It was always a treat to visit Grandma and Grandpa Cassidy when we were growing up in the 1960s. The drive to New Haven, Connecticut, took about 2.5 hours. Sometimes we’d stop at a breakfast diner and Dad would cough up a few nickels for the booth’s jukebox so we could play a song or two. Most often it would be On Top of Spaghetti, that old classic. It was always a thrill when Dad started pointing, “There it is…
This one hurts. My first view of Dolly Parton was on a TV commercial in the 1960s. She and Porter Wagoner were pitching Breeze detergent. Free towels – collect ’em all – especially the one that was huckleberry blue. Living in New England, I’d never heard an accent like that before. It made me laugh. Huckleberry blue. And just to prove that everything is available online, here’s Miss Dolly: Much will be said in the coming days about Dolly Parton….
Farmer Gary has been buying and cooking sweet corn like mad these last few weeks of the season. He’s also been complaining about the prices – ranging from four ears for a dollar to a dollar a piece! His shucking and cooking of corn on the cob reminded me of childhood summers. And rhubarb. Mom used to stew it and then top a scoop of vanilla ice cream with it. There was something else she’d make with it, but I…
It’s been nearly two centuries since Hans Christian Andersen wrote the fairy tale “The Emperor’s New Clothes.” Do you remember the story? Two con men trick the vain emperor, who thinks only of himself and his fancy clothes, no matter what the cost. They “weave” him a magnificent set of new clothes at great expense. The clothes are magical, in that they’re invisible to anyone who is incompetent or stupid. The emperor can’t see a stitch of the clothes –…
Another letter from Mom to her aunt Sister Amabilis … Mom was 15 years old at the time. Sister Amabilis (aka Aunt Marguerite) was teaching first graders in the Hartford, Connecticut, area. Here’s the news (plus a poem) Mom sent on that July day in 1945: Dear Marguerite, We had a wonderful party on the Fourth of July. Joe was the real instigator and Grandma would do anything for him. There were hot dogs and cake, soda and watermelon. There…
Yesterday’s story included a poem from a letter Mom wrote in 1944. We’re back today with the rest of the letter. Her pen pal? Mom’s aunt Marguerite (baptised Margaret Josephine, after her parents, in 1895). To non-family members, she was Sister Amabilis. This tiny eight-page time capsule includes updates on Mom’s family, who lived on Chatham Street in New Haven, Connecticut. Dear Marguerite, Thanks so much for your letters and congratulations. I can never thank you enough for praying and…
This morning, while reading a book, I was reminded of buttercups. The young female protagonist was gifted a pin in the shape of a buttercup. As my cup of coffee kicked in, I started thinking back to my childhood. There was something about buttercups … It took a few minutes to piece it all together, but memories of Mom picking a tiny yellow flower and holding it under my chin gradually broke through the fog. “Let’s see … there it…
Why would I dream about taking just one bite of a sandwich? And a Reuben sandwich at that! Farmer Gary is not a fan of rhetorical questions. He just shrugged in response. I so rarely remember my dreams that it was hard to let this one go. Until yesterday, neither Gary nor I had ever tasted a Reuben sandwich. He’s a fan of sauerkraut, but served with pork. Ham hocks and sauerkraut were a treat growing up, he tells me….
When Dad retired in the late 1980s, he was determined to collect and read more books than his career had allowed. After sorting through ads for book clubs and societies, he decided Folio Society was a good match for him (and Mom). And so, six years ago, we inherited about 450 volumes, mostly classics. Since then, we’ve doubled the size of the collection. I try to read at least two Folios each month, but decided since May is the month…
My godmother’s name fascinated me as a little kid. Her father’s name was George. Her mother’s name was Anna. And so they named their younger daughter Georgeanna. That formula sure wouldn’t have worked out as nicely for me. Haroldjoan doesn’t quite slide off the tongue as easily as Georgeanna. Born in Hartford, Connecticut, in 1932, Georgeanna Helen Lane grew up attending Catholic schools. It was at St. Joseph College that she met Mom. Sharing an interest in poetry, writing, books,…