Hamburger. Blech.

OMG. I went to pick up some groceries this morning at Market Basket. While there I saw one of the meat guys putting out some steaks. So, I asked the $64,000 question: Is there any of that "pink slime" in MB's hamburger? He looked at me in horror and said they would never, ever sell any meat that had been sprayed with ammonia. *Their* slime was far superior, being treated in some very scienti...fic manner and would never, ever make anyone sick. By the time he was done describing it, you'd think it was hamburger prepared for the royal scions of the House of Windsor. And--you ready for this?--they've been using it since 1993. I don't object so much to the ammonia spray as I do to the fact this crap has been scraped up off the tables, saws, and God knows where else and instead of being put into a can of Alpo, it's sitting in my refrigerator.

Has it been FOUR YEARS??

Wow, just looked back at the blog and saw that it's been almost 4 years since I last entered a sentence! A lot has happened--Anna graduated from high school with honors, my daughter is once again my friend, I've taken up making and selling jewelry as a hobby, we have two more cats in addition to old Jake, AND I'm going to retire (well, sort of) as of April 28, 2012. I'm going to work one night a week, can you believe it?!?I received my "ticket to freedom"--my Medicare card--a couple of weeks ago. I met with the Director of Nursing to get her blessing and then with the scheduler to get everything lined up. One wave of the magic wand and I will be a free agent! There's a young male nurse who has been anxious to put in 40 hours on C Wing, so this was a serendipitous time for both of us.

Jack is still working at Sunrise Labs when they need him. That seems to be all the time these days. He says it's the best place he's ever worked and he is very happy there.

Christopher has gone through his second divorce and is living contentedly in Tampa. He's doing very well and I'm proud of him. Chris has taken up running and has run a number of marathons in the past few years. This coming year he will be doing his first Ironman.

The photos are of the kitties going off to the vet--they travel stacked up in carriers on a luggage dolly! There's Chris running in a triathalon in Tampa, Julie and Anna horsing around with mustaches, and Loki lounging on my bed. There's Chris' daughter, Ally, with the birthday cake she made for her Dad.

Weekend in Connecticut

Anna and I decided to take a couple of days and visit my brother Leo down in Old Lyme, CT, before all his empty bedrooms fill up with homeless relatives. (No, you'll have to ask HIM about that.) He and I get together a couple of times a year to yak and catch up on old memories. As soon as Anna and I arrived, Anna wanted to know where Leo's fabulous cookies were! Leo laughed and told her he was all out, and that she'd have to make them herself. Out came the flour, sugar, chocolate chips, etc, etc, that were needed to make these wonderful caloric bombs. While they cooked, I flopped on the sofa with a good book. (I'm not stupid. :-)) In a short time 5 dozen gorgeous cookies emerged from that overworked oven and filled the house with an incredible aroma.

Leo and I spent the evening looking at some ancient photos and talking about our dear ones who've gone on before. Anna was bored brainless, but, hey, I spent hours being bored when I was 16. It's my turn to be the grown-up! Let's hear it for being an adult!! Yea!!

The following morning we went to a small art museum located right in downtown Old Lyme (stop giggling!) It was the Florence Griswold Art Museum and labeled itself the "home of American Impressionism". Miss Florence Griswold was a middle-aged maiden lady whose father, a sea captain, had left her penniless and loaded with debt. He also left her a huge federal style house on Lyme Street. Miss Griswold took in boarders in the summer to keep body and soul together. One of her summertime guests was an artist from New York City. He was so taken with Miss Griswold, her house, and the surrounding Old Lyme countryside that he persuade several of his artist friends to board there also. They founded an art colony of American impressionist painters that lasted for decades. The artists even had contests that involved painting the inside of the house! A new museum was built behind the old house in 2002 and has three large rooms filled with breathtakingly lovely impressionist art. The house is also part of the museum, decorated as it was around 1915. There are even more paintings in the house, not to mention the walls and door panels that had been decorated by the artists themselves. Who could imagine such a place in Old Lyme? Who knew??

BTW, poor Miss Griswold died in 1939, a penniless bankrupt whose house and belongings were sold to cover the money she owed.

