There’s a basket full of school papers to go through, and it’s hard to make much headway. That’s because they’re Mom‘s papers, presumably from high school and college. Some are easy to figure out, as they retell a current event, or show the results of comparing two writers’ styles. There are news clips, too. Other papers, though, will remain a mystery. No date, no teacher’s name. But as long as Mom’s name is there – Joan Cassidy – I know…
As we finish up the first week of December, the sudden appearance of Christmas trees is pleasantly common. Some folks put theirs up over Thanksgiving weekend – or even before. Others wait till closer to the big day. Mom loved everything about Christmas, but waited until the night before for the tree. Although Dad usually picked out their live Christmas trees over the years – and placed the lights, she was in charge of the decorating of each season’s beauty….
Do teachers still send home a “reading list” with students over their summer break? I seem to remember a few lists coming home in the boys’ backpacks over the years, but never one as intimidating as this. Mom was an incoming freshman at Saint Joseph College the fall of 1948. As an English major, she was expected to read a lot. She wrote to her future husband (she and Dad had dated since they met at age 14 and were…
It’s been exactly 155 years since a wee fellow named Joseph Malachy Regan was born in Belfast, in what is now Northern Ireland. Although I’ve blogged about him several times already, it seems only right to let his youngest daughter, Cecelia, have her say. Grandma was crazy about her father. She was the only one of the Regan girls to marry, and he gave her away in full regalia: Thanks to my middle brother, Dave, who was working on a…
I have a feeling this is going to bug me every November for the rest of my days. I can’t find the recipe card Mom sent me with the simple instructions for pie crust. Forty years ago as a young bride, I asked Mom to send me some of her favorite family recipes. We talked on the phone at great length and built our list: Meatloaf, Potato Salad, Surprise Pie, Mayonnaise Cake, Banana Bread, Three-Bean Salad, and … pie crust….
Another sweet surprise. This time, I’ve come across a poem written by Dad. In 1943, when his family moved from Lowell, Massachusetts, to New Haven, Connecticut, Dad was placed in Mom‘s eighth-grade class at Saint Francis School. As told in greater detail in this earlier “Angels and angles” story, Dad was kicked up to ninth grade in a different school after inadvertently correcting a nun during math class. But before the transfer, Dad wrote a poem. It was included in…
My middle brother, Dave, wove together this remembrance of family and friends returning to Madison a few months ago to honor Dad’s memory in a heartfelt Celebration of Life: On June 11, about 40 family members and friends gathered at my parents’ spiritual home, St. Margaret’s Catholic Church in Madison, Connecticut. Dad had passed away in April of the previous year, before the risks COVID posed had diminished significantly, and this had limited the number of people who attended his…
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…
I’m not sure exactly when I realized my parents were born just a year after Anne Frank. History can be confusing that way. World War II and the Holocaust seemed so long ago and far away when we studied it in high school. In actuality, only three decades had passed. As saber rattling sets the world on edge once again, I came across a journal Mom kept from 1944 through 1948, her high school years. In total, 65 poems. Here…
January was a good month for reading books. A very good month. Farmer Gary and I enjoyed a couple of overnights with grandson Cameron, who was delighted to write up the following after he and I finished reading Stuart Little together: Bonus Book: Stuart Little by E. B. White A mouse of adventures, Stuart Little is a brave mouse, always thinking of ideas, and has cool adventures. One weird thing is that he was born by a family of humans…