Category Archives: North Fairhaven Girl

North Fairhaven Girl

North Fairhaven Girl: Oom-pa-pa

I will take a little break from pitching my books and share a memory from my childhood. A musician playing the other night at my son’s brewery announced the band’s next song would be a polka. It turned out to be an Irish polka, not quite the same I remember hearing as a girl. But it prompted a sweet memory — dancing the polka with my father.

People in my hometown of Fairhaven will remember the late Antone “Hawk” Medeiros, who was so active in adult and youth sports the town named its recreation center for him. He was deeply involved at St. Mary’s Church at the bottom of our street — carrying the statue of Our Lady of Angels during the annual feast’s parade and passing the collection basket at the early morning Mass.

Dad was a showman who enjoyed making people laugh with his performances at the church’s annual shows and appearing in costumes at town events.

He was also a great dancer.

When I was a girl, our family attended so many weddings and events where a band would be playing crowd-pleasing music that got people onto the dancefloor. There were events held in the Polish club off Alden Road.

When he wasn’t gabbing with people he knew, Dad would be on the dancefloor with my mother. My sisters and I had our chances. If it was a waltz, we stood on the top of his shoes as he swooped us around the floor. But the best dances were the polkas. Holding my father’s hand, together we would do the polka’s lively three quick steps and a hop to the song’s oom-pa-pa, oom-pa-pa as we circled the room.

I recall the Pennsylvania Polka and the Too Fat Polka, which had those memorable lines: “Oh, I don’t want her, you can have her. She’s too fat for me.”

Polka originated in the Czech Republic before it spread through Europe. At the time, Fairhaven, especially the northern end where my family lived, was filled with the families of those who emigrated to the U.S. from another country. The neighborhood was a melting pot of mostly Portuguese, Polish, and French Canadian people. My grandparents, who lived near us, came from the Azore Islands.

Traditions people had in the “old country” were often still celebrated. And one of those was dancing the polka. (Oh, yes, there is the chicken dance although I never participated in that one.)

One of my favorites? The Beer Barrel Polka. Here’s how a stanza goes:

Roll out the barrel, we’ll have a barrel of fun
Roll out the barrel, we’ve got the blues on the run
Zing boom barrel, ring out a song of good cheer
Now’s the time to roll the barrel, for the gang’s all here.

Ah, yes, oomp-pa-pa, oom-pa-pa.

ABOUT THE PHOTO ABOVE: One of the few pieces of schoolwork I still have from when my last name was Medeiros.

Standard
North Fairhaven Girl

North Fairhaven Girl: Remember Mom

Today, April 2, my mother Algerina Medeiros would have been 101. She left us Aug. 26, 2023. I wrote this piece for her 99th birthday. I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately, wishing I could call her on Sunday just to chat. She’d be sitting in her comfy chair in the living room, likely with the TV on and the cat on her lap. Mom would likely have been playing Sudoku or completing a crossword puzzle in the newspaper before she picked up the phone after the first ring.

Those calls ended when Mom went to live in a convalescent home. So those calls were replaced with visits when I could make the long ride “home” from where I now live.

Anyway, I found this piece I wrote when she turned 99, and I will share it with you today. My mother and father were so well known in their town, especially in North Fairhaven, where they lived and were so involved.

On April 2, my mother, Algerina is 99 years old. That’s a very long life filled with creativity and a curiosity about the world around her. Let me tell you about her.

Her parents emigrated from the Portuguese island of Madeira. They met in New Bedford, Mass., worked in the textile mills, and bought a house and land in a nearby town, where they kept a large vegetable garden and goats. A great deal was expected of my mother and her younger sister, Ernestina. Although a good student, my mother was forced to drop out of high school to work in one of those mills. Her sister had to take care of the house.

As a young adult, Mom continued to live at home, thinking she was going to be an old maid, a term we don’t use today. She was 24 when she met my father Antone on a blind date. They were married six weeks later. It was a very long and happy marriage that ended when our father passed at in 2015 a few months short of his 93rd birthday. Mom always says their years of marriage were the best of her life.

