All my life, Dad has talked about what a scamp he was as a kid. Yet, there were no stories to back up his claim. Was this silence on his part due to not wanting to set a bad examples for his four children? Perhaps. It’s only now that the confessions are spilling forth. As his confessor, I am impressed, but not yet mortified. Here’s a story: Times have changed over the generations, thank heavens. Back in the 1930s, Catholics…
Here are two of Mom’s poems to commemorate Ash Wednesday, the start of the Lenten Season. ash wednesday nails in the nesta night bird falling and in the housessomethingout of a dark holewet now on the courthouse stepsa dwarfthumbing his nose the bridein jewels before the frosted windowwaits the wind stirsa star under the ground the gold eggs gleam ~ joan vayo 24 February 1979 psalm what birdwaits here in darknessunder the death of the beloved by the lake the…
My younger brother, Bill, has a knack for making friends with some unusual characters. Take Rodger McFarlane, for example. You may know him as Tommy Boatwright from Larry Kramer’s seminal work, The Normal Heart (Jim Parsons played him in the Broadway revival and HBO movie). I know Rodger from a different genre. He authored an important book. Bill sent a copy of Rodger’s book to Gary and me in 2004, when Gary’s mom was dying of cancer. She had told…
The Harvey Weinstein verdict is in, with guilty attached to two of the charges. Most of those mentioned in the following story have since passed away, but it’s time to tell what happened. I want my sons to know. And their wives and children. You don’t look the other way. It was the 1980s and I had my dream job. Working in a theater. My position, as business manager, included an array of duties. One was to secure minors and…
She was regal. She dripped with jewels. Her royal standing knew no equal. And she was purple. I don’t know why, but memories of Madam Queen came rushing back yesterday. And not just my affection for the oversized purple plush kitty cat, but how I got her. Madam Queen, or Maddy if you knew her well, was a gift. Not a birthday present, not a Christmas package, one of those “just because” gifts. Grandma Cassidy came to visit shortly after…
Dad stopped in his tracks, inhaled deeply, smiled, and declared: It smells like Mom! No, I didn’t sneak a spritz from the perfume bottle that still sits on her dresser. And I didn’t raid their bathroom cabinet for shampoo or lotion. Even better. Gary and I had a pot roast simmering in the slow cooker. I wish I’d taken a photo of the finished product. But then again, pot roast is not known for its photogenic qualities. Sidenote: If you…
The year was 1991. I was editor of the now-defunct magazine Catering Today. We sponsored a popular “Catering Expo” in New Orleans. The amazing chef and author Julia Child was the keynoter for our “Crystal Pineapple Awards” luncheon that year. It was a memorable experience and we lapped up every word from this American treasure. Ms. Child was 79 years old at the time, but still going strong. When Julia moved from stressing “use real cream and butter – but…
I kid you not: a big star once invited my Grandpa Cassidy to go on the road with him. And not as a security officer – as a tap dancer! Mom’s sister, Bunny, just shared this story with us last week, when Gary and I were visiting Dad in Connecticut. Poor thing, I think I asked her to repeat the story three times – I just couldn’t believe it! Grandpa was a “cop on the beat” in New Haven, Connecticut….
Today is February 10, which marks the anniversary of the moment Gary and my paths first crossed in 1981. I recently came across a one-page narrative that I frankly don’t remember writing. Long before blogs existed and long after I’d given up on hand-writing a diary, I must have felt the need to capture thoughts about my personal transformation. This was written shortly before Gary and I married; something had truly changed: I’d sooner die than move to Indiana! Not…
Today is World Read Aloud Day. Reading out loud is a tradition in my family. Growing up, Mom read to us every night. As I got older, I read to her as she ironed Dad’s shirts and other wrinkly items before the age of wash-and-wear cotton blends. Together, Mom and I enjoyed The Borrowers, The Secret Garden, and so many other classics. And so, when James was in third grade and his teacher started reading one chapter of The Tale…