My brothers and I grew up watching Captain Kangaroo. Good morning, Captain! The Captain was a smiling fellow, with big pouchy pockets in his coat (hence the moniker). Every once in a while, he still shows up in social media: When I saw the “Who Wore It Better?” meme a year or so ago, I emailed my brothers to see what they recalled about The Captain. Something we all remembered was that Mom once met him. But not one of…
Do you have a favorite number? (I don’t …) Mom sure did. She loved the number four. And so when I saw this was TooMuchBrudders Blog Post Number 444, it was time to pause. Mom was born in April, the fourth month. She married Dad on the fourth of November, 1952. She had four children. For the heck of it, I looked up the number 444. According to Dictionary.com, it’s an “angel number,” with lots of positive attributes attached. Checking…
She was just 13 years old. It must have felt like the world was exploding. Her uncles were in uniform. The radio blasted news of war. There was rationing of food and materials. Newspaper headlines were frightening. So Mom wrote poems. Some she included in letters to her aunt who lived an hour away. It wasn’t until after Sister Amabilis passed away that Mom discovered all her letters had been preserved. This poem about the USS Hornet was so long,…
Mom dearly loved her aunt Ginny. The youngest of Grandpa Cassidy‘s siblings, Ginny lived her entire life on Lombard Street in New Haven. Virginia Anne Cassidy came into this world on December 11, 1915. This was a full 22 years after her oldest brother, John, was born. Grandpa was 15 years older than Ginny. After all these years, it’s only now coming to me that Mom must have been named for her. Virginia was Mom‘s middle name. This is the…
This feels like a miracle. Or at the very least, an answer from Saint Anthony. The other morning, I woke up full of determination to look into the other side of Mom’s family. The Cassidy side. Surely there must be someone out there who was also a great-grandchild of Patrick and Annie who wants family stories preserved and shared. Right? I started with the youngest of their seven children, worked my way to Marcella, and put together a story about…
As today is the anniversary of D-Day, I went looking for a relative who served during World War II and came across Mom’s Mulligan cousins. Let’s start with John Joseph Mulligan, Jr. He was born in 1920 in New Haven, Connecticut. Here’s a photo from his high-school yearbook: Sadly, his mom – Bertha Prindle Mulligan – passed away when he was only ten. She was 31. Eighteen months later, John got a stepmom. Mom’s aunt Marcella Cassidy married John Sr….
Now that I’m buckling down and finally watching the tutorial videos Ancestry.com provides, I’ve learned the fancy genealogical terms “brick wall” and “breakthrough.” And so, with a bit of a blush and definite tongue-in-cheek, I must proclaim: We’ve scaled the brick wall and experienced a breakthrough! Let’s go back a week, when the luck of the Irish arrived via an email. It was Adrian (who, it turns out, is my third cousin), who had wandered across this blog post from…
After a loved one dies, it’s a great relief to dream about them. I seem to dream about Mom and Dad just a few times a year. It always feels current, yet back in time. That way about dreams that’s only confusing after you awaken. In the dream, I proclaim joyfully that Mom is able to walk steadily again, as in her pre-Parkinson’s days. I hug her repeatedly. We prepare a meal together; it’s always a family gathering. I wake…
Have you ever seen a flowering Angel’s Trumpet plant? Simply gorgeous: When she was a teen, Mom wrote about the plant, creating a story about how it came to be. Her high-school newspaper printed this work of prose in 1946. Here’s the full piece: The Herald of Heaven In a gladed forest shaded by dense foliage grows a lowly plant, lowly, that is, in stature. Botanists have christened it “Angel’s trumpet” due to its peculiar shape. No one seemed to…
With Mom’s love of nature expressed in her poetry, I have to wonder … Who is this woman in red? A cardinal? Red squirrel? Red-winged blackbird? Or maybe, just maybe, a red fox. Here’s Mom‘s poem: The Curve / The Cave I will always wonderwhere the woman in red wentshe was my musicI knew her loved herwrote her on the pageand in my hearta lover came out of the Eastwith voice and eyes and hands so tendershe became his flowerdon’t…