Anna and I headed back to New Hampshire that afternoon, trying to beat the weather and the rush hour traffic. We'd had a wonderful time with my "much older big brother" (he's going to kill me for that. . .) I hope we get to see him again before next Thanksgiving.

It's been an interesting few months. . .

Well, it sure has been an interesting time to live in my house. In late November, my 16 year old granddaughter decided she would rather live with Jack and me that with her mom. After much brou-ha-ha, Anna will move in with us January 20. Jack & I will be her legal guardians and we will have a teenager in the house once again.

On December 11, I had plastic surgery to reduce the size of my upper arms. I had a gastric bypass two years ago to get my weight and especially my diabetes, in control. I lost about 80 pounds and no longer require insulin injections. However the excess skin on my arms was intolerable and I decided to have it "whacked". I didn't think it would be too awful, having been told by an acquaintance that it hadn't bothered her very much at all. Hah. Thank God my husband was here, 'cause I would have to have gone to a nursing home for care. Ace wraps on both arms, and all around my chest. I have at least 18 inch incisions on each arm which are still sore and stiff. I have sutures still working through my skin that don't want to be pulled out. Shudder. . . Hopefully I will be able to get back to work on Feb. 1st. I'm broke!

Of course Christmas came right along on time. I was smart, tho, and had the tree up, the shopping completed and all the packages wrapped and mailed before the surgery. Just as well since I was not my old self so soon after the Mass General experience. Needless to say, my daughter is not speaking to me any longer, my son is in Tampa, my parents are both gone to Glory, so there was only me, Jack and Anna for the Christmas festivities. It was kind of lonesome.

Jack's mother had her 90th birthday on January 7, so we flew down to Virginia to help her celebrate this great occasion. We stayed at Jack's sister's house in Oakton, VA which is easily the size of an elementary school. We spent three days there and then back home. You know, we flew on jetBlue and I was mightily impressed. They left right on the dot, arrived early and then repeated it all over again on the way home. There's lots of leg room, great TV and music, and you get to have more than one package of snacks if you want!

Anyway, now I just have to deal with another surgeon's appt., moving Anna, the court hearing re legal guardianship, and finally my job. If you look in the dictionary under the word "stress", you will find my photograph.

Photos are of my preoperative state, the view from the upstairs landing at my sis-in-law's house, and our little fiberoptic Christmas tree. Oh yes, also a photo of our deck on December 21. The huge white lump is the gas grill. You bring the hot dogs and we'll provide the ice. Sigh. . .
(Pictures will be posted as soon as blogger gets its act together. . )

An October Weekend in Salem, the Witch City!

Anna and I spent a couple of days exploring Salem, MA in mid-October. A number of streets were blocked to traffic and instead of cars, were full of wizards, witches, and assorted other strange creatures. Of course the city was absolutely mobbed with fun-seekers and it was damn near impossible to find parking that didn't cost you a broom and a black cat. The only room I could find was in Danvers at a Motel 6, your basic bed and blanket. Everything else was booked solid. What the heck--we were just going to sleep there anyway! We watched a play, "Cry Innocent!" put on by a group of college students about a particular witch trial. They actually went out into the street in full 17th century garb and captured the poor unsuspecting woman accused of being guilty of witchcraft. She was dragged through the streets while onlookers yelled out, "Hang the witch, hang the witch!" Some ignoramus screamed, "burn the witch, burn the witch!" until someone explained that the English burned witches, we Americans just hanged them. He then correctly bellowed, "Hang the witch, hang the witch!!" The trial was conducted in a very old building, complete with judge, several witnesses, and the audience as a jury. People in the audience were allowed to ask questions of the witnesses and the unfortunate accused. One lady from Brooklyn tried to put her 21st century mores and ideas onto these 17th century people and was damn near put on trial herself by the judge. A fun time was had by all!

On Sunday we could not find a parking spot for love nor money, so we took a tour of the House of the 7 Gables and then headed out to Rockport, artist colony extraordinaire. Of course the place is full of art galleries and funky little gift shops so we two females were in seventh heaven. Rockport also has a "Park and Ride" where you park outside the town and a bus gives you a lift in to the village and back again for a dollar each way. (Salem ought to thing about something like this.) Anna and I finally headed back home to New Hampshire late in the evening, with definite plans to explore this part of Massachusetts again.

