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…
Mom collected “-isms” as we grew up. When one of us used a word or phrase in an unusual or mispronounced way, it became part of the family’s lexicon. There were Harry-isms, Dave-isms, etc. We’ll no doubt revisit this topic as my brothers and I dust off our memories from long ago, but for now here are some from Gary’s and my sons. Uh-oh! Monsters! Youngest son James never missed a chance to visit Grandma’s side of the farm (she…
Gosh, I remember that day. We were at Grandma and Grandpa Cassidy’s house for a visit. This story centers around their kitchen. And eggs. I loved that kitchen, and the adjacent pantry. The kitchen included a dinette set, pushed up against the wall. That wall featured a Murphy bed-esque ironing board – it folded up and all but disappeared! The room also included a gas stove and a tall white cabinet that was freestanding. I’m sure that cupboard housed a…
In case you haven’t happened upon this fact, I’m here to tell you: There’s nothing quite as polarizing as black olives. Some people love them. And I mean LOVE. To the point they’ll steal them off of your plate. While others … well, we won’t steal them back. My introduction to black olives was back in the mid 1960s. Each Friday, Mom packed up the kids and we headed to Adams Super Market. It was a huge store, for the…
Back in the 1960s, Mom started a tradition in the family. It was during Advent, those long weeks of preparation for Christmas. She set out the family creche as part of our Christmas decorations. The stable, the shepherds, the three wise men, Mary and Joseph. The tiny manger was there, too, but no Baby Jesus. Baby Jesus was hidden away until Christmas morn. Meanwhile, during those pre-holiday weeks when we children would get “itchy” (one of Mom’s great words describing…
For 27 years, I worked at an attraction in Santa Claus, Indiana, where Christmas music played from May through October. It was fun to watch unsuspecting visitors suddenly realize “Let It Snow!” was playing on the speakers in the middle of July, with outdoor temperatures approaching triple digits. Most smiled, a few rolled their eyes, several brave souls sang along. My first experience Christmas caroling was when I was three years old. Mom, who loved Christmas, announced to my brothers…
“I had a bad dream last night. In my dream, I hugged Sister Amabilis too tightly. I broke her.” Poor Gary. He’d just met my great aunt the day before. He was stunned by how tiny she was. As newlyweds in 1982, we made the rounds in New England to visit relatives who couldn’t make it to our wedding. It was a treat to see Sister Amabilis, who was then 87 years old. Sister Mary Amabilis Regan was first-generation American,…
Have you seen those videos on social media showing animals (both in zoos and in the wild) wolfing down pumpkins? Living on a farm, I can’t help but chuckle. The great pumpkins-are-edible discovery is akin to children realizing milk doesn’t “come from” grocery stores, but moo cows. Pumpkins, it turns out, don’t just magically transform into pies, over-salted packages of seeds, and Starbucks coffee flavorings. Livestock and wildlife figured this out long ago: Pumpkins – raw pumpkins – are delicious!…
Back in the ’60s, I was a Junior Girl Scout from the fourth to sixth grade. This was at Sacred Heart Elementary School in Pittsfield, Massachusetts. No matter what you’ve heard about Thin Mints, let me assure you that back then Scouting was all about filling up that green sash with badges. Any girl with a drop of competitiveness in her soul worked every angle to earn more badges that her sisters in green. I scoured the thick blue Girl…
My mom loves Halloween. Pumpkins, gourds, cider, witches, black cats, and the occasional ghost, of course. She loves it all! Mom also loves children’s books. She wrote this Halloween story – featuring a witch called Grantie Grackle – back in the mid-1960s. My oldest brother, Harry, collaborated as her illustrator back when he was just 10 years old. Three decades later, Mom made copies of “The Whitewashed Ghost” and shared them with her increasing number of grandchildren. With her permission…