They had three other children besides me: my sisters, Christine and Kij; my brother, Tony. There are lots of grandchildren, and even great-grandchildren.

My father was active in their town of Fairhaven, Massachusetts, especially with sports, whether playing or coaching it. My mother would be there watching and keeping score. Both were heavily involved in St. Mary’s annual shows, and my mother put her sewing talents to great use creating costumes for them both. (Her costume-making guaranteed me a starring role in my school plays. The prom gowns she sewed, including the one with the glass beads on the bodice, are in a trunk still.)

It’s unfortunate my mother had to leave school because she loved learning. She wanted to be a nurse, and seeing how she cared for our father in his last years, she would have been a caring one. She was a big reader. When we were kids, she took us to the Millicent Library twice a week for an armload of books she read in bed.

Mom took adult education classes in such subjects as millinery — I wore feathered hats with veils to church — jewelry making, cake decorating, painting, you name it.

She and Dad enjoyed traveling, especially to Hawaii, Las Vegas, Madeira, and the Azores.

I have fond memories of the long days we spent at the beach on the weekends. Mom would make clam fritters. (She and Dad dug for clams and quahogs in season.)

She loved eating lobster.

Until she had to give up her license a few years ago, Mom drove to three places to eat and shop — Wendy’s, Walmart and Market Basket, taking only right-hand turns. She had a bit of a heavy foot. Hank joked she drove like she was in the getaway car of a bank robbery.

My mother enjoyed gambling and winning, whether it was Bingo put on by one of the local churches or playing the slots at the casino. She had a head for Sudoku, a puzzle that mystifies me. A loyal newspaper reader, she still has a subscription to the New Bedford Standard Times.

My mom’s not the meddling kind of mother. She let her children find out things for themselves. I am certain there are times she was mystified by the decisions I made and the directions I took, but she kept that to herself.

Mom is also the inspiration for the mother, Maria in my Isabel Long Mystery Series. I give that character a lot of my mother’s interests and personality. She’s nosy and helpful solving crimes. My mother liked that.

On Friday, my son Zack and I paid a pre-birthday visit to Mom. She now needs special care and help, certainly understandable given her age and health. She was happy to see us, as we were happy to spend time with her. When we both sang “Happy Birthday,” she joined us. She still has her sense of humor. When she heard somebody say “Hey!” she responded with “Hay is for horses!”

There’s so much more I could write about my mother, but this post gives you an idea.

Happy 99th birthday, Algerina. Thank you for being my mother.

Standard
North Fairhaven Girl

North Fairhaven Girl 4: Millicent Library

I was a reader before I became a writer. My teachers at Oxford School got me started. But it was the books I borrowed from my town’s Millicent Library that got me inspired.

As I’ve mentioned before, my mother was a voracious reader, who brought us to the library to borrow enough books to last a week. During the summer, the library sent a bookmobile to St. Mary’s parking lot at the bottom of our street, but I preferred going to the library because it was like stepping into a castle, the building was that grand. See the photo above that I took on a visit.

First a little history: The Millicent Library is one of the extraordinarily beautiful buildings given to my hometown of Fairhaven by Henry Huttleston Rogers, a resident who became wealthy thanks to oil. Charles Brigham, the noted architect, designed the Italian Renaissance building, which took two years to complete. The library is dedicated to Rogers’ daughter Millicent, who died at age 17. It appears she once said, “I wish we had a good library.” It was dedicated on Jan. 30, 1893, the anniversary of her birth.

Friends from Taos, New Mexico, where Hank and I lived for 11 years, will recognize the name Millicent Rogers. In Taos’ case, this Millicent was the granddaughter of Henry Huttleston Rogers. She lived a fabulous, artistic life. An art museum, which we visited often, is named for her.

But back to Fairhaven … the children’s room was to the left of the circulation desk, where Rita Steele, head librarian, was in charge. There, I vowed to read the entire Wizard of Oz Series, all 14 books. I don’t recall how far I got. My sister Christine and I got hooked on the Nancy Drew Series, taking turns to read each chapter as we proceeded through the story — believing like most everyone else the author was indeed Carolyn Keene. Books that captured my imagination: The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith, and, of course, The Diary of Anne Frank. There were so many more.