A moment on the lips, forever on the hips...

I have gotten involved with a wonderful website for cooking and have my own page there, www.grouprecipes.com/people/riverznnd Yesterday, I tried out a recipe posted by another member that I thought was too easy to be true. Omigod, it's wonderful and takes about 5 minutes to make. The author recommended that I make sure I have some flour dabbed on my face so people think I spent forever making this. ;-) Even those of you who can't cook your way out of a paper bag can make this.

Land of Nod Coffee Bread

Ingredients

20 frozen balls of dough ( bag of Rhodes frozen rolls)
1 cup brown sugar (can use Splenda brown sugar blend)
1/4 pkg. vanilla instant pudding (small package)
2 Tablespoons Cinnamon
1 cup chopped nuts and/or raisins
1 stick melted butter or margarine

Glaze :

2 teaspoons butter or margarine
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 1/2 tablespoons milk
Dash of salt
1 cup powdered sugar

Directions:

Grease a bundt pan
Put frozen dough balls in bottom of prepared pan
Mix br. sugar, pudding, and cinnamon together and sprinkle on top of rolls
Put nuts on top of that
Drizzle with melted butter
Cover with a damp cloth and leave sitting on counter or in the refrigerator overnight.
In the morning bake in preheated oven at 350* for 25 min.
Leave in pan about 5 min.
Dump out on plate, and pour warm glaze over them immediately.

Glaze:

Mix all glaze ingredients and heat ontop of stove, DO NOT BOIL
Pour warm glaze over top of rolls straight from the oven (after they've been removed from pan)

"How ya gonna keep 'em down on the farm, after they've seen Paree?"

On July 9th, smiling and crying at the same time, Juliet, Jack, and I waved goodbye to our Anna as she went off with 29 other teenagers to see much of Europe as "Youth Ambassadors" for the People to People organization, founded 50 years ago by Dwight D. Eisenhower. These kids are nominated by teachers, pastors, business leaders, and People to People alumni to participate in trips all over the globe to represent American youth and to experience life in other countries.

The group spent 19 days going from the Swiss Alps to Great Britain, spending time in Germany, Belgium, the Netherlands, and France. Anna spent three days with a German family as a home stay outside Heidelburg. Juliet asked her if her German parents spoke English well and she replied they did not speak English at all, but their 19 year old daughter did. We asked if her German family did anything special with her and she said, "No, not really. They mostly just took me out to bars." Anna mentioned "the schnapps burned all the way down" and that the beer in Germany tasted different than in the US. Drinking age in Germany is 16. Anna is 15, but looks 17.

They particpated in "Farm Olympics" in Switzerland, seeing who could milk a cow, chop wood, or feed chickens the best. The group visited a "Barefoot Park" in Germany where they walked in mud, crossed a wooden bridge, and did all kinds of things that stimulated their bare feet. (Hey, this is Europe, okay?) They went to a wooden shoe factory in Holland, rode around Bruges, Belgium in horse-drawn wagons and bought lots and lots of Belgian chocolates. Their hotel in Amsterdam was just around the corner from the red light district where ladies of easy virtue display themselves in shop windows. (This was portrayed as an educational trip. . .) Anne Frank's house was also visited. They spent a couple of days in Normandy, France visiting the beaches of D-Day and the heart-breaking cemetaries of the war dead. Anna found the grave of a young New Hampshire man and said she found it hard not to cry.

Their last few days were spent in England, visiting London and its surrounds. She loved the new "London Eye", a HUGE ferris wheel where you can see all over London. Of course the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace was a must, as well as a trip out to Stonehenge. She made friends and memories for a lifetime on this great adventure. We were so happy she was able to go...and we were even happier to have our girl home again.

