It’s “Take Your Poet to School Week,” which seems like the perfect time to share this letter of recommendation from 46 years ago that recently resurfaced. We lived in Indiana at the time and Mom was stretching her wings as a poet now that her four chicks were all in school fulltime. Mom attended workshops and seminars for writers. She learned, she shared, she made lasting friendships. Eventually, she hosted poetry readings and workshops of her own. One friend from…
Now that I look back on the list, it’s clear that March was packed with an odd assortment of books. Not exactly “in like a lion, out like a lamb”; the month’s literary arc was not a smooth one. Week 1: Mrs. Astor Regrets by Meryl Gordon What an exhausting read! I vaguely remember this story from the news 15 years ago, when “elder abuse” was a developing term. Mrs. Astor was ridiculously rich. Admittedly, she wasn’t a great mother,…
Mom‘s fable about two soldiers and an old bear is best read aloud, to a child or a child at heart. Or anyone who questions war. Bear, Who Would Not Be a Soldier There was once a bear who lived in shabby comfort in the heart of an old forest. He had been a woodcutter, other times a guide, but never had he worn a uniform or joined a society. Now he was old and heavy like a grandfather tree,…
So many of Mom‘s lifelong friends were teachers. They were pals in college and never let go of that friendship, no matter where life took them. One such friend was Gloria Dowaliby. They were both 1952 graduates of Saint Joseph College. According to a newsletter sent out following their twenty-fifth college reunion in 1977, Gloria’s professional life was busy and international: Fulbright Scholar. An English teacher at Quirk Middle School (Hartford, Conn.). Has given special support to the American Lebanese…
Growing up on Chatham Street in New Haven, Connecticut, Mom loved her “little room.” Nowadays, we might call it a walk-in closet. Back in the 1940s, it was a room with a window and a desk. For writing, for studying, for dreaming. Even more special was the view. The window looked out into the front yard, where there was a spruce tree. And as Mom grew up, so did that tree. A year ago, I asked Dad if Mom had…
Did you see the news story the other day involving the sudden wedding of two members of the Ukrainian Defense Forces? Lesya Ivashchenko and Valeriy Filimonov weren’t planning to hold their ceremony during war time, but decided to make their vows on Sunday at a checkpoint on the outskirts of Kyiv. This year would have been my parents’ 70th anniversary. They were married in New Haven on a Tuesday, while Dad was on leave from the Army. Dad had a…
The weather was so warm over the weekend. And then, around two o’clock this morning, a wild storm brought winter back. Ah, well. Guess we’ll just have to wait. Perhaps there were similarly fluid weather conditions when Mom wrote this sonnet, called “Waiting Is Winter,” in April of 1949, while a freshman at Saint Joseph College. (You remember sonnets, right? Traditionally, a sonnet is a 14-line poem written in iambic pentameter. It follows a specific rhyming pattern and focuses on…
The madness of banned and challenged books is back. If you’ve followed recent reports of a certain school board, you already know that those who demand book bans haven’t even read the books. I believe that answers the question without it being asked. Demanding Pulitzer Prize-winning books be removed from school libraries without even taking the time to read those books is insane. Three of the four books I read this month have been banned or challenged in the past….
I’ve been thinking a lot about Tevye lately. Tevye. The protagonist in the Tevye the Dairyman stories. The pious, irrepressible lead character in Fiddler on the Roof. When we moved from Pittsfield, Massachusetts, to Fairfield, Connecticut, in 1970, we were suddenly just a quick train ride from New York City. And Broadway. Dad took that commuter train into Manhattan every weekday. One Friday, he brought home six tickets to a hit musical called Fiddler on the Roof. I haven’t come…
Maybe I should have asked my oldest brother if he and his wife are sick of being called “maniacs.” You know – being long-time Maine residents and all. Harry and Linda are avid readers. They regale family and friends each December with a letter tucked into their Christmas card detailing their recommendations based on their favorite reads of that year. Here’s a compilation from the past several years: Harry: After rereading Bleak House, Harry still ranks it as Dickens’ best….