Although worthwhile, researching a family tree is overwhelming. Each generation of ancestors spreads those branches further, to Ireland, Germany, France, Canada. Which limb to explore next? Let’s look to the north and remember Achille and Jane Plante. Here they are on their wedding day in 1901. Both born in Canada, the shoemaker and his bride were 27 and 25 years old. They’d immigrated to the U.S. a few years earlier. Here’s the fancy Certificate of Marriage they received a month…
I always looked forward to seeing my Aunt Janet when our families got together. The middle of Dad’s three younger sisters, Jan was not one to get lost in the shuffle. Born on August 4, 1934, Janet grew up knowing not everyone receives the gift of robust health. Of her mom‘s nine pregnancies (including a set of twins), only five survived. Grandma struggled with anemia those years and spent some time in the hospital. I’ll always wonder if those early…
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…
This poem’s a tough one. Mom wrote it 19 years ago, still in mourning for the loss of her brother. Ray. Sweet baby Ray. This sounds ridiculous as I type it, but we only use that brand of barbecue sauce in our home, in honor of Uncle Ray. Mom was delighted when we served it to her on pulled pork those last years before we lost her, too. Both lost to Parkinson’s Disease. Today is World Parkinson’s Day. If you’ve…
Earlier this year, while sifting through the 240 gallons of books Dad shipped our way, this one caught my eye: Petals is a work of poetry and verse compiled long ago by the Sisters of Mercy in Connecticut for their Reverend Mother. Mom’s collection of poetry books included this copy, signed by her aunt Margaret, Sister Amabilis. As I flipped through the pages, the first several poems credited to Sister Amabilis were already familiar. But toward the end of the…
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…
In case you’re reading this years in the future, let me just say that the spring of 2020 is one we will most likely choose not to look back upon with fondness. A frightening pandemic swept the country, while calls to stay home and “flatten the curve” were, by all too many, ignored. Some in self-isolation rediscovered the joy of reading. Gary and I settled in, each with a pile of books, to stay safe and healthy. And well-read. It…
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,…
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…
All my life, Dad has talked about what a scamp he was as a kid. Yet, there were no stories to back up his claim. Was this silence on his part due to not wanting to set a bad examples for his four children? Perhaps. It’s only now that the confessions are spilling forth. As his confessor, I am impressed, but not yet mortified. Here’s a story: Times have changed over the generations, thank heavens. Back in the 1930s, Catholics…