Does anyone still watch for “the first robin of spring”? That was a game, of sorts, growing up in western Massachusetts. Winters were so long that even a whisper of spring gave us a real lift. Sidenote: I fondly remember the annual family activity of clearing the driveway of the half-foot or so of packed snow and ice. It was genuinely fun chipping away the giant chunks during the February thaw and again in the spring. The only other chilly…
Here are two of Mom’s poems to commemorate Ash Wednesday, the start of the Lenten Season. ash wednesday nails in the nesta night bird falling and in the housessomethingout of a dark holewet now on the courthouse stepsa dwarfthumbing his nose the bridein jewels before the frosted windowwaits the wind stirsa star under the ground the gold eggs gleam ~ joan vayo 24 February 1979 psalm what birdwaits here in darknessunder the death of the beloved by the lake the…
I kid you not: a big star once invited my Grandpa Cassidy to go on the road with him. And not as a security officer – as a tap dancer! Mom’s sister, Bunny, just shared this story with us last week, when Gary and I were visiting Dad in Connecticut. Poor thing, I think I asked her to repeat the story three times – I just couldn’t believe it! Grandpa was a “cop on the beat” in New Haven, Connecticut….
Today marks the anniversary of the Space Shuttle Columbia disaster. As the shuttle returned to Earth on February 1, 2003, it broke apart upon re-entry to our planet’s atmosphere. The faces in the crew photo, above, express such hope and excitement. The astronauts are full of knowledge and curiosity. And youth. They look so young. Here are their names, from left: mission specialist David Brown. commander Rick Husband, mission specialist Laurel Clark, mission specialist Kalpana Chawla, mission specialist Michael Anderson,…
A week before Mom’s passing, I asked her about what is perhaps my favorite poem, “The King My Father.” At that point, her ability to speak had lessened greatly. Parkinson’s had cruelly robbed her of simple conversation. She regressed from struggling to remember a specific word to the point that she’d start a sentence but would stop after two or three words. And so when I asked her for the backstory about her poem “The King My Father,” my own…
Gosh, I remember that day. We were at Grandma and Grandpa Cassidy’s house for a visit. This story centers around their kitchen. And eggs. I loved that kitchen, and the adjacent pantry. The kitchen included a dinette set, pushed up against the wall. That wall featured a Murphy bed-esque ironing board – it folded up and all but disappeared! The room also included a gas stove and a tall white cabinet that was freestanding. I’m sure that cupboard housed a…
There’s nothing quite as gross as baby food. You know, the greenish glop in a jar that just doesn’t smell right. It did my heart good to read in this poem that Mom believed in babies eating real food, too, even sixtysomething years ago. The Roast Beef Baby We moved to Pennsylvaniawhen you were one, about.We slept three nights in a moteland ate our dinners out. Now other babies at your agewere eating out of jars:mushed and mashed and lumpy…
A number of years ago, Gary and I were in Amish Country in Daviess County, Indiana. We strolled over to a nearby flea market (more to walk off the good meal we’d just enjoyed, frankly, than any desire to shop). We wandered by several rows of tables in the open-air market. After a few minutes, I noticed Gary was no longer by my side. He motioned me over, back to a table I’d hurried past. Gary pointed sadly toward several…
On New Years Day, I read a blurb about CNN’s Anderson Cooper, who revealed he had offered, years ago, to host the annual countdown to midnight so that he could avoid the sadness of the anniversary of the loss of his father. Wyatt Emory Cooper died on January 5, 1978. Anderson was just 10 years old. Losing a parent when you’re just a kid must be awful. Indescribably so. Anderson is also mourning his mom, who passed away in June…
Back in the 1960s, Mom started a tradition in the family. It was during Advent, those long weeks of preparation for Christmas. She set out the family creche as part of our Christmas decorations. The stable, the shepherds, the three wise men, Mary and Joseph. The tiny manger was there, too, but no Baby Jesus. Baby Jesus was hidden away until Christmas morn. Meanwhile, during those pre-holiday weeks when we children would get “itchy” (one of Mom’s great words describing…