Here’s something I never expected to find in our family’s archives: A letter from a princess. The letter is undated, but I’d guess it was written toward the end of the 1980s. Written on the back of the folded blue stationery, it clearly states: Important. Do not throw away. I recognize that handwriting. Grandma Cassidy added the note to make sure this treasure wasn’t swept away and lost by someone with too little curiosity. The letter from the princess was…
Last fall’s post about Sister Amabilis is by far the most-read story on this family blog. Hundreds of her first-grade students – now grown with children and even grandchildren of their own – fondly remember that tiny nun with the huge heart. Thank you to all who shared memories here or on Facebook. As we continue to sort through a mountain of family archives, delightful surprises about my mom’s aunt keep popping up. Easter eggs, if you will. Let’s start…
“I live for death.” Gary says that with a twinkle in his eye, when he tells me he’s heading to a funeral home yet again. He never misses the local radio newscast, which ends with obituaries. It’s the first page he turns to when the newspaper is delivered. Always has been, Gary wants to know who died. He wants to pay his respects. He wants to tell stories. My husband will go to the funeral home when so many others…
Okay, so technically I’m a farmer’s wife, but after 37 years of marriage, I know a thing or two – and nearly everything about farming applies to tips for getting through this Coronavirus pandemic. (1) Wash your stinkin’ hands! Farmers get dirty. Whether it’s dirt, sweat, animal entrails, manure, or some combination of the above, your wife doesn’t want you dragging it in the house. Wash up. The Center for Disease Control (CDC) says scrub for 20 seconds. That’s exactly…
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…
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…
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…
Although most of my career was spent at the park (with the nickname Raven Maven), for a handful of years in the late ’80s I was known as The Big Cheese. When I told park peers that I’d formerly served as editor of Pizza Today magazine, I’m not sure they believed me. They’d give me that side-eye thing. With a grin and a shrug, I’d make a mental note to bring an issue in someday as proof. Like this one:…
Nearly four decades ago – on August 7, 1982 – Gary and I got married. We’d met 18 months prior. I was a reporter, he was a local farmer fighting the federal government to save his land. My first words to my future husband: What the hell’s a watershed? Gary’s animated response won me over, and I’ve never tired of his stories in all these years. We met in February of 1981. Gary popped the question in December. We planned…