Tag: Family

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Memoir

30 Years is a Long Time

At 6:15 this morning I had the thought I should drive to Pennsylvania. Sit at my father’s graveside for a while. Talk about all of the things that have changed in the 30 years since we buried him there, the all of us still in shock about the accident, the sudden death, the things we’d left unsaid.

Thirty years is a long time — almost half my life now — there would be a lot to say.

I hadn’t thought of a cemetery visit, made a plan. The grief is so subtle now, with no demands for place and time. It comes as it will come, whether I am sitting there among rows of stones, or sitting in the woods communing with the spirit of everything.

So that was my choice — the spirit of everything in the woods early this morning, and I was happy for the solitude, the Sunday morning quiet.

While I hoped for a sign — he often appears as Hawk — or a voice on the wind, what I found was gratitude.

A deep and unyielding gratitude for how very well he raised me, how strong he taught me to be; for his laugh and the stick-with-it, positive way he approached life; for his encouragement to dream big and love big.

My favorite story about my Dad was the time he took me sledding when I was about four-and-a-half. He set me up on the sled at the top of a rather large hill and reminded me to steer left when I got to the tree. But I got my left and right mixed up and hit the tree straight on — requiring a race to the emergency room and ten stitches. A few weeks later, he brought me back to that hill and told me to open the glove compartment. Inside was the bloody rag he’d held to my forehead — it was a no-pain-no-gain moment. Then he made get on the sled and go back down the hill because…“When you fall off the horse, you get right back on.”

These days we call that tenacity, perseverance, courage, strength, resilience — all of the things that got 29-year-old me standing graveside to this version of me now. I like to think he’d be really proud.

Categories
Creativity

Bethlehem, PA – Part II

“Our shadows are our histories. We drag them everywhere.” — About Grace, Anthony Doerr

In 1991, as the glory days of the Bethlehem Steel Mill were ending, I walked the grounds on a hauntingly overcast day and captured these shots.

Photos ©2025, Jen Payne

Categories
Creativity

Bethlehem, PA – Part I

Last week, in one of those wonderful moments of happenstance, I met a local woman who — we discovered while discussing her photography work — was raised in the same town as my mom and dad. We got to talking about what it was like growing up there, how you really are made up of where you come from, and how the language of the place filters into conversations like ours and defines things without elaboration.

I wasn’t born in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania — but my entire family was — my mom’s family and all of Dad’s, uncles and aunts, cousins. My parents, decades after moving to Connecticut, still called it Home, and for me, sometimes, it feels that way, too. As a child, we spent holidays and summers in Bethlehem, attended family weddings and funerals. Still, today, I can drive around the city without getting lost, find my way back to my grandparents’ houses, the cemeteries, the church where I was baptized and my parents were married.

So I knew, immediately, the location of the photographs in this local woman’s portfolio. The view from the Southside that Walker Evans immortalized (above), the Kraken-like spires of the steel mill rising from the shore of the Lehigh River, the stories-high windows through which I used to watch molten steel flicker and pour as we drove through town.

Like my client, I have always been fascinated by the steel mill. It holds its place in my mind as the beating heart of the city, with its pulsing engines and machines. It was the center through which everything moved: the trains that woke me up at night, my grandfathers working night shifts, my grandmothers keeping house in the shadows of industry, the smell of iron ore on their skin.

If you have been there or lived there, you know that smell. You know the feel of Steel City, its rough-around-the-edges energy and patchwork culture of blue collar workers, religious sects, and immigrants. You know the hills of Southside, the porch-lit Moravian Stars, and you can see the famous steel stacks along the skyline. You see them, even now, as ghosts keeping watch over the casinos and concert venues, the museum dedicated to the long-gone industry that made its city famous.

The woman I met, Linda Cummings, is an artist-photographer with an incredible catalog of work. You can see her collection of Bethlehem, PA images on her website. They’re part of a larger collection of work called Slippages that will be featured in her new book of the same name.

