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Tag: Grandma Cassidy

All Souls Day
‘All Souls Day in Cellophane’

‘All Souls Day in Cellophane’

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Growing up as a Catholic kid, it was confusing. Probably exacerbated by the sugar hangover from Halloween. The Sisters at Sacred Heart School would test us: What. Comes. Next? Well, there was All Saints Day and All Souls Day, but in what order? (I got crafty one year and noticed they were alphabetical.) Good heavens, no wonder we were confused. Here’s what Wikipedia says: All Saints’ Day, also known as All Hallows’ Day, the Feast of All Saints, the Feast of All Hallows, the Solemnity of All…

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Frankenchair
The Frankenchair

The Frankenchair

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Back in June, as Gary and I cleared out my parents’ home for sale, I phoned my cousin Suzanne about one particular wooden chair. “The chair with the lions. That was from Grandma and Grandpa’s house, right Suzie?” You mean the Frankenchair? Up until that moment, I hadn’t realized the chair in my folks’ music room had a story behind it. Our grandpa was a policeman in New Haven, Connecticut, from 1926 through 1952. He loved to walk the beat…

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Gram Regan feeding horse at home
The healer

The healer

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My Aunt Bunny (Mom’s younger sister) has told me this story more than once. Just this week, I found a poem Mom wrote about it. Although it was usually up to them to call on their grandmother, the Cassidy sisters of Fair Haven could always count on their Gram to pay them a visit during that time of the month, armed with a bottle of the cure. Gram’s backyard on Lombard Street connected with the Cassidys’ well-kept yard behind their…

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Officer Frank Cassidy
New Haven’s finest

New Haven’s finest

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A little red-haired boy was born in New Haven, Connecticut, in June of 1900. The turn of the century. His parents – Pat and Anna – were Irish immigrants. His father, a policeman. Little Frank Cassidy looked for ways to earn money and help out his parents. He sold lemons on street corners near his home on Lombard Street. He’d search for pieces of coal to bring home. One year, he found enough along the railroad tracks to heat their…

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Pittsfield Massachusetts Town Line Sign
The hometown

The hometown

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“Would you like to take this home? Mom kept it on her dresser.” It’s been more than a year since Dad showed me this souvenir: As I squinted to read the small print (the tiny dish measures four inches across), a familiar city name caught my eye. Pittsfield? “Her parents honeymooned there in 1929. They stayed at the Hotel Wendell. Mom was born nine months later.” And 32 years after Mom’s birth, our family moved to Pittsfield, Massachusetts. We lived…

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Patrick Cassidy, policeman
The policeman

The policeman

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My grandfather was a policeman in New Haven, Connecticut. And his father was a policeman, too. My mother never met her grandfather Patrick Cassidy. He died in 1917. He was only 54 years old. My grandpa was just 17 years old at the time; he dropped out of school to help support the family. He had six siblings. Little Ginny was only two years old and Walter was eight. Here’s a photo of Grandpa with his mother, Anna, and youngest…

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1938 Grandma C with her children
Candies from Grandma

Candies from Grandma

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Grandma Cassidy had five granddaughters. I’m the oldest, then there’s Bunny’s two girls: Suzanne and Beth, and Ray’s two daughters: Marie and Claire. And so it feels like Grandma has been at work behind the scenes and in cahoots with the angels to remind one granddaughter that she had a copy of this wonderful memoir written by another granddaughter many years ago. Suzanne emailed it to me the other day. With Marie’s permission, here is that essay, which she wrote…

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1958 Kelly family ancestral home
The gift

The gift

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Growing up, our family had a Christmas tradition of going around the dinner table and each naming our favorite gift. Not the gift of family, faith, talent, or brains. This was about what had awaited us under the tree that morning. A toy, a doll, a game. Looking back over the decades, I’d have to say my favorite unwrap-it gift involved multi-generational family members, plus talent. It was this painting: In short, this is a painting that Grandpa Vayo (Dad’s…

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1929 Grandma Cassidy
The gospel according to Grandma

The gospel according to Grandma

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I can just hear my Grandma Cassidy bursting forth with that staccato laugh of hers, and then chiding me for using the word “gospel” in the title of this post. But Grandma, it’s okay. I didn’t capitalize “gospel,” so I don’t need to go to confession over this. We’re good. My younger brother was crazy about Grandma, too. Six years younger than me, Bill had a few extra years living close to her once Mom and Dad moved back to…

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War Bond poster from World War Two
A war bond for Christmas

A war bond for Christmas

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As odd as this year’s Christmas will be (given the pandemic), it’s not the first time history has gifted parents with holiday challenges. For example, wartime. I can only imagine how my grandparents went to extra effort to keep those Decembers jolly for their young children. In 1943, staples such as sugar, meat, and coffee could only be obtained via food ration books – and even then, only when the items were available. Even after the world war was over,…

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