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…
To know her was to love her. Sister Sylvia reminded me so much of my dear great-aunt Sr. Amabilis. It was uncanny. Both teachers, deeply religious, tiny, and loads of fun. I met Sister Sylvia about 30 years ago at a tourism meeting. She was smart, kind, and sort of sassy. Her home was on the hill in Ferdinand, at the Monastery Immaculate Conception. She was their Minister of Hospitality. A few years later, we built a big new roller…
Farmer Gary is a renaissance man. His decades of planting and harvesting crops have taken him into the realms of botany, nutrition, chemistry, geology, meteorology. There’s math, engineering, economics, accounting, Even a bit of stand-up comedy. “Back when they were doing some digging work over at Mom’s home place, I noticed one of the bulldozers was a Japanese brand, so I asked the mechanic how he liked working on the equipment. He told me ‘the hardest part was learning to…
As Valentine’s Day approached last year, Dad decided to bring back a tradition he and Mom started long ago: Mail giant chocolate hearts from Hawaii to loved ones back home. Their annual trips to The Big Island began when youngest son Bill was stationed there. My brother, the Marine: Mom and Dad liked their winter visits to Hawaii (with its depression-lifting sunshine) so much, they made it a habit. Even after Bill had long since returned to civilian life in…
Farmer Gary sets an annual goal for himself: Complete the harvest before Thanksgiving. Yesterday, he finished combining ‘beans and today he’s planting the last of the winter crops. And all without a scarecrow. I can’t help but wonder if “city folk” would even know about scarecrows were it not for The Wizard of Oz. (As an aside, it still makes me laugh to remember Harry’s high school story about sitting in a quiet classroom, taking a final exam. The silence…
When I hear people complain about how breathing is uncomfortable in the year of pandemic mask-wearing, I think back to how we put up with a bit of discomfort when there was candy to be gotten. I mean, just look at this thing! See those two tiny holes right beneath this hideous cat’s nose? And right above the back of kitty’s tongue – that tiny slit? That’s how we breathed on Halloween. And no one complained. Growing up in the…
There comes a time in every mother’s life when she simply has to put her foot down. Dad recalls the first time Mom did this. It was in the mid-1960s, we were living in Pittsfield, and there was too much cussin’ going on in our house. “Mom got on my case,” he remembers. I asked Dad, “So what was it, mostly ‘hell’ and ‘damn’?” ” … bastard, too.” The response came much sooner than I would have expected. For those…
Veta Louise Simmons, I thought you were dead! That is one of many funny bits from the play Harvey. Elderly, yet still glamorous, snooty Mrs. Ethel Chauvenet knows how to make an entrance. Her niece, Veta Louise, also up there in years, is mortified that Aunt Ethel might find out about Harvey. Veta’s brother, Elwood, has befriended Harvey, who just happens to be a 6’3″ white rabbit, visible only to him. If you haven’t seen the 1950 movie, rest assured…
In these endless days of Covid-19 self-isolation, it is important to find ways to smile and laugh. More than just by making fun of politicians, though; that rabbit hole seems to get stinkier by the minute. It’s still funny stuff, but definitely doesn’t lift the spirits. And so, I turn to podcasts. Here’s a new one I “discovered” a few days ago: In a nutshell (emphasis on nut), this comedic duo plays two elderly New Yorkers who are on a…
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,…