Essay ©2025, Jen Payne IMAGE: Walker Evans, Graveyard, Houses, and Steel Mill, Bethlehem, Pennsylvania.

Categories
Creativity

Remembering Mary Anne

It’s hard to believe it’s been seven years since my dear, sweet friend Mary Anne Siok died. I think about her a lot, especially these days when her kind of sparkle and joy would be a light in the darkness.

She’d be pissed about the current state of the world. Ferocious in her protests. Screaming from the front lines…and dancing. She’d be dancing…and so would I.

I haven’t re-posted this — her eulogy — for a few years, so I thought this would be a good time. And a good reminder, because I still don’t say YES nearly enough as I should, and the years are racing by…

Mary Anne and I met in a freshman English class at UMass in 1984. We were just joking a few weeks ago about how it’s been 30 years since we graduated. I said “How the hell did that happen?” and she said “Because we’re old.”

But the MA I knew – the one we all knew – was never old. Very often her texts would go on and on about what she was doing and where. (Even her cousin Katherine couldn’t keep up!) The weekend before she died? On Friday, after a full day of work and a train commute home to Rhode Island, she went out for sushi with Billy. On Saturday, she and I spent an entire day walking around the mall, shopping, talking, toasting her birthday with bloody marys. On Sunday, she was with friends at Foxwoods to see the Hollywood Vampires, and then on Monday she celebrated a gorgeous spring day with a drive along the coast and lobster rolls.

THAT, in a big long-weekend nutshell was our Mary Anne.

MA was my best friend, my secret keeper, my sister, my person…and the most fabulous yin to my yang.

Me ever so cautious and worried, the introvert full of specific plans to her come what may, live life to its fullest, hell yeah we’re doing that extrovert with an absolute love of life.

She
was
inspiring.

So much so that in recent years, I’ve taken to asking myself WWMAD? As in: What Would Mary Anne Do?

What would Mary Anne do? Mary Anne would say Yes.

YES to the next concert, the Red Sox or Patriots game, the fireworks, the dive bar, the music festival, the movie night, the road trip, the matching tattoos, and one more Hallmark Christmas movie.

YES to the beach. Always.

YES to anything in black, the sales rack, the sparkly earrings, the extra glass of wine. And YES to Dunkin Donuts. Of course.

YES to dancing … anywhere, drinks at the Hard Rock Cafe, going to the symphony, enjoying a home cooked meal, taking a spinning class … or yoga, cheering on her boyfriend’s band.

YES to shopping at the outlets, seeing an art exhibit, wandering a museum, getting tickets to a play, or a long full day at the Big E.

Jump off a 3-foot ledge into the ocean while a crowd cheers? Yes.
Help you check off something on your bucket list? Yes.

YES to coming to your BBQ, your daughter’s dance recital, your campaign event, your nephew’s first birthday, your sons’ soccer game, your girls’ weekend, your wedding, your holiday dinner. Probably all on the same day … usually with a gift … always with that big, sweet, joyful smile.

A smile that said YES, I’ll move in with you. YES I’ll meet you at the winery. YES I’ll be at the party. YES let’s go shopping.

YES, we have to do this again soon.

Not everyone can do that — be so wide open to life and love and friends and experiences. No holds barred. Fearless. Hell yeah, we’re doing that!

And so, in honor of the blessing that was our wonderful, bold and brazen, brave and beautiful Mary Anne Siok, I challenge you — all of you — to say YES a lot more often.

And I thought we could practice right now…ready?

In memory of Mary Anne Siok, May 31, 2018. Click here to read her full obituary.

Categories
Creativity

Creatively Speaking: Do Good Here

DO GOOD HERE
(Or that time I bought a mini trampoline but forgot I am a spatially-challenged short person living in a hobbit house)

My new trampoline takes up about 20% of my little living room, but I love it! It’s a healthy way to add some more movement into my life. It’s also playful and really fun!

