“Did you know about the chair that went to college?” Dad and I were talking on the phone a few years back about how he filled his days after Mom passed. He spent hours each afternoon going through her poems and prose, much as I do now. Something he’d seen that day reminded him of that chair. Uh …what chair, Dad? Ah, yes. There was a comfy armchair we’d had since, I think, the 1960s in Pittsfield … … it…
Mom wrote this poem just days after the last of her uncles passed away. She greatly appreciated their place in her life growing up in New Haven. Uncles We never owned a carso uncles drove us placesto picnics weddingssometimes a collegebuses and legs were everywherefor shopping movies doctorsdates and family visitswe never took taxis and rarely trainswe needed uncles to drive a distanceand teach us how to ride a horseplay pinochle or tell a storytake us for ice cream across…
A month ago, while searching for archival newspaper articles about the original library in Pittsfield, Massachusetts, I tucked away a few extra Berkshire Eagle newsclips from the 1960s. Three specific opinion pieces caught my attention, not only because they were written by immediate family members, but because the topics shone such a light on their personalities and interests. Let’s start with Dad. First, let us point out that Dad‘s name was Harold, not Harvey. (Oh, how I wish I’d come…
Oh, Mom. The paper clips you used to hold your school stories and essays together are now rusty and leave a jagged stain on the notebook paper. But they still hold strong. Even so, I’ve replaced them with shiny new paper clips. For the next 70 years. A story titled “Hoss Feathers” caught my eye. Mom wrote it while a high-school student at St. Mary’s Academy in New Haven, Connecticut. I’m pretty sure the uncle character she quotes is based…
Another month is coming to an end, along with another pile of satisfying reads. This May, there were new titles by familiar authors, stories from previously unknown writers, plus a cold-case treatment for the tragic betrayal of Anne Frank. Book 1: Brat Farrar by Josephine Tey Oh, this was a good one! When the author appears to give away the ending at the very beginning, you know you’re in for a ride. This particular ride was on a prized horse,…
This really shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but one gratifying side benefit to building a family tree is “discovering” living relatives you didn’t even know existed. It’s an extra bonus when that person is also interested in discovering and sharing family information, stories, and photos. Since I joined a Facebook group for Ancestry.com members a few months back, it’s been amazing to see the many ways there are to delve into the past. Some use multiple platforms, others create…
“Oh, boy! Stinky cheese!” Dad sure knew how to clear a room. He was crazy about pungent cheese and all the drama his eating it entailed. Maybe it was the Frenchy-Frenchman side of him? We kids would run for cover while he all but inhaled chunks of Camembert, Munster, and Feta. Phew! As a child, I remember begging Mom to let me wait for her outside of a food shop in Pittsfield, a store that specialized (or so it seemed)…
Sometimes the ugly headlines are enough. Too much, really. Defunding libraries? How can this even be an idea, much less an attempt in the Missouri legislature? I can’t help but wonder what Mom would think about this. Libraries were her lifeline as we moved from state to state in the 1960s and ’70s. I have a feeling she and Dad checked out schools, churches, parks – and libraries – while househunting each time. The library I remember most was in…
While adding to Farmer Gary‘s side of our family tree, it’s a treat to share newly discovered family stories (and family members) with him. Our conversation the other evening began with, “Your dad was first cousins with her mom. Still, I can’t help but think Joan Wharton and my mom would have been great friends.” It’s been somewhat of a scramble climbing from one side of our family tree to the other, but well worth it. Joan Wharton didn’t grow…
Growing up in the 1960s, getting new clothes for Easter Sunday was a big deal. I don’t know where she found it, but one spring Mom came home with a “coat of many colors” for middle-brother Dave. It was … to use a dated word … snazzy. Nearly 40 years later, Mom remembered that jacket in a poem: David Growing upyou prized foil candy wrappersa bright heap on your bookcasemade merrier by the sun Your younger brother later your own…