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Tag: Mom

Pittsfield at Christmas
Christmas Shopping 1963

Christmas Shopping 1963

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Memory is a fascinating function of the brain. It’s especially curious when two people share the same experience, but carry somewhat different versions with them into the future. For example, a Christmas shopping trip in December 1963, with Dad as my shopping buddy. Destination: downtown Pittsfield, Massachusetts. (After 1963, Mom always took me Christmas shopping. It was a treat. We would stop by Rosa Restaurant on North Street “for a bite,” as Mom would say.) It never occurred to me…

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Cable 2 news crew circa 1983
Chimbleys and peonies

Chimbleys and peonies

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My sister-in-law Linda posted some beautiful flower photos this morning on Facebook. She and my brother Harry live in Maine and spend a lot of their time happily communing with nature. I, on the other hand, can recognize pansies and geraniums, but I fear that’s about it. Oh, and roses. Carnations and day lilies, too, But that’s it. So it’s a good thing Linda identified the flowers in her post as peonies. Now I may not recognize peonies, but at…

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1965 Dad & Paula
Dad-isms

Dad-isms

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Dear Dad – My brothers and I decided to capture a list of some of the quirky, memorable, and downright goofy Dad-isms you treated us to over the years. Dad, you may not have often regaled us with what are now called Dad Jokes (and for that we are grateful!), but you nevertheless kept us entertained. This collection of Dad-isms fell naturally into the following five themes: Music to our ears Hippie Music! As rock and roll music took over…

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#BlackLivesMatter event flyer
#BlackLivesMatter

#BlackLivesMatter

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For me, the right thing to do this past week was … to think. The world is in an uproar and we all have a place in the turmoil. Social media is a cesspool of snarling racists, preachy Karens, and nasty name-callers. How can our country still be so ugly? When we moved from Connecticut to Indiana, I was 15 years old and a sophomore in high school. It was the fall of 1973. A few weeks after we moved…

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Andy & Don in Mayberry
Mayberry no more

Mayberry no more

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Week 1: Andy & Don by Daniel de Vise At the end of April, I decided to look for some lighthearted books to read in May. So much death and horror in the news, it was time to spend some time in … Mayberry. Nope. Mayberry is only on TV. As May turned out to be even worse than April (with the police murder of George Floyd, followed by rioting throughout the country reminiscent of the 1960s), it was clear the sweet…

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"Fingernail Moon"
Over the moon

Over the moon

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Look! It’s a fingernail moon! Little Thomas was barely more than a toddler when he pointed to the night sky and proclaimed the waxing (or maybe it was waning) moon looked like a fingernail. We were driving at the time (pre-cell-phone days), and I couldn’t wait to get home to call Mom. Her first grandchild had a poet’s heart. Mom absolutely loved the moon. She was fascinated by the changing sizes, shapes, and colors of the moon. Harvest moon, crescent…

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our lamp on the Dick Van Dyke Show
The lamp

The lamp

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I wish I could remember who pointed this out years ago, but I think it was one of these ladies: This photo takes me back to the summer after my folks moved to Fairfield for the second time. It was following my sophomore year at IU, and I’d invited several high-school friends (from our first round in Fairfield) over for lunch. One of them noticed a certain lamp. “Isn’t that the lamp from the Dick Van Dyke Show?” What?! To…

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Toddler Paula in 1960
Blueberries

Blueberries

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Does anyone else feel conflicted about blueberries? They’ve rolled in and out of my life over the years, with mixed reviews. Let’s start with 1961. Apparently I just loved a bowl of fresh blueberries and cream. Mom even wrote a poem about it: For Paula, Who Is Three Tomorrow (I won’t be able to do it then) Who likes blueberries, blueberries, blueberries …all of the children in our house. For we have small and padded bearswho sit on small and…

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dragon
‘dragons dying’

‘dragons dying’

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Growing up, we all knew better than to ask Mom who her favorite was, as the answer was always the same. With three sons and a daughter to choose from, it was just impossible. “You’re all my favorites,” she’d say. Well. Apparently when it came to her hundreds of poems, Mom did have an extra warm feeling for a select few. In this recording, her college friend Mary Fleming interviews Mom and poses that age-old question: As mentioned in the…

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Mom's poetry reading for grandson John's class
My mother’s voice

My mother’s voice

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For the past decade or so, I made a point of not deleting voicemails from my mom. Knowing she wouldn’t be around forever, I wanted to have a way to still hear her voice. But last spring as I prepared to retire, I “wiped” my work phone without saving the messages. Darn it! If only I’d thought to ask any one of my sons for help, surely we could have preserved those precious files. Happily, something even better has turned…

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