The Dance at Bougival

If of thy mortal goods thou art bereft,
And from thy slender store two loaves alone to thee are left,
Sell one, and with the dole
Buy hyacinths to feed thy soul.
- Moslih Eddin (Muslih-un-Din) Saadi (Sadi)



Have you ever been poor? Not had two nickels to rub together? I was a single mother of two beautiful children and raised them pretty much on my own for about 12 years. I worked full time, but every penny I earned was earmarked for bills, mortgage, groceries, and gasoline. There was precious little left over for movies, Red Sox ball games, tennis lessons, computer games, stylish clothing, sports equipment and all other things that most kids expect. One late early December evening, while sitting at the supper table, my ten-year-old son, Christopher, gazed at his sister Juliet and said, "You know, Julie, Santa isn't going to be able to bring us many toys this Christmas." She looked at him with her huge dark brown eyes and asked, "Why not?" "Do you remember how cold it was last winter and how many big snowstorms we had? Well, a lot of Santa's elves froze to death in the awful weather so Santa hasn't had enough help to make toys this year." I sat there at the table, open-mouthed, listening to this exchange that was totally unexpected and totally unprompted by me. This boy, on his own, was able to reset his little sister's expectations in a way she understood. ( He almost put me in convulsions, but I was able to keep a straight face until I was alone.) He was a good kid and he knew the score.


Well, the "best things in life are free" is no lie. Even though I couldn't afford many material things, I could try to give them a grounding in the joys of the spirit and introduce them to art, music, and literature. One Sunday we journeyed to Boston to the Museum of Fine Arts: Chris and Julie had never been there and I prayed they would not be bored. We saw the Egyptian collection with its mummies, the gorgeous collection of 18th century portraits and paintings, all the things that might capture a child's imagination. The Boston Museum also has one of the largest collections of Impressionist art in the world. We entered a room where many famous Impressionist paintings were hung. It was a windowless, not very large space, but it was lit up by the brightness of the colors and the beauty of the stunning art. Right in front of us was the nearly life size-painting "The Dance at Bougival" by Auguste Renoir. Christopher stopped dead in his tracks, unable to take his eyes off the painting. The expression on his face was that of one who had opened a window and seen Paradise. He walked slowly toward the huge painting and when he was close to it, he raised his hand and TOUCHED the painting. The guard and I had a joint seizure. He was great with Chris, tho'. He explained how we want this painting to last forever, and how oils in our skin can affect it and that's why we should never touch one. Chris totally understood, and replied, "Oh...okay."

In that instant, a love of art was was born in my boy's heart that has survived to this day (he'll be forty in November.) Every few years or so, he and I try to visit an art museum together to find new or old pieces that will dazzle or intrigue us. It's difficult to do since we both work, he has children to raise, and we live 1700 miles apart. Two weeks ago, we managed two days together while I was on a short visit to Tampa where he and his family live.


Chris wanted to visit the Tampa Museum of Fine Art for the first time--he and I both felt that it should be a great museum because Tampa is a very large city. Quelle disappointment! What a dismal, dreary place. The only art that sticks in my mind were some pieces in an exhibition of art by physically and mentally challenged people. I think they need some serious fund-raising activities. Next time we'll go over to St. Petersburg and see the St. Petersburg Museum of Fine Art. It's a little jewel of a museum that Chris hasn't visited yet. That should be a treat.


The whole point of this essay? You never know what is going to touch your child and leave a mark forever. It could be music or art or the love of books. It will be something that will sustain their souls in troubled times and will bring joy forever. Christopher has been a master tech for Mitsubishi and now Lexus, for many years. One of his former supervisors once told him that he was the only mechanic he knew that had a Monet calendar taped to the side of his tool box.

". . . and with the dole, buy hyacinths to feed thy soul."

I'm B-a-a-a-a-c-k!!

Whew! Long time, no write. It's been a busy month for us at home--we had our Irish branch of the family come for a long overdue visit and we all had a totally grand time. My younger 2nd cousins were shop-a-holics since goods are far less expensive here in the States than in Ireland or Europe, so they spent a lot of time at the malls. We all went down to Plymouth, Ma and visited Plimouth Plantation and the Mayflower--a dose of history with some very interesting encounters with "Pilgrims" and native Americans. I threw a party for the Maloneys the night before they flew home that was a roaring success. I haven't had that high a noise level in my house for quite some time!

My biggest regret? I wish they lived a lot closer than the "Next Parish Over."

