he did hold on to reminders that brought back good memories. “You were a cheap date,” he said to me out of the blue when I was still in my teens. He quickly explained that he’d run across the bill from my birth. “Our insurance didn’t cover everything,” he said with a sigh. “I had to shell out $14.75 when we brought you home.”…
The paper has the look of parchment. But it’s not quite yet crisp with age. The story is two typed pages and is signed with Mom‘s married name, so that means she wrote it in the final weeks of 1952 or later. Reading it for the first time this evening, I’m reminded of an Irish folktale, and am grateful Mom’s lifetime of writing sometimes included prose. Maybe someday, as I finish sorting through her writings, I’ll find another copy bearing…
Grandpa Vayo left this earth 30 years ago, and yet we’re still learning about his life. Thanks to my cousin Stephen for passing this information along to his mom, who shared it with me. Some of Grandpa’s high school artwork is available online. Grandpa was on the staff of The Oracle during 1916-17, his junior year at Bangor High School. The Oracle, a monthly publication, included student-written literature, campus news, sports stories, editorials, alumni updates, and more. Grandpa provided some…
“Mom! Oh, no! Mom! Bird poop!” Growing up, Mom’s standing rule was for us to change out of our school uniforms just as soon as we got home. I don’t remember why I didn’t obey on this one day in the spring of 1967, but a big bird named Karma took care that I would never forget. We were in the backyard at our home in Pittsfield, Massachusetts. I remember standing near the large tree that shaded our picnic table,…
“Meat! Don’t you have any meat? I need meat!” An Indiana University football player hollered across the counter at me 45 years ago today. The poor fellow, and his beefy friends, were looking nervous as they made their way through the dorm cafeteria line and slowly realized the dinner menu was not quite as protein-laden as usual. That’s because we were under a state-wide “snow emergency” as three days of blizzard conditions (on top of previous snowfall) had closed the…
The brain – or more specifically, the memory – is a magnificent thing. A few weeks ago, I saw mention of singer Peggy “Is That All There Is?” Lee and it flashed me back to childhood and the 1960s. “There she is – there’s Peggy!” They pointed at the television excitedly. Mom and Dad were proud of their classmate, who had graduated from St. Mary’s High School in New Haven and went on to perform on stage and screen (large…
Cooking, cleaning, decorating, and wrapping presents took up much of Mom‘s time leading up to Christmas each year. Oh, and writing notes in 200 or more Christmas cards. One tradition that Mom practiced annually often happened after the rest of us were asleep on Christmas Eve. In 1983, she took the time to write about it: The Call to Christmas 12:30 a.m., the early end of Christmas Eve. We have trimmed the tree and adorned the house and the snow…
There’s a basket full of school papers to go through, and it’s hard to make much headway. That’s because they’re Mom‘s papers, presumably from high school and college. Some are easy to figure out, as they retell a current event, or show the results of comparing two writers’ styles. There are news clips, too. Other papers, though, will remain a mystery. No date, no teacher’s name. But as long as Mom’s name is there – Joan Cassidy – I know…
“Paula, can you find something for me on your computer? There’s something I want to give Dad.” My heart leapt. It was 2016, and Mom was deep into Parkinson’s. She hadn’t been able to go out shopping for years. By then, most of our daily phone conversations were fairly one-sided. I provided family updates, which she enjoyed and could later share with Dad. One update Mom would be sure to give me, though, was: “Dad played the piano this afternoon….