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…
On this rainy New Year’s Day, let’s dust off this poem of Mom’s from the start of another year, long ago. The year 1973 was one of great change for our family. Oldest brother Harry graduated high school and headed to college. Dad was offered a job transfer to Indianapolis. We packed up the house and moved nearly a thousand miles away. We buried a beloved cat. But that was all months later. On January 1, 1973, Mom looked lovingly…
Back in his college days, Dad was an editor of The Alembic student literary magazine at Providence College. In his senior year, as editor-in-chief, he wrote the occasional opinion piece. It’s been so interesting to read what he and the other editors thought about back then, 70 years ago. The following is from January 1951, a big year for the fledgling television industry. Along with advances in technology, shows such as the Hallmark Hall of Fame, Dragnet, and I Love…
Another mystery. This time, contained in a letter. As I’ve shuffled through hundreds of letters saved from the late 1940s and early ’50s, I’ve noticed Dad calls Grandma Cassidy (his mother-in-law) “Joe.” Thing is, her name wasn’t Josephine. It was Cecelia. Cecelia Margaret Regan Cassidy. And when she wrote to Dad, she signed the letters “Joe.” I wonder why … … maybe she worried that the other soldiers stationed in Korea might take a peek at one of the letters…
The year 1953 was a tough one for Mom. She was a newlywed, but her dear Hap was overseas, serving in the Army during the Korean Conflict. In one of her daily letters to Dad, she proclaimed, “After you get home, I don’t ever want to see a stamp again!” Of course, anyone who knew her is chuckling right now; Mom was a true and faithful letter-writer. She stayed in touch. So imagine her heartbreak when one of her favorite…
The prayer card handed out at Rose Anna Gilbert Plante’s funeral was in French. Even though she lived all but 14 years of her long life in Lewiston, Maine, Rose Anna still listed French as her spoken language on the census form every ten years. “A la douce memoire de …” means “To the sweet memory of …” Rose Anna lived to be 87. She outlived her “epouse,” Jean Vincent Plante by 29 years. (Jean was a brother to my…
Mom would be pleased that her poems – even those from long ago – are causing her children to research and reminisce. This poem was written in August of 1977 following the death of someone named Madeline. A friend? A relative? I checked first about a certain writer friend, but she spelled her name Madeleine and lived for three more decades. A search on our massive family tree on ancestry.com brought me – at last – to Madeline. Madeline Sturmer….
Well, I left something out in an earlier story. As much as I learned about Grandpa Vayo while researching “The Family Scholar,” I didn’t pick up on one important attribute. Sarcasm. Grandpa knew how to take a sarcastic turn in his writing. Here’s a letter Grandpa mailed to Dad on July 30, 1952. My father was in boot camp at Fort Dix, New Jersey, preparing to be sent overseas during the Korean Conflict. Dear Son: Guess there isn’t much news…
A few weeks before Dad‘s 60th birthday, Mom wrote this playful poem about her handy husband: Handyman Hal If you need a window lowered at nightOr somebody strong to switch on the lightOr the tablecloth straightened from left to rightCall Handyman Hal! If you reach him the key he will open your doorGive him a jug he’ll be happy to pourAll of these projects and many things moreHandyman Hal. If you want Christmas presents placed under the treeA wise man…