My fondest memories of my aunt Barbara (the youngest of Dad’s three sisters) involve a hook, an ocean, and a ball of yarn. Barbara taught me to crochet back in the late 1960s. I’d learned how to knit (and purl) in Girl Scouts, but there was something about using one crochet hook (rather than two knitting needles) that appealed to me. Barb taught me how to crochet an afghan blanket. After that, a poncho. With fringe. The timing was perfect,…
The usual meaning for the term “keyboard warriors” is those angry trolls who make sure social media is always stirred up with arguments and untruths. For our purposes, though – and during Teach Music Week – we’ll look at the keyboards that tie our family together. Piano keyboards. Dad remembers taking piano lessons when his family lived in Lowell in the early 1940s. He was ten or 11 and would walk just a few blocks to get to Mrs. Salmonson’s…
Today is Grandma Cassidy‘s birthday. And it’s Poetry Day. Born in 1903, Grandma wouldn’t have permitted us to calculate her age, had the luck of the Irish kept her with us all these years. Saints preserve us! Me sainted Grandmother has made her home in heaven since 1991. I was “great with child” at the time, with middle-son John on the way and couldn’t travel to attend her funeral in New Haven. I’ve always believed her blithe spirit lives on…
Fact: Baby Boomers were born between 1946 and 1964. To make it easier to remember, the Boomers time frame basically started with the post-war “boom” (which had nothing to do with the Manhattan Project) and ended with the launch of Beatlemania (I made that last part up). So, yes, I’m a Boomer. We ate very differently back then. We nearly always dined at home. Slowly, as the ’60s progressed, stay-at-home moms discovered simpler recipes to make than what their mothers…
With all the talk of viruses in the news lately (and a century ago), I think back to the comfort, warmth, and healing provided for many years by the cherry spread. Mom only used the cherry spread when we were ill. The cherry spread plus slowly-sipped ginger ale took care of any number of tummy aches and “bugs.” (To this day, ginger ale tastes like medicine to me.) In many hours of digging, I’ve only found one photo that includes…
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…
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…