To mask, or not to mask … Why is that even a question? I’m old enough to remember the national flap when seat belts were made mandatory. Even as a kid, I thought it was ridiculous to see adults rail about having a “constitutional right” to carry their baby on their lap while in a car. Or – gasp – not wear a seat belt so as not to wrinkle their clothes. The politicization of masks is a national disgrace….
It’s “Tell the Truth Day” and, boy, does that trigger a memory! It was the fall of 1968 and I was a 5th grader at Sacred Heart Elementary School in Pittsfield, Massachusetts. There were two fifth grade classes, taught by Mrs. McGill and Sister Helena Maria. On the first day of class, our names were called. My two best friends – Elizabeth Cross and Anne Marie Cuzzone – were thrilled to be in Mrs. McGill’s class. I crossed my fingers…
Well, that went fast. Retired. For one full year. It still feels like I’m playing hooky every day. And it still feels great. No second guessing. No regrets. The year itself, though, hasn’t been easy. Mom’s death continues to be mighty tough. Extra visits with Dad have helped a lot, well until the pandemic took over. Thank goodness for phones, texting, and Facetime. John and Aubrie’s wedding is an ongoing ray of sunshine in our lives. The glow of love…
This story isn’t about my brother Billy, but the gentleman he was named after, our mom’s uncle Bill Regan. Since Mom’s passing last November, Bill Regan’s daughter Patty and I have been in touch via email, as we piece together stories about Grandma Cassidy‘s side of the family. Little Billy, the second youngest of Joe and Maggie Regan’s 11 children, was born in New Haven, Connecticut, in 1908. He lived to be 96 years old. Patty sent me the following…
Memory is a fascinating function of the brain. It’s especially curious when two people share the same experience, but carry somewhat different versions with them into the future. For example, a Christmas shopping trip in December 1963, with Dad as my shopping buddy. Destination: downtown Pittsfield, Massachusetts. (After 1963, Mom always took me Christmas shopping. It was a treat. We would stop by Rosa Restaurant on North Street “for a bite,” as Mom would say.) It never occurred to me…
My sister-in-law Linda posted some beautiful flower photos this morning on Facebook. She and my brother Harry live in Maine and spend a lot of their time happily communing with nature. I, on the other hand, can recognize pansies and geraniums, but I fear that’s about it. Oh, and roses. Carnations and day lilies, too, But that’s it. So it’s a good thing Linda identified the flowers in her post as peonies. Now I may not recognize peonies, but at…
Dear Dad – My brothers and I decided to capture a list of some of the quirky, memorable, and downright goofy Dad-isms you treated us to over the years. Dad, you may not have often regaled us with what are now called Dad Jokes (and for that we are grateful!), but you nevertheless kept us entertained. This collection of Dad-isms fell naturally into the following five themes: Music to our ears Hippie Music! As rock and roll music took over…
For me, the right thing to do this past week was … to think. The world is in an uproar and we all have a place in the turmoil. Social media is a cesspool of snarling racists, preachy Karens, and nasty name-callers. How can our country still be so ugly? When we moved from Connecticut to Indiana, I was 15 years old and a sophomore in high school. It was the fall of 1973. A few weeks after we moved…
Week 1: Andy & Don by Daniel de Vise At the end of April, I decided to look for some lighthearted books to read in May. So much death and horror in the news, it was time to spend some time in … Mayberry. Nope. Mayberry is only on TV. As May turned out to be even worse than April (with the police murder of George Floyd, followed by rioting throughout the country reminiscent of the 1960s), it was clear the sweet…
Look! It’s a fingernail moon! Little Thomas was barely more than a toddler when he pointed to the night sky and proclaimed the waxing (or maybe it was waning) moon looked like a fingernail. We were driving at the time (pre-cell-phone days), and I couldn’t wait to get home to call Mom. Her first grandchild had a poet’s heart. Mom absolutely loved the moon. She was fascinated by the changing sizes, shapes, and colors of the moon. Harvest moon, crescent…