Pictures include a group photo, picture of Marian Maloney and my Juliet, and the guys chatting up a local at the Plantation.

You never forget how to ride a bike. . .

My dear husband asked me what I'd like as a gift for my 60th (shudder!)birthday last week. I gave it some thought and replied I'd love to have a bicycle. I used to ride a bike constantly when I was younger (try at least 38 years ago) and always loved the feeling of freedom I had when zipping around on one. So, he took me to Goodales' Bike Shop in Nashua and sprang for a gorgeous mountain-type bike for me. They "fit" you for the bicycle and adjust the seat height, etc. I felt quite special! I even got to take a couple out for test rides. That was just a bit scary, considering I didn't want to make a complete idiot of myself by falling off in front of strangers. However, I managed to stay upright.

The next morning I took the bike out for a spin around the neighborhood. Within moments I knew exactly where my quadriceps were located. Feel the burn, baby! And it's true...you never forget how to ride a bicycle. I just forgot how to get off one. I came to a stop in front of my granddaughter Anna, and the bike began to list to port. I got my left leg out there, but couldn't move it fast enough and wham!--right over I went. I thought Anna was going to have a heart attack. I, for one, was quite relieved I didn't break my left hip. I got my very embarrassed self up off the driveway (praying all the while the neighbors across the street were still in bed) and limped upstairs. After an hour or so my left wrist was screaming with pain and Jack took me down to our local ER. After x-rays and exams it was determined I did NOT break my wrist, just sprained it badly. I did get a "stay-out-of-work for two days note from the doc and some pain meds to take away the considerable discomfort. I have since recovered almost completely and take the bike out every morning for a ride. I have dropped the seat a couple of inches so that I can catch myself when I stop, and I am terrifically safety-conscious. Can you imagine the ribbing I would take if I fall again?? Perish the thought!

The Mac is still in the shop. Photos of the fool on the bike to follow.

My darling Mac is deathly sick!!

No, Mac is not my sweetie--well, maybe. My darling Mac is my MacIntosh G5 dual processor computer. I love it to death because it's so easy to use and understand and it gives me access to the entire world out there. It began having screen freezes a few weeks ago that became a daily problem. Now it's in the shop (MacEdge in Nashua) having a brain scan at $90. an hour. Repeat after me: I will never, ever again buy expensive computer equipment without purchasing the repair/replacement insurance. Thank God everything is backed up. I did have enough sense to do that.

May has been a tres expensive month. Both my nursing licenses were up for renewal, my driver's license, my car registration and plates, car inspection, two grandchildren's birthdays. In addition, our VHS player/recorder bit the dust. Since you really can't find these machines for a reasonable price anymore, I ordered a DVD/VHS combo recorder/player. Hopefully it will arrive sometime this week so I can record my favorite 10 pm shows once again. Now the computer. . .

We had a wonderful, wonderful time with my Irish cousins who stayed with us for four days in early May. Joe and Mary Maloney and two of their daughters, Marion and Caroline, blessed us with their great company. We had a party for them on Friday, May 5, with lots of relatives and good friends in attendance. I haven't had a noise level that high in my house for many a long month. It was music to my ears. When I get the Mac back from the shop I'll do a separate entry on the fun we had and post a bunch of photos. I'm currently using my husband's God-only-knows-what-it-is computer with a Linux operating system. Shudder. . . I shouldn't complain. I could be dead in the water without my Mac.

Keep your fingers crossed that I don't have to pay for the Mac repair with one of my grandchildren! :-)

Uncle Buff

I promised a story or two about the Holland family's infamous Uncle Buff. Uncle Buff was born William Holland in Boston, MA, sometime in the 1880's. He was my Grandpa Holland's bachelor brother who had a real taste for the sauce and spent most of his adult life in a state of inebriation (totally toasted!). Most summers his home away from home was the "town tomb". For all you youngsters born after the invention of the backhoe, most towns maintained an above-ground tomb for people who died during the winter when the ground was frozen solid. When the earth thawed in spring, they planted the wintertime dead. Well, that's where Buff slept in the warm weather.

