Back to four volumes this month, my minimal commitment for retirement-era book consumption. Three of the four came from our collection of Folio Society books (which has grown past 700 titles this month, thanks to eBay). But first, a just-released heart-wrenching memoir caught my eye. The title is so disturbing I can’t even bring myself to type the words. Book 1: a memoir by Jennette McCurdy I remember so well watching iCarly on TV with James. The character of Sam,…
Now that I look back on the list, it’s clear that March was packed with an odd assortment of books. Not exactly “in like a lion, out like a lamb”; the month’s literary arc was not a smooth one. Week 1: Mrs. Astor Regrets by Meryl Gordon What an exhausting read! I vaguely remember this story from the news 15 years ago, when “elder abuse” was a developing term. Mrs. Astor was ridiculously rich. Admittedly, she wasn’t a great mother,…
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…
A busy month, with our trip to Connecticut to clear out Mom & Dad’s house, but books managed to wave their pages as me, seeking to soothe my sore muscles and aching heart with an escape to wonderland. A side note: Farmer Gary puts me to shame when it comes to level of voracious reading. While in Connecticut, he kept a pile of newspaper circulars to read when he had a few minutes. We’d canceled Dad‘s newspaper and magazine subscriptions,…
Collaborating with Dad on this blog’s stories has been a joy. He got such a charge when a photo or old news article tickled his memory. And he loved talking about Mom, his Joanie. Our final effort together was “The Maine Man,” with that surprise ending in which Dad suddenly remembered a car ride with his grandparents back in 1935 or so. In our daily phone chats, there was never a pen and pad out of reach. Jotted notes would…
The other day, it occurred to me that Mom lived through a lot of wars. As a child, she wrote poems about the soldiers in World War II. Her uncle Pip and other fellows from the neighborhood were called up to service. It clearly weighed heavy on her heart. She and Dad married while he was on a finally approved three-day leave. When he returned to his barracks, Dad found orders to ship out on his bunk. He was on…
We’re never at a loss for books to read in this house. Sticking to my retirement goal from nearly two years ago, I managed to find four books this month with light enough topics to not add to my sadness following Dad’s passing. Week 1: Bless Me, Father by Neil Boyd After enjoying A Father Before Christmas a number of months ago, I was pleased to download the first book in the Bless Me, Father series (free if you’re on…
“We’ll be there in another week, Dad. We’ll have fresh fish every day – promise!” Oh, boy – can’t wait! Sadly, I wasn’t able to keep that promise. Gary and my long-awaited post-vaccine visit with Dad came to a tragic end. A misstep, surgery from a resulting broken hip, and a stroke ended in his death on April 13. Rest in peace, my darling Dad. Remembering Mom’s explanation of “holy laughter,” we’ll share some of the moments that made us…
There are times when reading-to-learn ultimately teaches you how little you actually know. I now wonder if an entire year should be dedicated to focusing solely on my Irish books, rather than just the month of March. While that would no doubt lead to much laughter, it might also point me toward “the drink,” which I’ve managed to avoid thus far. The Irish have not had an easy go of it, that’s for sure. Week 1: Are You Somebody? by…
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…