The recent beatification of Father Michael McGivney by the Catholic Church was cause for great celebration among Catholics throughout Connecticut, and here in the New Haven area in particular. McGiveny, a simple parish priest assigned to St Mary Church there, was elevated to the rank of Blessed.
My grandfather was a "Sunday Driver," but not in a stereotypically derogatory way. For starters, Grandpa’s sojourns usually occurred on Saturday afternoons.
Since March of this terrible horrible year, I’ve been making a practice of doing a gratitude list first thing every morning – sometimes even before I open my eyes. It helps ground me, gives me perspective and helps me face the day.
With Americans being urged from the powers-that-be to “keep Thanksgiving small” this exhausting year, many no doubt find themselves in a weird position.
During these unprecedented times when so much of our world seems to have been upended, I keep looking for those things that have remained constant.
I was in the living room watching another discouraging update on COVID-19 when I heard my wife shout from the fireplace room.
Two thousand years ago, the Celts were scared of winter. And not just the cold and dark of that season but the deaths that inevitably followed due to infections and the privations of their world.
For those of you who were otherwise productively engaged – or not even here yet – 1977 was the year that “Happy Days,” a nostalgic TV comedy, strayed so far from its brief in an attempt to attract an audience that it lost all credibility.
Raking leaves was always fun for me. A New Englander through and through, this seasonal task was never forced on me. What's more, I was keen on doing it from a very young age, too.
I’ve had the good fortune these last few weeks to have my daughter and her husband here for a visit. It’s always wonderful to see them and doubly so after a long hard season of isolation and anxiety because of COVID-19.
The Hearst Connecticut Media Editorial Board calls efforts to salvage a Connecticut high school football season through independent leagues “dangerous, elitist and selfish.”
I sat down at my desk today to write a very different column. I’d woken up at 4 a.m. and had been feeling a bit anxious and restless all day and was hoping that writing about our beloved RBG would calm me down. And then I picked up my phone to check in with my writing group and a message pop…
I went off to college with a year’s worth of AP credits in calculus, physics, biology and chemistry. And while it made perfect sense to stay on track, I ended up completing a major in chemistry before I’d even had a chance to think about what I really wanted to do.
I can vividly recall in my youth the phone ringing off the hook early in the morning during late August and early September. It’d be my grandparents, from Hollywood, Fla.
The COVID-19 crisis most certainly has caused people to reconsider all sorts of things in their lives – how and where they live, what’s no longer a priority, and the lifestyle changes they’ll make in a post-pandemic world.
I was in New York the other day and had an early dinner at our favorite neighborhood restaurant. Half of us were sitting at tables set up in the street, the other half sat at tables on the sidewalk, as masked pedestrians ambled through what was now the center of the restaurant.
When my daughter was little, we were blessed with a marvelous babysitter I will call Claire. Claire was pure sunshine and we loved her to bits. She was also full of stories and one I will never forget was about one of her first jobs as a sitter. She was to look after a precocious toddler whi…
I spend a lot of time alone – most writers do. And yes, writers sometimes write in teams and I’ve done that. But that’s usually work “for hire” and not the work you do for yourself which seems to require solitude.
Once upon a time, there was a poor man with many children who lived in a very small house. His wife, as can be imagined, was not happy about the lack of space, especially with everyone working and schooling from home.
I’ve been volunteering at Sarah’s Cupboard, a resale/thrift shop in Branford. Since some of the regular volunteers are still not able to take on their usual time slots, I’m filling in.
I live and work in Saigon, Vietnam, at the large International School of Ho Chi Minh City. Vietnam has come out on top in Southeast Asia as one country that has successfully controlled the virus.
Moments after my daughter was born, I turned to the delivery nurse, grabbed her arm and told her in no uncertain terms, “There can be no more violence!” When she smiled indulgently, I insisted — “You don’t understand — there can be no more violence!”
I’ve decided that I enjoy shopping for food far more than I enjoy cooking it. Having grown up in a family that operated a market, I was raised to appreciate the importance of presenting fresh products to the customer. And so, when I shop, I look for all the signs of freshness and the desired…
I’ll never forget my middle school graduation. There we were, the entire graduating class, on stage singing our graduation theme song, in the same cafeteria/auditorium where we’d had dozens of assemblies, dances, watched movies, and so much more, for so many years. In a rush it came to me: T…
I don’t know about you but I missed my Fourth of July. And I’m not faulting our local officials – they made exactly the right call. Even with the building evidence that fresh air is relatively safer than indoor air, no one wanted to take the chance of sparking infections due to close crowds …
Here we are in the throes of summer with no place to go. I don’t ever remember a time when a summer vacation wasn’t an option to consider — at least a vacation in the traditional sense.
“It shouldn’t be this difficult,” I mutter, between clenched teeth. Then again, this is my first time attempting this trick alone. In my car. During a late spring thunderstorm that is making life beyond my rain-streaked windshield as nebulous as life under Storm COVID-19.
This is my third summer alone and I’m trying to figure out how to celebrate the season by myself. Of course, this summer is quite unique in that most of the normal activities are either cancelled or restricted.
One of my favorite films is A Man Called Ove. (And if you haven’t seen it yet, catch it on Netflix before Playtone and Tom Hanks Americanize it beyond recognition in their upcoming version.)
If I were to write a nursery rhyme about a garrulous geezer on a fruitful foray with his giddy granddaughters, it would go like this: “Punny Poppie picked a peck of perfect produce.”
As some of you may know, I’ve had more than my share of accidents. In addition to boating accidents and skiing accidents, I’ve been known to walk into walls and signs and through screen doors.
Depulso! is the charm used to banish people in Harry Potter’s world. In our world, apparently it’s J.K. Rowling’s turn to be banished. For those of you who missed it, the J.K. Rowling crisis seems to have been precipitated by her reaction to the phrase "people who menstruate” (my emphasis.)
Editor’s note: This is a past column by Tedd Levy, Old Saybrook historian, who wrote this for the ShoreLine Times a few years ago to commemorate Black History Month.
President Lincoln lived during summers at the Washington Soldiers’ Home. He bore the sorrows of “this terrible war” and the recent death of his young son. Even though it was wartime, he was careless of his own safety, and often when he couldn’t sleep, he’d pass unseen and alone beyond the gu…
Well, the Fourth of July is sure going to be a strange one this year. When I was a kid we often referred to the fireworks-and-barbecue-laden holiday as “the halfway mark” as far as our summer vacation was concerned.
In the past few months I’ve had several calls from friends who’ve slid down the hill of tragedies we’ve piled up and are collapsed at the bottom in the vale of tears unable to climb out.