As I sat down to write this story, it seemed fitting to tune in to one of the Irish music channels on my satellite-radio app. The first song? Molly Malone. That was one of Dad‘s favorites. When I’d gingerly play it on the piano as a kid, he’d burst in from wherever he was in the house or yard, singing: In Dublin’s fair city … Pardon me while I wipe my eyes. What have we here? Another letter to Grandma…
After a loved one dies, it’s a great relief to dream about them. I seem to dream about Mom and Dad just a few times a year. It always feels current, yet back in time. That way about dreams that’s only confusing after you awaken. In the dream, I proclaim joyfully that Mom is able to walk steadily again, as in her pre-Parkinson’s days. I hug her repeatedly. We prepare a meal together; it’s always a family gathering. I wake…
One of these days, I need to pull out Mom’s “rejection folder” for a blog post. Yes, she kept the rejection letters she received from magazine editors over the years. Rejection. Who needs that?! But Mom never gave up. She kept mailing out those hand-typed poems, knowing her work was good. Once in a while, there’d be hand-written feedback in the margins of those letters, written by kind editors who no doubt understood the pain of rejection. Back in the…
“The Hundred Acre Wood got floodier and floodier.” How lucky am I to have married a man who can quote Winnie the Pooh?! Farmer Gary and I were driving home after a wonderful weekend with James. Our youngest son lives exactly 250 miles from us, so it’s a bit of a haul, but always worthwhile. James cooked for us several times and took us to our first cat cafe. My favorite moment was just as we walked into the special…
With Canada in the news so much lately, I took a look in Mom’s writing archives and found an interesting piece she wrote about Canada geese: Work in Progress I saw them again yesterday, feeding in the field where corn had grown all summer: Canada geese, a dozen or so, those wild and mystical squires of the sky who call us to joy and freedom when they fly above our eyes. Finding them there the first time I was struck…
“We’ll give you a call tomorrow as soon as the doctor is done fixing Mom’s plumbing.” Oh, Dad. He hid his nervousness about the surgery with goofy humor. Mom came through the operation and recovery with flying colors and never regretted taking the step. She wrote this during her wintertime recovery in early 1982: The Long Christmas Early February: I am home from the hospital – it is heaven! Days, I camp in the den with many quilts and pillows…
A few of this month’s books came recommended in rather curious ways … Book 1: 84, Charing Cross Road by Helene Hanff This wonderful book introduced itself via the Book Vs. Movie podcast: The two hosts – both named Margo – were so charmed by 84, Charing Cross Road, the postwar exchange of letters between a writer in New York and a bookseller in London, that I decided to give it a look-see. Checking our home inventory on the BookBuddy+…
One of these days, I’m going to figure out the story behind my maiden name: Vayo. Stepping back three generations on Dad‘s side, one family spelled their surname in three ways: Veilleux, Vayo, and Veayo. Just now, I double-checked all of great-grandpa George Vayo’s siblings and parents and there is, frankly, no rhyme or reason that I can find. Several family members – including his parents – changed their surnames from Veilleux to Vayo, while a few of George’s siblings…
Oh, how I miss talking politics with Dad! At least once a day, I’ll hear or read a news story and immediately think to call Dad – or at least text him the link for later discussion. Here’s an example: Did you hear about the Benedictine nuns in Erie, Pennsylvania, accused of voter fraud this week? They’re not taking it lying down. Dad would have gotten such a kick out of reading about their leader’s barely contained furor. When I…
This poem of Mom’s caught my eye the other day, just as Farmer Gary and I were reminiscing about the bittersweet work that goes into clearing out a long-loved house and finding another family who will make it home. In 2002, Dad was executor for Mom’s uncle Pip’s estate. Her cousins and even some of their children gathered to help clear out the home that for decades served as a gathering place for four generations of family. May and Pip…