“Cold soup? Ewww!” Poor Dad had just arrived home from a business trip to the Phoenix area and was excited to tell us about the new foods he’d enjoyed. I, for one, was not the least bit tempted by the thought of cold tomato soup full of chopped fresh vegetables. But for Dad, this was a heavenly combination. He loved vegetables. Especially fresh, home-grown veggies. From the date of Mom‘s poem, below, I can guess she took a train and…
May 28 is a special day for our family. It’s Dad‘s birthday. He would have been 92 this year. And oh, how he would have loved to have been in Terre Haute, Indiana, on that day. … because May 28 this year was also the day James graduated from Rose-Hulman Institute of Technology, with a double major (Electrical Engineering and Math) plus a Master’s degree in Electrical and Computer Engineering. But for Dad it would have been even more than…
Growing up on Chatham Street in New Haven, Connecticut, Mom loved her “little room.” Nowadays, we might call it a walk-in closet. Back in the 1940s, it was a room with a window and a desk. For writing, for studying, for dreaming. Even more special was the view. The window looked out into the front yard, where there was a spruce tree. And as Mom grew up, so did that tree. A year ago, I asked Dad if Mom had…
Did you see the news story the other day involving the sudden wedding of two members of the Ukrainian Defense Forces? Lesya Ivashchenko and Valeriy Filimonov weren’t planning to hold their ceremony during war time, but decided to make their vows on Sunday at a checkpoint on the outskirts of Kyiv. This year would have been my parents’ 70th anniversary. They were married in New Haven on a Tuesday, while Dad was on leave from the Army. Dad had a…
I’ve been thinking a lot about Tevye lately. Tevye. The protagonist in the Tevye the Dairyman stories. The pious, irrepressible lead character in Fiddler on the Roof. When we moved from Pittsfield, Massachusetts, to Fairfield, Connecticut, in 1970, we were suddenly just a quick train ride from New York City. And Broadway. Dad took that commuter train into Manhattan every weekday. One Friday, he brought home six tickets to a hit musical called Fiddler on the Roof. I haven’t come…
Farmer Gary and I have a tradition. Each evening, he asks me to look up how many readers visited this blog over the past day. It ranges greatly, depending on whether I’ve added a new post that day. Then comes the really good part. “Where are they from?” Blog analytics are fascinating. I haven’t splurged on a deep-dive system (yet), but the one I use lists readers by their nation. Gary never tires of it. Of course, the majority of…
January was a good month for reading books. A very good month. Farmer Gary and I enjoyed a couple of overnights with grandson Cameron, who was delighted to write up the following after he and I finished reading Stuart Little together: Bonus Book: Stuart Little by E. B. White A mouse of adventures, Stuart Little is a brave mouse, always thinking of ideas, and has cool adventures. One weird thing is that he was born by a family of humans…
What do you use to save your place in a book? A piece of scrap paper? An old photo or business card? A piece of toilet paper (we know where you’ve been reading!) or paper towel? Maybe a bonafide bookmark? As long as you don’t – gasp – fold, spindle or mutilate the page of your book, nearly anything will do. While cataloging the hundreds of inherited books from my parents’ collection, I’ve come across many bookmarks. Some stir a…
Pages held together by a rusted paper clip. Paper not exactly crumbling, but after seven decades, it’s discolored and brittle. A short story, written so long ago. Long hidden in a mountain of college papers, here’s a six-page class assignment. A short story, neatly typed, with a few pencil scratches. Probably a “final draft,” as there’s no grade or notes from the professor. I can only imagine Dad’s reaction if he were still here to reminisce. He loved it when…
Shakespeare. Near the top of the list of topics I wanted to talk to Dad about for this family blog was his – and Mom’s – love of Shakespeare. Over the months following Mom‘s passing in 2019, I found it best to introduce a potential story topic to Dad during one of our nightly calls, with the intent to bring it back up three or four times. As Dad reminisced, I scribbled notes madly. Alas, we only talked about Shakespeare…