Mom would be pleased that her poems – even those from long ago – are causing her children to research and reminisce. This poem was written in August of 1977 following the death of someone named Madeline. A friend? A relative? I checked first about a certain writer friend, but she spelled her name Madeleine and lived for three more decades. A search on our massive family tree on ancestry.com brought me – at last – to Madeline. Madeline Sturmer….
A few weeks before Dad‘s 60th birthday, Mom wrote this playful poem about her handy husband: Handyman Hal If you need a window lowered at nightOr somebody strong to switch on the lightOr the tablecloth straightened from left to rightCall Handyman Hal! If you reach him the key he will open your doorGive him a jug he’ll be happy to pourAll of these projects and many things moreHandyman Hal. If you want Christmas presents placed under the treeA wise man…
We heard it every Sunday whenever there was a chill in the air: “Who wants a fie-oo in the fie-oo-place?” Dad loved to build a good fire, hear the crackling sound of properly dried kindling, poking the coals together in the late evening, and maybe even taking a snooze in a nearby comfy chair. It was only this week that I realized his obsession with building fires traced back to his youth. Way back Ever since posting about Dad’s college…
“He is most blessed who loves the most, the freest who is most enslaved by love.”― Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote The night before Dad passed away, I slid his copy of Don Quixote off the shelf and read a bit. It was hard to concentrate, but I knew it was one of his favorites and hoped we could still connect, even though he appeared to be in a deep sleep. Around midnight, Gary shooed me off to bed. As I walked…
Mom sure loved living in Pittsfield. Known as “The Heart of the Berkshires,” Pittsfield was our childhood home from 1962 through 1970. Located in western Massachusetts, Pittsfield is surrounded by the scenic Berkshire Mountains. This poem from 1972 caught my eye the other day. Even though we’d moved to Fairfield, Conn., nearly two years prior, Mom was still thinking about Pittsfield: Song for a Berkshire House There, in the snow-and-autumn house,early November blue and white feelingof frost, and sky of…
One of the many goofy teases Dad used when we were kids was to never remember our ages. He knew them all, of course, but would increase or lower our age to support his ruling as a parent. “Stay up to watch Star Trek? But you’re only six years old – that’s way past your bedtime!” Uh, I was eight, nine, and ten at the time the original series ran. When I got caught peaking down the stairs, my true…
“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…
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…
Mom collected a lot more than books. She collected friends. We moved around a lot in the 1960s and ’70s, and she stayed in touch with each group of friends and neighbors. This was pre-email, of course. Dad used to tease that Mom kept the post office solvent. One friend was Newbery-winning author Madeleine L’Engle. In a future post, I’ll share some of their correspondence. In the meantime, I read L’Engle’s most famous book (finally!) this month. Week 1: A…
Boo! The month of October requires at least one or two spooky stories, don’t you think? My focus in choosing this month’s four books was non-political. Enough, already, right? Presidential election years are always dreadful, but nothing compares to 2020. When you get to the point that you dream about one of the candidates (not the one you support) offering you a job, something’s got to give! Week 1: Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris My dear friend…