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Author: Anne Cassidy

Happy Birthday, Claire

Happy Birthday, Claire

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Before the sweltering summer of 2010 was the sweltering summer of 1991. But early one morning, the last Sunday in the month, the heat broke. The morning sky was swirls of color and the air was clean and clear. The weathercasters said: “This is the most beautiful day of the year.” It was July 28, 1991, the day our daughter Claire was born.

So today’s post is for Claire — daughter, sister, friend; college student, daycare assistant, giver of big hugs. When I started this blog in February, Claire cheered me on more than anyone else. Happy Birthday, Claire!

Little Voices

Little Voices

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Just as there are seasons of the suburban street — the rumble of school buses in the fall; the melody of ice cream trucks in the summer — so too is there a life cycle over time — the years of baby cries, followed by those of bicycle tires slapping the pavement, of squeals and yells and parents calling and yesterday (I don’t know from where but I heard it) a dinner bell. 

 For years our street has been quiet. Our children were some of the youngest on the block and when the older kids of neighboring families moved out our kids were left behind to make their own fun. 
 Now a new generation is on the rise. Boys on bikes, girls on scooters, babies in prams. It makes me feel old — and young — at the same time.
Mad Woman

Mad Woman

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Tonight is the premiere of “Mad Men.” It’s the fourth season of a show I’ve usually watched on DVD; this will be the first episode I’ve seen in real time. So we have the excitement of a premiere (even though a television premiere), the glamor of New York City in the 1960s, and for me, wondering about the popularity of this show and what it means about us. The characters are compelling, the time period just out of reach enough to be strange and wondrous, and the style is divine. We like “Mad Men” because it’s a good show. But we also like it because it reminds us of the way we used to be. We smoked, we drank, we were not kind to women and minorities. But we were not as plugged in, we were not as politically correct; we were, I think, more human.

Bicsuitville

Bicsuitville

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We’re in Greensboro, North Carolina, this weekend, and are about to explore it. One thing I’ve noticed so far is the preponderance of friend chicken and biscuit chains. I’ll admit: My salad-weary mouth is watering. My southern roots are calling. There are times when only fried chicken will do.

Facing the Enemy

Facing the Enemy

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We are not air-conditioning people. If we could do summer the way we wanted, our windows would always be open to the breeze. But we have teenagers, and we choose our battles, so the last few summers we keep our windows up and our AC on. Still, we never lose an opportunity to throw open the sash and let the sunshine in.

Until this summer.

This summer almost every day is over 90 degrees. This summer, heat is the enemy. So we sit outside in the evening, when the sun is down and the air is a balmy 85. Or early in the morning when there’s still a hint (and I mean a hint) of coolness in the air.
I used to think there was no such thing as too hot.
I’m not so sure anymore.

Breathing Space

Breathing Space

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Oprah Magazine used to contain a double-page spread photograph of a windswept beach or mountain peak or other natural scene. It was called “Breathing Space.” I loved the photos and I loved the concept. The generous bestowal of two pages with no advertising, no text, just a picture. It really was a breathing space.
Maye I’m just missing it, but I don’t see “Breathing Space” in Oprah anymore. So today I offer my own breathing space. Pause here a minute to catch your breath.

By Heart

By Heart

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Apparently Socrates thought the written word was a step down from the oral tradition, which requires memorization, thought, the careful consideration of ideas. People who read, he says, “will seem to know many things, when they are for the most part ignorant.” The written word offers “the appearance of wisdom, not true wisdom.”

I can’t say that I completely agree with the philosopher on this one. But I do know how easy it is to read a book and a few weeks later have absolutely no idea what it said. And I do appreciate the power of the remembered phrase, of learning a poem or a verse “by heart.” Because the more you savor a particular combination of words, the more you love it. And because memorization liberates. Once we know the words, we carry their wisdom around with us; we are freed from the printed page. Being able to recite a few lines of poetry or prose, if only silently, lets us savor the rich thoughts of great writers and thinkers any time, any place. I wrote an essay about this a long time ago. To read it, follow this link: http://www.csmonitor.com/1990/1009/umem.html

Moisture

Moisture

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We live these days in a kingdom of moisture. A couple weeks ago, it was hot and dry. Now it’s hot and humid. Dew is heavy on the grass. Evening thunderstorms thicken the air. Our windows fog. Walking is best in the morning, unless you want to saunter.

Martha and Mary

Martha and Mary

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Yesterday’s gospel was a story that always rankles me. Martha and Mary, sisters of Lazarus, are entertaining Jesus. Martha is running around playing hostess while Mary sits at Jesus’ feet, listening to him talk. When Martha complains to Jesus, he says, “Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken from her.”

Every time I hear this Bible passage I want to scream. This is because I identify with Martha, even though I’d rather be Mary. I love to sit and talk about ideas, but I can’t unless I know the homefront is secure. And the tension between these twin impulses makes me anxious.

So when I heard this familiar story yesterday I sat with my hands folded, waiting for illumination. “If I had to choose, I would side with Martha,” the priest said. “But good deeds are spoiled by bad attitudes.” Ahhh. Yes. That is true. It removes none of the injustice. My blood still boils. Someone has to cook the food, make the bed, sweep the floor. There will always be people who roll up their sleeves and others who wait for the sleeve-rollers. But attitude is important, and it’s good to be reminded of that from time to time — even from the pulpit.

Settling Down

Settling Down

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Yesterday morning at 5 a.m., a 3.6 magnitude earthquake shook the D.C region. I missed it, asleep for a change. But it made me think about other minor earthquakes I’ve experienced. One was in New York City. That tremblor woke me out of a deep sleep; I thought the boiler in our apartment building had exploded.

The mind seeks explanations — a passing jet, a roll of thunder — because if the earth is not solid and grounded, then what is? But such is the nature of life that even that which we think is certain sometimes turns out not to be.

Scientists interviewed about yesterday’s quake said it was nothing to worry about, that it’s just part of the “creaking and grinding” of our old planet, like the “settling of an old house,” the newspaper said. Even the ground beneath our feet needs to shift and stretch once in a while.