To earn money, Buff was employed as a laborer by a Watertown funeral home (which shall remain nameless to protect this very classy establishment still in business today). In those days people were taken to a funeral home after they died. They were embalmed and dressed in their Sunday best, and then were returned to their home where the wake and funeral would be held. Buff and another gentleman were called to remove a body from a house. As they carried the dear departed down two flights of stairs, the corpse "broke wind". Uncle Buff stopped, stared at the body, and announced, "If he can fart, he can walk." He then dropped his end and left the house.

My father told me about the time one cold winter when a city plow was doing its snow clearing duties. The fellow riding shotgun saw something in the dim light of evening that was rolling in front of the plow as the truck moved forward. Lo and behold, it was Uncle Buff! He had fallen asleep in a snow bank (being the depths of winter, the tomb probably had tenants) and had been scooped up by the plow blade along with the snow bank. God only knows how long he'd been traveling in front of the plow.

Of course Buff went on the wagon periodically. He cast aside his former drinking companions ("Those bums!") and turned over a new leaf. Buff would go to his sister-in-law (my Nana) who had a soft heart. She would outfit him in some of Grandpa's clothes--suit, shirts, undies, hat, and shoes. Of course Grandpa had a fit when he saw Buff sporting HIS clothers--"For God's sake, Peg, my brand new bowler hat?!!" Grandpa would get him a job and for a many a long month Buff would walk the straight and narrow. During one of these sober periods, Grandpa got Buff a job as a police officer in Watertown (Grandpa was a selectman and the owner of a hardware store in East Watertown). All went along swimmingly until one day Buff lurched into Grandpa's hardware store while proudly wearing his policeman's uniform. He had fallen off the wagon with a great crash. Grandpa watched him approach the counter with horror. "Give me that uniform! And the hat and the nightstick! And for the love of God, give me that !&+# pistol!!"

Where and when Buff died is a mystery. Dad said he was buried "in Boston somewhere". It's characters like Buff whose stories bring life to a family history and brighten the happy remembrances at reunions. Peace to you, Uncle Buff.

My friend Mary

My friend Mary worked her last day as a nurse today. She has retired after working diligently for over 11 years, the last two as the charge nurse during the day (she has a much "fancier" job title which escapes me, but I'm sure she'll let me know what it is so I can fix this) and pretty much kept all three shifts moving in the same direction. We have great continuity of care for our patients that depends on having the same nurses on duty every week. In report we pass on what we know about each of our residents -- how they're doing, any new orders, any bumps or bruises, changes in diet, family involvement, who's going to the hair dresser, who's going out for a doctor's appointment, who's feeling blue, etc. I could always count on Mary coming through for the patients, managing always to accomplish tasks that couldn't be done on my night shift. She was so patient with our residents and was unfailingly polite and kind-hearted to both them and to us, her coworkers. Our facility will be a poorer place for her going.

Mary is going to spend time with her sister, her children, grandchildren, and flying around the New England skies with her son in his plane. Hopefully she'll spare us a kind thought from time to time while she's so enjoying her new life.

I'm working tonight. Tomorrow morning will be an emptier one since I won't hear, "Hey, kid! Come on over here and give me a big hug!" The place just isn't going to be the same.

Bullies and Bad Manners

I'm sure we've all met mean-spirited, ignorant people who live to make others more miserable than themselves.
They are in our private lives, our professional lives, and heck, some of us are even related to them. You wonder what motivates them to behave in such a way. Was it their upbringing? Is it in their DNA? Did they come by it from the company they keep? Is meanness contagious? Such questions haunt the cosmos.

Bullying people damage and maim souls. They inflict pain on anyone who is unfortunate enough to be in the area when ignorant egos flare and inflate. I had an uncle, long since dead, who was one of these folks. He was arrogant, nasty, and very unkind to people he felt were beneath him (which was just about everyone.) He was also quite wealthy and I think this is why people let him get away with his atrocious behavior. Perhaps they worried about the influences he could bring down on them. I think he was just an intimidating bully. God got him in the end, tho'. He dropped dead in a California hotel room while he was there on a business trip. I think he was 52 or 53 at the time: his siblings lived decades longer. I truly believe his personality poisoned him. You know that old New England saying--"What goes around, comes around." Ain't that the truth?

