Another letter from Mom to her aunt Sister Amabilis … Mom was 15 years old at the time. Sister Amabilis (aka Aunt Marguerite) was teaching first graders in the Hartford, Connecticut, area. Here’s the news (plus a poem) Mom sent on that July day in 1945: Dear Marguerite, We had a wonderful party on the Fourth of July. Joe was the real instigator and Grandma would do anything for him. There were hot dogs and cake, soda and watermelon. There…
Yesterday’s story included a poem from a letter Mom wrote in 1944. We’re back today with the rest of the letter. Her pen pal? Mom’s aunt Marguerite (baptised Margaret Josephine, after her parents, in 1895). To non-family members, she was Sister Amabilis. This tiny eight-page time capsule includes updates on Mom’s family, who lived on Chatham Street in New Haven, Connecticut. Dear Marguerite, Thanks so much for your letters and congratulations. I can never thank you enough for praying and…
This morning, while reading a book, I was reminded of buttercups. The young female protagonist was gifted a pin in the shape of a buttercup. As my cup of coffee kicked in, I started thinking back to my childhood. There was something about buttercups … It took a few minutes to piece it all together, but memories of Mom picking a tiny yellow flower and holding it under my chin gradually broke through the fog. “Let’s see … there it…
Got a bit of a head-scratcher here … Let’s start with my brother Dave. He emailed us recently with a story from a letter our Grandma Cassidy sent him back in 1976. The details are fascinating, but I’m not sure the dates match up all that well. That said, maybe a relative will see this and help us untangle the specifics. Because, as I may have mentioned, it’s a great story. Dave relays some information from Grandma’s letter: Grandma’s older…
It feels like a carnival game – Spin the Lucky Wheel – when I drop a search word in among the vast collection of Mom’s poetry. Sure enough, it being Tax Day, there’s a poem including the word taxes. Written in 1972, “Pilgrimage” reflects Mom’s thoughts about living close to her hometown of New Haven again, where there were relatives a-plenty. She loved them all dearly, but sometimes in her childhood years, she felt crowded. Pilgrimage Myself, who couldn’t tolerate…
Our siblings and cousins are checking in this afternoon, asking each other how the blizzard is treating them. Here in southern Indiana, we did not have snow in the forecast. Yet, yesterday and today, a few flakes managed to blow around. Very few. Connecticut and New York are getting hit hard, with heavy snow and high winds. True to form, Harry’s wife, Linda, good-naturedly grumbled about only getting a few inches in Maine. This doesn’t exactly meet the “historic proportions”…
The mercury hit 57 today and may make it even higher tomorrow. That is what you call a January Thaw! Thing is, there’s nothing to thaw. No snow since last month, and even then, not much to brag about here in southern Indiana. No doubt that will change in the coming weeks and I’ll eat my words, crunching on icicles all the while. Growing up in western Massachusetts, we had a January thaw each year. The best part (next to…
My aunt Bunny told me this story several times. Grandma had suitors before she got serious with Grandpa, but she liked to mention one fellow in particular when she looked back on her days as a young colleen. I wasn’t sure whether to tell this story, but then realized Mom mentioned him in this poem: and yet before the great depressionbefore his father diedbefore they left the house that he was born in my father had his picture taken in…
There was never any question about Joseph Malachy Regan: He was the family patriarch. One glance at this photo says it all: The newly married couple is Cecelia Margaret Regan Cassidy and Francis Raymond Cassidy, my maternal grandparents. The setting is New Haven, Connecticut, on June 24, 1929. And who is that white-haired gentleman sitting between the newlyweds? That’s Grandma’s beloved father, Joe Regan, called “Pop” by his descendants. I guess the seating plan makes sense, as Grandma’s attendants (Grandpa’s…
I’m so glad Mom saved this. It’s an article her sister, Bunny, wrote for Family Seasons, a supplement to the monthly newspaper (now magazine) provided to members of the Hartford archdiocese in Connecticut. The November 1991 feature story was about Bunny’s experience with “anticipatory grief” as Grandma completed her last few years here on earth. Letting Go Do not go gentle into that good night,Old age should burn and rage at close of day,Rage, rage against the dying of the…