Grandma Cassidy had five granddaughters. I’m the oldest, then there’s Bunny’s two girls: Suzanne and Beth, and Ray’s two daughters: Marie and Claire. And so it feels like Grandma has been at work behind the scenes and in cahoots with the angels to remind one granddaughter that she had a copy of this wonderful memoir written by another granddaughter many years ago. Suzanne emailed it to me the other day. With Marie’s permission, here is that essay, which she wrote…
Growing up, our family had a Christmas tradition of going around the dinner table and each naming our favorite gift. Not the gift of family, faith, talent, or brains. This was about what had awaited us under the tree that morning. A toy, a doll, a game. Looking back over the decades, I’d have to say my favorite unwrap-it gift involved multi-generational family members, plus talent. It was this painting: In short, this is a painting that Grandpa Vayo (Dad’s…
It’s National Hat Day, had you heard? Feels like a good excuse to pull together photos of family members and their fancy chapeaux from over the past 100 years. This first picture is of my great-grandfather Patrick Cassidy. He was a police officer, first in Belfast and then in New Haven, Connecticut. This photo is from around 1915. Here’s one of Patrick’s sons, Christy, looking snazzy: Another of Patrick’s four sons, Frank, was also a policeman. And my grandpa. Hopping…
I can just hear my Grandma Cassidy bursting forth with that staccato laugh of hers, and then chiding me for using the word “gospel” in the title of this post. But Grandma, it’s okay. I didn’t capitalize “gospel,” so I don’t need to go to confession over this. We’re good. My younger brother was crazy about Grandma, too. Six years younger than me, Bill had a few extra years living close to her once Mom and Dad moved back to…
“The Spirit of ’76.” That was the name of my high school graduation class. Yes, 1976 was a long time ago, but I remember it well. We all went a little nuts celebrating our nation’s bicentennial. By the end of 1976, the uber-patriotism fatigue was real. We were all more than a bit relieved when the calendar moved on to ’77. For two entire years, we gathered ’round “the tube” each night to catch that evening’s Bicentennial Minute. The pre-cursor…
How to get into the Christmas spirit following 10 months of a pandemic threatening nearly every tradition? With Christmas books. Week 1: The Christmas Tree by Julie Salamon It had never occurred to me that it’s someone’s job to secure the “perfect” tree for Rockefeller Center each year. This is the story of that man, and his redemption as he finds both the tree and patience to wait for it as he befriends a nun who lives at the convent…
Cameron and his great-grandfather have bonded deeply. Over Looney Tunes. During the eight years of Cameron’s life, there have been a few visits to Connecticut, some Facetime chats, and loads of phone calls. But Bugs was a game changer. In researching a bit, I’ve come to realize that Dad and Looney Tunes were born the same year (1930). It was, apparently, meant to be. Despite hours of viewing (Gary gets in on the act, too) and many discussions, it is…
Wreaths are a welcome part of our family’s Christmas decorations. Off the top of my head, I can count at least seven wreaths around our house, inside and out. Maybe more. I have a thing for wreaths. No doubt, I got it from Mom. Farmer Gary, however, is more than willing to take them down as we move into double digits during the twelve days of Christmas. Because, around here anyway, those wreaths make festive homes for birds. This afternoon,…
As odd as this year’s Christmas will be (given the pandemic), it’s not the first time history has gifted parents with holiday challenges. For example, wartime. I can only imagine how my grandparents went to extra effort to keep those Decembers jolly for their young children. In 1943, staples such as sugar, meat, and coffee could only be obtained via food ration books – and even then, only when the items were available. Even after the world war was over,…
My dear Uncle Bill is gone. It wasn’t a surprise. Bill was 93 and had been in extended care for 18 months or so. But it still hurts like hell. Bill was an old-fashioned family man. As a young fellow, he permitted his mother and future mother-in-law (my Grandma Cassidy) to fix him up with a stunning redhead. “Oh, boy. Those legs,” he remembered decades later, from his bed in The Guilford House. His walk was no longer steady, but…