My sister Sheila is in charge of show and tell today at her daughter's school. She is taking photos of our Irish grandmother, Kathleen Dee Kiely. We called her Nana. I loved the idea, so I am posting them here too for my show and tell. Nana died ten years ago at the age of 92. I miss her.
Kathleen's 1927 passport. She was an adventurous single girl who set out for America at the age of 20.
A few years after her arrival, she reconnected with a man she knew from Ireland named Jerry Kiely. He had been engaged to someone else, but broke up with the woman, and Kathleen and Jerry married and had three children. Pictured here are my mother, Kit, and my Aunt Phyllis Nina, who is dressed as a bride for a school play. Jerry, their third child had not been born yet.
I met my grandfather when I was a child, but I don't remember him. He died young of emphysema. I recently discovered a book entitled On Another Man's Wound: A Personal History of Ireland's War of Independence by Ernie O'Malley. Jerry Kieley is one of the men involved in the fight. My mother isn't sure if it is her father because the last name is spelled differently. But we know he was part of the war, and when I read this description, I liked to believe it was him:
I wish I had a night by the fire with him to hear his stories. So many questions.
When my mother was a teenager, the family got a dog, a Boxer named Lance after the knight. Her father took some wonderful photos of her and Jerry and Lance. Last year, I put them together into this video for her birthday:
This photo is of Nana and me at my sister Regan's baptism in Cleveland, 1973. I love her Jackie O suit. And I can see the charm bracelet she always wore with eights hearts with each of her grandchildren's names inscribed on them. She always jingled and that sound, when I hear it on someone else, makes me think of her. That, and the smell of Scotch on the rocks, not in a boozey way, but in a homey, one drink before dinner, Nana is in town and we're eating at the big table tonight way. Cozy.
I met my grandfather when I was a child, but I don't remember him. He died young of emphysema. I recently discovered a book entitled On Another Man's Wound: A Personal History of Ireland's War of Independence by Ernie O'Malley. Jerry Kieley is one of the men involved in the fight. My mother isn't sure if it is her father because the last name is spelled differently. But we know he was part of the war, and when I read this description, I liked to believe it was him:
Jerry had fine features; his face was brown under thick black hair which he carefully combed. He held his head to one side; there was something bird-like in the look of his light brown eyes. He spoke rapidly. He had a way with him that the girls as well as the boys liked; he was good company around a fireside, and could make up for my preoccupation with maps and pens. I could often hear his songs in the night-time:
For I don't know it may be so,
But a bachelor is easy and he's free,
For I've lots to look after
And I'm living all alone
And there's no one looking after me.
For I don't know it may be so,
But a bachelor is easy and he's free,
For I've lots to look after
And I'm living all alone
And there's no one looking after me.
I wish I had a night by the fire with him to hear his stories. So many questions.
When my mother was a teenager, the family got a dog, a Boxer named Lance after the knight. Her father took some wonderful photos of her and Jerry and Lance. Last year, I put them together into this video for her birthday:
This photo is of Nana and me at my sister Regan's baptism in Cleveland, 1973. I love her Jackie O suit. And I can see the charm bracelet she always wore with eights hearts with each of her grandchildren's names inscribed on them. She always jingled and that sound, when I hear it on someone else, makes me think of her. That, and the smell of Scotch on the rocks, not in a boozey way, but in a homey, one drink before dinner, Nana is in town and we're eating at the big table tonight way. Cozy.
I am sure I gave her a hard time on this day because she would have put my hair in rag curls using flat beer as a styling aid the night before. Sheila had natural curls so she didn't need help, but my older sister Kathleen would have had rags like me. We always curled our hair for special occasions. Kathleen's curls always came out in perfect ringlets like Nellie Olsen, but mine would be pouffy and I would be furious. It would happen every time but Nana never gave up. She would let me pout, my mom would put a pink bow or a barrett in my hair to tame it, and the next time Nana would visit we would do it all again.
Anyway, my mother always said a true Irishman doesn't need to wear green. So without any shamrocks or leprechauns or pots of gold (not that there's anything wrong with them), wishing you a Happy St. Patrick's Day. And if your grandparents are still a part of your life, pick up the phone and ask them about theirs.
Anyway, my mother always said a true Irishman doesn't need to wear green. So without any shamrocks or leprechauns or pots of gold (not that there's anything wrong with them), wishing you a Happy St. Patrick's Day. And if your grandparents are still a part of your life, pick up the phone and ask them about theirs.