Charles Dickens liked cats. In fact, the great Victorian novelist loved his cat Bob so much that when the kitty died, Dickens saved one of the paws, had it stuffed and then glued to an ivory blade, creating a memorable letter opener that is now on display in a museum. Really. In the 1960s, we weren’t a big pet family. Maybe it’s because we moved so often. Maybe it was so Mom could recover from birthing three babies in four…
Grandma Cassidy had five granddaughters. I’m the oldest, then there’s Bunny’s two girls: Suzanne and Beth, and Ray’s two daughters: Marie and Claire. And so it feels like Grandma has been at work behind the scenes and in cahoots with the angels to remind one granddaughter that she had a copy of this wonderful memoir written by another granddaughter many years ago. Suzanne emailed it to me the other day. With Marie’s permission, here is that essay, which she wrote…
Growing up, our family had a Christmas tradition of going around the dinner table and each naming our favorite gift. Not the gift of family, faith, talent, or brains. This was about what had awaited us under the tree that morning. A toy, a doll, a game. Looking back over the decades, I’d have to say my favorite unwrap-it gift involved multi-generational family members, plus talent. It was this painting: In short, this is a painting that Grandpa Vayo (Dad’s…
As odd as this year’s Christmas will be (given the pandemic), it’s not the first time history has gifted parents with holiday challenges. For example, wartime. I can only imagine how my grandparents went to extra effort to keep those Decembers jolly for their young children. In 1943, staples such as sugar, meat, and coffee could only be obtained via food ration books – and even then, only when the items were available. Even after the world war was over,…
My great-uncle Pip was an animal lover. The more I ask relatives about him, the more I learn about the animals he loved. Many dogs over the decades. But it didn’t stop there. A goat named Fanny. A horse named Spot. Sheep. Bees, even. And today is his birthday. He was the eleventh and final child born to Joe and Maggie Regan, Irish immigrants who settled in New Haven in 1888. Pip, baptized Edward Thomas Regan, was born November 17,…
Farmer Gary sets an annual goal for himself: Complete the harvest before Thanksgiving. Yesterday, he finished combining ‘beans and today he’s planting the last of the winter crops. And all without a scarecrow. I can’t help but wonder if “city folk” would even know about scarecrows were it not for The Wizard of Oz. (As an aside, it still makes me laugh to remember Harry’s high school story about sitting in a quiet classroom, taking a final exam. The silence…
What a surprise to learn that my paternal grandfather was not just a painter, but a poet. Dad recently passed some of his father’s verse along to me. The paper is yellowed and fragile. Some copies are faint, thanks to carbon paper. For the youngest among us, that’s what we used to make copies before home computers and printers made life so much easier. Grandpa would have taken two pieces of typing paper and slid a purply piece of wispy…
Have you ever felt a sense of grace while going through a really hard time? Have you found something to smile or chuckle about through your tears of grief? Mom called this “a sense of holy laughter” in a recorded interview, below. She was referencing how she and her siblings managed to laugh as they stepped cautiously through the final weeks of their father’s life in the spring of 1982. A sense of holy laughter. Grandpa loved a good laugh….
As a young girl, Mom had a pen pal, her Aunt Margaret Regan. Known to non-family members as Sister Amabilis, she was only 16 when she entered religious life. It was September 1943 and Mom was 13 when she wrote this to her aunt, who wasn’t permitted to visit her family very often. It was September 1943; her older second-cousin Eddie was on furlough from the Army during World War II. Eddie wrote on the back of the photo, “Quit…
Today is the last day of summer. The temperatures have already cooled and the fields are ready for harvest. My darling tomato-picker has been busy all summer: Cameron wasn’t sure he’d like the taste of a grape tomato, but sampled a few each time he visited us this summer. He’s still not sure. When Gary and I went to spend some time with Dad in Connecticut earlier this month (quarantining all the while, as per the Nutmeg State‘s Covid rules),…