And these days, who doesn’t need a little fun, right? Everything seems a bit dark-and-twisty, no matter what side of the aisle we sit on.

Which is not to belittle the seriousness of world affairs. They’re huge and seemingly insurmountable.

Unless you are bouncing on a trampoline and listening to Prince sing about the other apocalypse that was going to happen back in 1999. Then the world seems…just as crazy as it’s always been.

I can no more alter the course of the grand scheme of human things than I can move a river, but I can Do Good Here.

All around us, here, there are small tasks that need doing. Small ways we can improve the world in which we live. Small adjustments we can make within ourselves to collectively improve the human condition.

The popular saying “Be the change you wish to see in the world” actually originated from this quote by social activist Mahatma Gandhi:

“We but mirror the world. All the tendencies present in the outer world are to be found in the world of our body. If we could change ourselves, the tendencies in the world would also change. As a man changes his own nature, so does the attitude of the world change towards him. This is the divine mystery supreme. A wonderful thing it is and the source of our happiness. We need not wait to see what others do.”

We need not wait to see what others do.
We can just start the doing.

So, look inside your heart and ask: what do I need to change within me?

Look around your community and ask: how can I help to make change?

Then DO GOOD HERE.

Volunteer at a local organization. Donate to a local charity. Support local businesses.

Speak with kindness. Smile. Laugh. Be constructive (not critical).

Be creative! Use your creativity to be a voice for the change you want to see in the world.

Then, buy a trampoline and bounce your freakin’ heart out. Because joy is contagious and it might just be the best first step!

Wishing you and yours a joyful holiday season, and a new year filled with GOOD.

With Love,

Jen Payne

Categories
Family Memoir Writing

Life Lessons from Dad

Study hard, be smart.

Weigh the pros and cons of your decisions.

Stand on your own two feet.

Hard work is a key to success.

Dream big.

Love what you love with passion.

When you fall off a horse, get right back on.

Laugh a lot and often…

and you’ll come out on the other side just fine.

That’s my dad and me, college graduation 1988. Today would have been his 81st birthday. I am now 6 years older than he ever got to be. Life is fleeting — perhaps that is the biggest lesson of all.

Categories
Family Memoir Writing

Life Lessons from Dad

Study hard, be smart.

Weigh the pros and cons of your decisions.

Stand on your own two feet.

Hard work is a key to success.

Dream big.

Love what you love with passion.

When you fall off a horse, get right back on.

Laugh a lot and often…

and you’ll come out on the other side just fine.

That’s my dad and me, college graduation 1988. Today would have been his 78th birthday. Life is fleeting — perhaps that is the biggest lesson of all.
Categories
Family Memoir Writing

The View From Here: August 31

The View From Here: August 31

The view from here today is this: a shelf in my office. A still life snapshot: longtime friend Winne the Pooh, introduced to me by my Dad when I was a baby; my UMass diploma; the when-in-Paris photo with my friend DeLinda; a Wonder Woman mug; and the very last photo I have of my Dad.

He died less than two weeks later, August 31…twenty-five years ago today.

I always think: I’m glad I asked him to take off his sunglasses that day, because you can see his eyes in this photo. How they connect up with his smile, mirror his laugh.

I always think — if I look hard enough — I’ll see an angel hovering above our heads, hidden in the shadows, waiting.

I remember that day: a cousin’s wedding, the whole family together for the first time in 20 years, his laugh while he played on the floor with his great-nephew, the feeling of not wanting to leave, of wanting just a few more minutes with him.

Now it’s a photo that says more than I can ever tell you. And it sits on a shelf, next to the love he introduced, next to the education he encouraged and the travel he inspired. On a shelf, and on shoulders strong enough to carry all of that forward.

And more: me, Wondering through this life without and yet so very much WITH him. Every day.

©2020, Jen Payne