Two years ago, as I was reading scores of old newspaper articles to learn more about my paternal great-grandfather, someone with the exact same name popped up. Dad’s grandfather’s name was George E. Vayo. This second person’s name was also George E. Vayo. They both spent a considerable amount of their lives in Maine. The story of this second George and his son stuck with me, and this week seemed a good time to dig a bit deeper to see…
Growing up in the 1960s, getting new clothes for Easter Sunday was a big deal. I don’t know where she found it, but one spring Mom came home with a “coat of many colors” for middle-brother Dave. It was … to use a dated word … snazzy. Nearly 40 years later, Mom remembered that jacket in a poem: David Growing upyou prized foil candy wrappersa bright heap on your bookcasemade merrier by the sun Your younger brother later your own…
It’s amazing what is waiting to be found on Ancestry.com. Yesterday afternoon while snooping into Gary’s side of the family, I happened upon the murder of Peter Schmitt. A two-dollar murder. We’ve already talked about Gary’s great-grandpa Henry Schum, who was murdered in 1909. Fourteen years later, there was another murder in the family, this one farther out in the family tree. Peter Schmitt grew up on a farm outside of Ferdinand. Born in 1879, he was the fourth of…
No, I’m not referencing the situation here in America. There’s another former president from a far-away land who also says he didn’t do it. This year is the 25th anniversary of the Kosovo War. That country’s former president pleaded not guilty at The Hague today to war crimes and crimes against humanity. Mom had a way of deeply humanizing stories of political and ethnic conflict through her writing. From Paddy McCarthy’s part in Belfast’s Bloody Sunday in 1971 to the…
Have I mentioned Farmer Gary‘s deep fascination with the Amish? He admires their simple lifestyle and enjoys talking to both current and former Amish. Throughout this borderline obsession (lasting all of our 40-year marriage), Gary’s been sure to school me on what he’s learned, including a practice known as rumspringa. What exactly is rumspringa? It’s a rite of passage in some Amish communities, allowing teenagers more than their traditionally limited amount of freedom as it pertains to behavior. At the…
Mom had a really good friend named Mary. Two friends named Mary, come to think of it. Mary Donahue and Mary Fleming. Turns out they were the same person. I’m a bit embarrassed to admit this is a recent discovery on my part. When they met in college, Mom was Joan Cassidy and Mary’s last name was Donahue. They were thick as thieves, those two, along with Gloria Dowaliby. Here’s Mary’s yearbook page from 1952, graduation year: Their final year…
Did you know Charles Dickens released each of his novels in weekly or monthly installments? That doesn’t mean the author of Great Expectations and David Copperfield invented the concept of serialization, but it seems he popularized it. (According to my online chums at the Facebook -based Folio Society Books fan club, Stephen King picked up the practice for several of his book releases more than a century later.) Sure enough, Dickens‘ release schedules are available online, so this month I…
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.”…
While looking into Farmer Gary‘s story about “The tuberculous house” last week, we climbed a little higher on the family tree to take a look. It was there we found a tiny branch, reaching out for sunlight. We found Peter. Born on May 2, 1848, Peter was one of nine children born to Lorenz and Catherina Dilger in what is now Baden-Württemberg, Germany. Peter’s sister Theresia, who was six years older than he, grew up to be the paternal grandmother…