“In a way he was like the country he lived in, everything came too easily to him, but at least he knew it.”
Hubble Gardner, a fictitious college student played by the deliciously, dreamy actor, Robert Redford (yes I am that old) penned this line in the 1973 award-winning film “The Way We Were”. Continue reading →
I grew up in a small coal-mining town in Northeastern Pennsylvania during the 1950s and 60s. As the daughter of the High School football coach, I learned quickly that if anthracite coal was king, football was indeed his most revered son.
there she was just a-walkin’ down the street singin’ do-wah-diddy-diddy down diddy-do snappin’ her fingers and shufflin’ her feet singin’ do-wah diddy-diddy down diddy-do *
The words and melody began timidly enough with just a few brave souls chiming in, then, rose slowly by increments as more and more children boarded the school bus. By the time the yellow caravan concluded its four-mile journey
at the foot of the old schoolhouse’s steep steps, the tune had reached a crescendo ricocheting off the surrounding hilltops and stretching to the far reaches of the hamlet called Tuscarora. Continue reading →
I saw my first gray hair at 25 as I was adjusting the rear view mirror of my used, 1975, Datsun B-210 Honey Bee. It was a surprising sight, but it shouldn’t have been. My dad started graying at 17. In fact, I have no recollection whatsoever of him with what he used to describe as his original, chestnut brown hair. Not so coincidentally, my dad, had no memory of his own mother with anything other than her grandma white, snowy, crown. Anyway, I pulled it out. Continue reading →
The Amtrak train persists along its southward path to Philadelphia. My husband and I have just spent a perfect Labor Day weekend with family in Jamestown, R.I. Lulled by the dependably rickety sounds of this neglected railed infrastructure, my thoughts are drawn to the place where I am not. Continue reading →
I am wordy when I write. I will try to make this post honest and to the point, just like the men it’s meant to honor.
Walt Ligenza’s grandson, Sam Pagano, Harry Fetterman, and Dick Jones
This past Monday, I attended a viewing for Mr. Harry Fetterman in Tamaqua, the small town in the anthracite coal region of Northeastern PA where I grew up. Harry was a beloved teacher and football coach. He was my dad’s oldest and dearest friend. Harry and my dad, Dick Jones, knew each other as boys; they both enlisted in the Navy right after high school during World War II (Harry actually left Tamaqua High a semester early in 1943*). Continue reading →
Most mornings glancing at my reflection in the mirror, I feel something akin to the surprise experienced by Drew Barrymore’s character in the film “Fifty First Dates”. For those who haven’t seen this Adam Sandler classic (probably not too many of you), a young woman named Lucy is injured in a car accident losing her ability to create new memories. Each day, Lucy awakes and has to become reacquainted with what has transpired in her life since the date of the accident. And so, like Lucy, each morning, I begin shocked anew by what has transpired to my poor face, seemingly overnight. Continue reading →
My husband rarely remembers his dreams. This morning was the exception. The dream went something along these lines. He was returning to his office when he suddenly looked down and realized he wasn’t wearing any pants. Panicked, he couldn’t fathom where they were, how he had lost them, or what he was going to do next. You get the drift. A classic anxiety dream most likely brought about by the existence of some pressing concern at work. Continue reading →