Daddy-O

Today is my Dad's birthday. He'd be celebrating his 90th birthday today with us, but a couple of years ago he decided to spend his birthdays with my mother in Heaven. Dad was born in Boston in 1917, the youngest of six children born to a beautiful young Irish immigrant girl and a handsome first generation Irish American man. He was brought up in Watertown, MA and lived there until he was 68 years old, when he came up to NH to be closer to my mother who was in a local nursing home.

His stories about his childhood always fascinated me. He grew up during the Depression and his entire life was changed because of that dreadful decade. Dad spoke of spending all day Saturday cleaning strangers' cellars, earning a munificent 50 cents for his trouble, and then having to give the entire amount to his mother to help out the family. He spoke of the fields and pastures in Watertown (!!!) and of the wooden horse-drawn plows that would go up and down Mt. Auburn St. during snowstorms. The family lived in an early 19th century house that had originally belonged to the Stearns family of R.H. Stearns & Company. R.H. Stearns was a department store on the same scale as Jordan Marsh and Filenes. The house was gorgeous and had a circular staircase that spiraled from the ground floor to the third floor, like the inside of a nautilus shell. His dad had made the old mansion into two very large apartments and rented the bottom of the house to the Hoffmann family--mom, dad, bunch of kids and Grandpa Hoffmann. Dad said he came out one day and found Grandpa Hoffman planting flowers in such a way that they spelled out "H H H H". Dad asked the obvious question, to which Grampa Hoffman replied, "Holland-Hoffmann Hell House". I can well imagine it was!! :-)

The Hollands have always been known for their love of animals, their good natured personalities, and their sometimes off-beat sense of humor. You had to be tough to be a Holland. When my Dad was about 7 or 8, he desperately wanted a pony for Christmas. He begged, pleaded, and prayed to Santa Claus and the Virgin Mary. Well, he got up Christmas morning, ran downstairs to see if the pony was there. There was no pony, but his Uncle Buff stood by the tree. "Leo", he said, "you got up too late! As you see, the pony was here, but he ran away back to the farm!" And there, under the tree, was a steaming pile of horse buns. My father spent the rest of Christmas Day running all over Watertown looking for his pony. Uncle Buff was a genuine "character" who will get a blog entry all his own quite soon. If he'd pulled this stunt nowadays, Dr. Phil would lock him up!

Daddy had terrible eczema as a kid and he and his mother used to take the trolley to Mass General outpatient department every Saturday for treatments. Even after he grew, the palms of his hands, the soles of his feet, and all his nails were thick and coarse for the remainder of his life. He told me that in grammar school they had to line up two by two and hold hands before entering the school. Daddy said no one would hold his hand except for a young Chinese boy who didn't care. He told me about the hand-holding business shortly before he died and it suddenly became clear to me why he never had an unkind word to say to me, who was a fat and homely child and a fat and homely adult. I was fair game for everyone's remarks, but I always felt safe and loved with the old man.

Dad spent 2 + years in the submarine service in the Pacific during WWII. Let me tell you, he really learned how to pack a sea bag! Because of him, I can get more stuff into a suitcase and have it come out unwrinkled better than anyone else I know. He had severe osteoporosis (they never found the cause) that flattened his vertebrae, rotted out one hip, and caused him immeasureable pain over his life. He started out at 5 feet, 9 inches--he died at 5 feet, 4 inches. He never complained--got roaring drunk--but never complained. He's a tough act to follow.

My mother was told she would never have any more children after my brother was born in 1940. However, a small miracle occurred, and I was born in 1947. My father was the first one to see me after I was born (mothers were unconscious during birth back then). The day I was brought home from the hospital, my mother tucked me into my bassinette. A short while later she came back to check on me and I wasn't where she left me. She anxiously began to search the house when she heard Bing Crosby's voice crooning from the parlor radio. She looked in, and there was my father, dancing with his baby daughter in his arms. I'll love that man until the day I die.

Happy birthday, Daddy! I miss you more than words can tell. Don't forget to keep a light in the window for me.

Patrick's Month

I didn't post anything on March 17th--St. Patrick's Day--since it's also our wedding anniversary (#17 this year. And they said it would never last!) We chose the date since we felt it would be a hard date to forget, considering we live close to Boston and a bazillion other Micks. But, you know, it's March, and the entire month belongs to Patrick.

