The mercury hit 57 today and may make it even higher tomorrow. That is what you call a January Thaw! Thing is, there’s nothing to thaw. No snow since last month, and even then, not much to brag about here in southern Indiana. No doubt that will change in the coming weeks and I’ll eat my words, crunching on icicles all the while. Growing up in western Massachusetts, we had a January thaw each year. The best part (next to…
Have you been following the rediscovery of our Kelly family roots in County Antrim, Northern Ireland? It started with a visit Mom‘s cousin Betsy made to their grandmother’s Irish homestead in 1958. She kept good notes, some of which I used in this story about the Kelly clan. The twist to the tale was Dad’s father painted a portrait of the cottage in 1972. He used a photo from that trip. I always loved that painting, knowing it married Dad’s…
My aunt Bunny told me this story several times. Grandma had suitors before she got serious with Grandpa, but she liked to mention one fellow in particular when she looked back on her days as a young colleen. I wasn’t sure whether to tell this story, but then realized Mom mentioned him in this poem: and yet before the great depressionbefore his father diedbefore they left the house that he was born in my father had his picture taken in…
There was never any question about Joseph Malachy Regan: He was the family patriarch. One glance at this photo says it all: The newly married couple is Cecelia Margaret Regan Cassidy and Francis Raymond Cassidy, my maternal grandparents. The setting is New Haven, Connecticut, on June 24, 1929. And who is that white-haired gentleman sitting between the newlyweds? That’s Grandma’s beloved father, Joe Regan, called “Pop” by his descendants. I guess the seating plan makes sense, as Grandma’s attendants (Grandpa’s…
I’m so glad Mom saved this. It’s an article her sister, Bunny, wrote for Family Seasons, a supplement to the monthly newspaper (now magazine) provided to members of the Hartford archdiocese in Connecticut. The November 1991 feature story was about Bunny’s experience with “anticipatory grief” as Grandma completed her last few years here on earth. Letting Go Do not go gentle into that good night,Old age should burn and rage at close of day,Rage, rage against the dying of the…
For weeks now, I’ve had a hunch that there was at least one more letter from Granda Willie to Grandma Cassidy in the great stacks of letters that still await me in boxes and baskets. Sure enough, Grandma‘s distinctive penmanship caught my eye. She had tucked several letters into an envelope and then written a “Keep This!” command to the future on the envelope itself. The envelope contained one letter from her father, one from her mother, and one-and-a-half letters…
“Bunny, I wish you were my godmother.” I’ll never forget the look on Bunny’s face. We were standing at the bottom of the stairs in my parents’ home. It must have been around Christmas and I was home from college. Indiana to Connecticut didn’t happen too often; it was good to be around family. My Mom’s younger sister’s face brightened into a beautiful smile. She told me she’d have been glad to be my godmother. (For some reason, my parents…
Her first crossing of the Atlantic was in 1905. At that time, the RMS (Royal Mail Ship) Caronia was the largest ship in the Cunard Line fleet. Caronia’s maiden voyage departed Liverpool on February 25th of that year, destined for New York. On April 14th seven years later, Caronia transmitted the first ice warning to the Titanic, reporting “bergs, growlers and field ice.” It was more than a decade later that Irishman William John Kelly stepped onboard Caronia. Willie was…
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…
How charming is that? Inside an Air Mail envelope, a handwritten letter. From Irish cousin to American cousin, yet with a rather formal salutation. Grandma must have loved it! Of course she did; she saved it. Then Mom saved it. And now I’ll share it: My Dear Mrs. Cassidy, You must forgive me for not answering your letters, I do trust this note will make up for my mistacks. I was sorry to hear of your mother’s death. R.I.P., too…