There are times when reading-to-learn ultimately teaches you how little you actually know. I now wonder if an entire year should be dedicated to focusing solely on my Irish books, rather than just the month of March. While that would no doubt lead to much laughter, it might also point me toward “the drink,” which I’ve managed to avoid thus far. The Irish have not had an easy go of it, that’s for sure. Week 1: Are You Somebody? by…
“Are you saying my grandfather was an arsonist?” No, Dad, I can’t image that’s the case. But this Boston Herald article from 1896 sure seems to stir the pot … “Oh, boy! Ever since I was I kid, I’d hoped there was a criminal somewhere in our family tree! Not a murderer, of course. But maybe a stage-coach robber.” Gosh, you think you know somebody. I’d purposely held off telling Dad about the article in the Boston Herald‘s archives that…
Farmer Gary is a renaissance man. His decades of planting and harvesting crops have taken him into the realms of botany, nutrition, chemistry, geology, meteorology. There’s math, engineering, economics, accounting, Even a bit of stand-up comedy. “Back when they were doing some digging work over at Mom’s home place, I noticed one of the bulldozers was a Japanese brand, so I asked the mechanic how he liked working on the equipment. He told me ‘the hardest part was learning to…
A little red-haired boy was born in New Haven, Connecticut, in June of 1900. The turn of the century. His parents – Pat and Anna – were Irish immigrants. His father, a policeman. Little Frank Cassidy looked for ways to earn money and help out his parents. He sold lemons on street corners near his home on Lombard Street. He’d search for pieces of coal to bring home. One year, he found enough along the railroad tracks to heat their…
February is a short and often gloomy month, so it felt appropriate to read Great Expectations for the first time. It’s a long coming-of-age story, full of Dickensian characters and coincidences. In the afterglow of reading a really good book, I tend to search for related podcast discussions and non-snooty book reviews. This episode of the Backlisted podcast provides a humorous yet sincere discussion of Great Expectations, Mr. Dickens, and even some sad, sad attempts at musical-theater adaptations. Meanwhile, here…
Today was the day. Time to head to the county courthouse for a little prick in the arm. The entire process took less than half an hour. Checked in, secured a second Covid vaccine appointment, got my “Fauci Ouchie,” and went into the rotunda to sit in a chair for 15-minutes, just in case. And whom should I run into? Why, it’s Mr. Lincoln! As must as I’d like to have sat next to him, Abraham and I agreed that…
“Would you like to take this home? Mom kept it on her dresser.” It’s been more than a year since Dad showed me this souvenir: As I squinted to read the small print (the tiny dish measures four inches across), a familiar city name caught my eye. Pittsfield? “Her parents honeymooned there in 1929. They stayed at the Hotel Wendell. Mom was born nine months later.” And 32 years after Mom’s birth, our family moved to Pittsfield, Massachusetts. We lived…
As Valentine’s Day approached last year, Dad decided to bring back a tradition he and Mom started long ago: Mail giant chocolate hearts from Hawaii to loved ones back home. Their annual trips to The Big Island began when youngest son Bill was stationed there. My brother, the Marine: Mom and Dad liked their winter visits to Hawaii (with its depression-lifting sunshine) so much, they made it a habit. Even after Bill had long since returned to civilian life in…
Have you noticed the proliferation of news stories lately that people are going a little crazy during this pandemic? Crazy is the word for newlyweds John and Aubrie. But in a good way. Good crazy. They’re having fun creating fan art for, of all things, Ordinary Sausage on YouTube. This Ordinary Sausage guy is a bit of a nut, too. His shtick is to make – and eat – sausage out of not-so-sausage-y foods. The ingredients are simply not what…
My grandfather was a policeman in New Haven, Connecticut. And his father was a policeman, too. My mother never met her grandfather Patrick Cassidy. He died in 1917. He was only 54 years old. My grandpa was just 17 years old at the time; he dropped out of school to help support the family. He had six siblings. Little Ginny was only two years old and Walter was eight. Here’s a photo of Grandpa with his mother, Anna, and youngest…