Another memory: the Samurai sword on open display. The 14th century Tachi sword worn in court ceremonies was a gift long ago from the then-Japanese ambassador — in recognition of the town’s connection to his country. Unfortunately the sword was stolen in 1977. The library now has a replacement.

When I stopped using the kids’ room, I ventured into the adult section, including nonfiction. I wanted to read every one, an impossible task, I realize.

By the way, I was happy to learn the Millicent Library carries several of the books I’ve written. I also did a reading there in October 2023, which was a homecoming that included a cousin, classmates, and even my ninth-grade history teacher.

Besides my adult fiction, I write children’s books, specifically for middle grade readers. For my Twin Jinn Series, I created a family of magical beings — jinn or genies — who live among humans. So far, I have published two: The Twin Jinn at Happy Jack’s Carnival of Mysteries and most recently, The Twin Jinn and the Alchemy Machine. 

I wanted to write books that inspire young readers. And I thank the Millicent Library for getting me going on that.

Standard
North Fairhaven Girl, Uncategorized

North Fairhaven Girl: 3

In a recent post, I wrote about my experiences at Oxford School, especially with my fourth-grade teacher who gave me so many opportunities to write. Thanks, Mrs. Darwin. Then in fifth grade I was able to take my writing to another level in a class taught by Donald H. Graves, or Mr. Graves as we kids called him.

That year, a few students from each of our town’s elementary schools were selected to attend an enrichment program held Wednesday afternoons at the Rogers School. We had two classes: advanced science and creative writing. I bet you can guess which class inspired me. And I give Mr. Graves’ approach to creative writing full credit for that.

Mr. Graves used prompts to teach us fifth-graders about similes, metaphors, and other figures of speech. His approach was a deeper way for me to express myself in writing. He compiled what my classmates and I wrote in a mimeographed pamphlet.

Here is a piece I wrote called The Tornado. It’s a little over the top, but keep in mind, I was 10. I recall Mr. Graves called my parents to talk with them about it. I have held onto the typed and handwritten versions all these years. 

The winds of torment strike the grey sky with evil destructive movements. Its path tears the world apart with its wind. The sun struggles to set the sky afire with its golden sunshine, but is shoved aside to hide with the clouds. Trees sweep the winds hoping for mercy. The sea of grass bows at the sight of this evil destruction. Fields of corn are whipped and left to die for they would not bow and worship him. Mountain tops are bitten off piece by pieces until it too will follow with the others and bow to worship, but the proud mountains stand tall as ever in trying to hold back the winds. The winds of evil torment goes on to finish his evil scheme.

I so looked forward to Wednesday afternoons when a parent drove us to Rogers School and then brought us back at the end of the day. This program was also an opportunity for me to meet students from other parts of our town who would later be my classmates at junior high and high school.

Frankly, I had to wait until I was in college to get anything similar to what Mr. Graves taught me. I found it limiting to write what the teachers expected of me in English classes.

According to his obituary I found online, Donald H. Graves, who died in 2010 at age 80, lived a life filled with interests and accomplishments. (That’s the photo used in the obit.) He served in the Coast Guard, and then taught at East Fairhaven Elementary School before he became its principal. Later, he went into the ministry and was a professor at the University of New Hampshire. In 1976 he founded the Writing Process Laboratory at UNH where he remained until he retired in 1992. His research with elementary children at Atkinson Academy inspired his first book: Writing: Teachers & Children at Work. He wrote 25 more. Many of Mr. Graves books are available on Amazon.

When I started writing novels as an adult, I reached out to Mr. Graves after I found him online, sending a note to thank him. He responded and sent me a few of the books he wrote.

This passage came from his obit: “Don was internationally known for his work in children’s writing. His deep conviction that children wanted to write pervaded his teachings and radically changed expectations for what young children could accomplish if they were treated as writers.”

Yes, that’s what happened to me. And I tried to do the same whenever I had an opportunity to teach writing. Thank you, Mr. Graves.

Standard