Three sets of greatgrandparents and one grandma came from the Old Sod. Nana(Peg Delaney) Holland came from Williamstown, a little village in east Galway. She left when she was 16 and never looked back. She and her sisters worked in the Manchester, NH mills for a while, then Catsy (Catherine) went to work in a local church rectory, cooking for the priests. Nana and sisters Della and Helen opened a little bakery in Brighton, MA. and worked there until marriage claimed all three of them. Della and her husband Walter Lang continued to operate the bakery until they retired. I used to love to listen to the three of them talk in their soft brogue. My father used to call them his "red, white, and blue girls"--Nana had white hair, Della had red, and Catsy had the lovely blue. By this time, Helen was married and living in Brighton and we didn't see her as often in Watertown. A fifth sister, Annie, had come to the States but had returned to Ireland to care for a bachelor brother. She eventually married and raised a family there.

About ten years ago my husband gave me a trip to Ireland for a birthday gift. I was very excited that I was actually going to see the country my family left so long ago.
I remembered listening to one of my Dad's cousins talk about visiting Williamstown in the past and wondered if one of his daughters would know anything about anyone still living there. She gave me names and addresses and I sent off letters to absolute strangers, not knowing if they were dead or alive. I made arrangements for them to contact me once I was in Ireland. Messages were waiting for me when we arrived.

We met my cousins Peter and Joe Maloney (Annie's boys) and their families. Peter still lived on the farm where Nana was born and brought up and Joe was a retired Guard (policeman) in Co. Clare. Jack and I were told we would be going out to the farm (Brierfort) and spending the night there with Peter and his wife Mae. We all had such a marvelous time--it was as if we had known each other all our lives. It was one of those once-in-a-lifetime experiences. Ireland is simply gorgeous--it's as green as they say and quite mountainous. The people we met were friendly to a fault and we have nothing but wonderful memories. Peter has since passed away, but I learned last week that Joe and his wife Mary are coming for a visit at the end of April. I can't wait to show them the same hospitality they gave to us.

The photos are of my cousin Joe Maloney, his wife Mary, and three of their five kids. The next is a photo of the farm Nana grew up on. The cattle belong to cousin Peter. The lane (and most of the roads in Ireland) is very narrow. Jack and I went out for a walk after supper and literally had to climb up into the hedgerows when a wee little subcompact came by so that we wouldn't be hit! The third photo is of a roadsign in English and Gaelic. and the last is of the cemetary where my forebears are buried. Cemetary's don't provide "perpetual care" in Ireland, so most of the old gravesites were all grown over with tall grass and the stones leaned to one side.

Big Brother

This week, on March 12, was my big brother's 67th (gasp!) birthday. It's hard to believe we are both so old now. Wasn't it only yesterday that he was giving me a ride on his bicycle handlebars? Wasn't only last week he was tormenting me as only a big brother can? In all the ensuing time he did a 4 year hitch in the Navy, got married, worked his way up to an executive job at AT&T Long Lines, lived for many years in New Jersey & Connecticut in beautiful homes, and brought up his brood of three wonderful kids. When he was 16 he desperately wanted a motorcycle. Naturally my parents told him that when he could afford to buy one, he could have one. (My mother was horrified at the idea of her first born becoming road pizza) Two years ago, he finally got himself a shiny, bright red motorcycle that he takes up and down the Connecticut coast. Leo said the day he bought it he could swear he heard strange noises and rumblings coming Mt. Auburn Cemetery where my parents are buried . :-)

Nowadays Leo is retired and living in Old Lyme, Ct. in a rambling old Dutch colonial. He had lived there only a couple of months when he came down with his first case of Lyme disease. Nothing quite like having first hand knowledge of the reason your town is famous. I spent a couple of days there with Leo this week, yakking for hours about family, friends, and assorted old memories. What a wonderful time I had!

Our brothers and sisters are precious and rare people. Always keep them close, for when our parents are gone forever, they will be the ones who share our childhood memories.

Happy birthday, much older brother! Here's to 40 more years--love you!