Here is a picture of my parents, Maureen and Jim Cannon. Not sure when it was taken but there are so few photos of Dad (who passed away at age 55, a few weeks after we graduated high school) that it has always been a favorite of mine. Mom was born and bred in the Bronx, a fun-loving gregarious gal. Dad was a boy from a tiny town called Port Angeles Washington, who came to NYC to make a living as a chemical engineer. He was quiet and reserved. They met at a social event in Manhattan. She made him laugh. He grounded her. They were very, very happy together. I feel truly blessed to have had parents who loved and respected one another so much.”
My “Aunt Maureen” is the only person outside of my nuclear family who was with me the day I was born, the day I graduated from High School, and the day I was married at the Upper Ridgewood Community Church. In between my birth and graduation she was a librarian at the Ridgewood Public Library and always had a pleasant hello for me no matter how busy she was. I never referred to Jim Cannon as an Uncle Jim because he was my Dad’s golfing buddy on Saturday’s. They would leave early in the morning and return at dinner time with big smiles, which always meant they had a good day no matter what the final score. The summer Mr. Cannon passed my Dad came home each night and worked on a rock wall that had crumbled in our backyard. I always thought this was how he processed his golfing buddy’s death.