Opera, accents, tortes and lace
I just noticed that today is March 7th. Okay, so maybe that's kind of obvious, since yesterday was the 6th. However, the date resonates with me because that was the date my older brother got married. There was also an eclipse on that day, which our teacher made a big fuss about in our science class. Lots of warnings not to look directly at it, lest we burn out our optic nerves, and all that.
I know I don't often bring him up---and this may be the only time I've mentioned her---but my late brother Peter's bride Suzanne* made quite an impact on my life. They met at the Newport Opera Festival---he was an opera afficanado and she was an aspiring singer---and corresponded for a couple years before she moved from Pittsburgh to New York.
As Rosalind Russell put it in Auntie Mame, "When you're from Pittsburgh, you have to do something." Perhaps as a result of all the vocal coaching she'd had, Suzanne had the most exquisite voice I'd ever heard. Her accent was almost English, flawlessly enunciated and projected clearly enough to be heard in the top balcony. (I just typed "top balony"---now there's a Freudian typo for you!) I admired it enormously and did my best to emulate it---I think I must have succeeded, judging by the number of compliments I get from callers.
Suzanne was a woman of many talents. She was an accomplished secretary---in those days, they were still secretaries---and fancied herself a gourmet cook. The apartment they set up housekeeping in was in a huge old Victorian, and the kitchen was easily the size of my living room. My fond recollections are of a seven-layer chocolate raspberry torte, which at the time was the most decadent thing I'd ever consumed, potato pancakes---very exotic!---and it was she who introduced me to marzipan.
I remember the pre-wedding events with no joy. I wasn't in the wedding party---Suzanne only had her sister as a maid of honor---but I had to get a new outfit for the day, and shopping for it was HELL. I'm a plus size now, I was a plus size then, and my mother dragged me to every shop on Staten Island that *might* have something in my size. There were dressing rooms and tears and dark words about my weight. I finally ended up in a baby blue dress overlaid with white lace and white lace sleeves---scratchy fucking lace, I remember that!---sullen and ready for it all to be over.
March 7th came, and I had an earache. This wasn't unusual---all through grade school, my tonsils plagued me, and every year from November through April I had a running case of the sniffles that occasionally flared up affecting my tonsils or my ears. My mother, who'd studied hairdressing while she was expecting me, was busy attending to the bride, so she dosed me with St Joseph's Aspirin for Children, parked me on the couch with a new Bobbsey Twins book. The earache went away, but I missed the eclipse.
While Mom was seeing to Suzanne's up-do, the bride-to-be was stitching the last touches on her dress. I said she was accomplished, didn't I? She hand-sewed her dress, a silvery-white silk brocade sheath, and it was gorgeous. (She was also kind---I wish I still had the doll clothes she stitched for my Barbies! There was a wonderful tapestry brocade skirt and a poofy green dress....) Suzanne is tall---about my height, 5'10"---has always been naturally slender though busty, and she was magnificent.
The ceremony took place at the church affiliated with the parochial school I went to, a classical stone building with elaborate stained glass windows and Renaissance-style murals of angels painted on the walls on either side of the lecturn. Afterward, the reception was at a nearby Italian restaurant and I got another book to keep me quiet.
They lasted...I don't remember. About ten years, and even then it was mostly because, as I understood it, they had tax problems---failure to make the correct deductions, or filing separately---I don't know, and at this point, it hardly matters. But although they divorced, they never drifted apart...oh, they didn't always live together, but mostly they did. They were sharing an apartment when Peter died in 1999.
I last heard from her in...have to think about it. It would've been 2000, because I was working at the Dysfunctional Family Business at the time. Suzanne came down for a visit and was talking about moving to West Palm Beach. She went back to New York, and I haven't heard from her since. She's long since moved from the apartment she shared with Peter, and I often wonder what became of her.
Anyway, it's March 7th....
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* I know I don't usually name names, but he's dead and she's changed hers, so in this case, I don't see what harm it'll do.
I know I don't often bring him up---and this may be the only time I've mentioned her---but my late brother Peter's bride Suzanne* made quite an impact on my life. They met at the Newport Opera Festival---he was an opera afficanado and she was an aspiring singer---and corresponded for a couple years before she moved from Pittsburgh to New York.
As Rosalind Russell put it in Auntie Mame, "When you're from Pittsburgh, you have to do something." Perhaps as a result of all the vocal coaching she'd had, Suzanne had the most exquisite voice I'd ever heard. Her accent was almost English, flawlessly enunciated and projected clearly enough to be heard in the top balcony. (I just typed "top balony"---now there's a Freudian typo for you!) I admired it enormously and did my best to emulate it---I think I must have succeeded, judging by the number of compliments I get from callers.
Suzanne was a woman of many talents. She was an accomplished secretary---in those days, they were still secretaries---and fancied herself a gourmet cook. The apartment they set up housekeeping in was in a huge old Victorian, and the kitchen was easily the size of my living room. My fond recollections are of a seven-layer chocolate raspberry torte, which at the time was the most decadent thing I'd ever consumed, potato pancakes---very exotic!---and it was she who introduced me to marzipan.
I remember the pre-wedding events with no joy. I wasn't in the wedding party---Suzanne only had her sister as a maid of honor---but I had to get a new outfit for the day, and shopping for it was HELL. I'm a plus size now, I was a plus size then, and my mother dragged me to every shop on Staten Island that *might* have something in my size. There were dressing rooms and tears and dark words about my weight. I finally ended up in a baby blue dress overlaid with white lace and white lace sleeves---scratchy fucking lace, I remember that!---sullen and ready for it all to be over.
March 7th came, and I had an earache. This wasn't unusual---all through grade school, my tonsils plagued me, and every year from November through April I had a running case of the sniffles that occasionally flared up affecting my tonsils or my ears. My mother, who'd studied hairdressing while she was expecting me, was busy attending to the bride, so she dosed me with St Joseph's Aspirin for Children, parked me on the couch with a new Bobbsey Twins book. The earache went away, but I missed the eclipse.
While Mom was seeing to Suzanne's up-do, the bride-to-be was stitching the last touches on her dress. I said she was accomplished, didn't I? She hand-sewed her dress, a silvery-white silk brocade sheath, and it was gorgeous. (She was also kind---I wish I still had the doll clothes she stitched for my Barbies! There was a wonderful tapestry brocade skirt and a poofy green dress....) Suzanne is tall---about my height, 5'10"---has always been naturally slender though busty, and she was magnificent.
The ceremony took place at the church affiliated with the parochial school I went to, a classical stone building with elaborate stained glass windows and Renaissance-style murals of angels painted on the walls on either side of the lecturn. Afterward, the reception was at a nearby Italian restaurant and I got another book to keep me quiet.
They lasted...I don't remember. About ten years, and even then it was mostly because, as I understood it, they had tax problems---failure to make the correct deductions, or filing separately---I don't know, and at this point, it hardly matters. But although they divorced, they never drifted apart...oh, they didn't always live together, but mostly they did. They were sharing an apartment when Peter died in 1999.
I last heard from her in...have to think about it. It would've been 2000, because I was working at the Dysfunctional Family Business at the time. Suzanne came down for a visit and was talking about moving to West Palm Beach. She went back to New York, and I haven't heard from her since. She's long since moved from the apartment she shared with Peter, and I often wonder what became of her.
Anyway, it's March 7th....
========================================
* I know I don't usually name names, but he's dead and she's changed hers, so in this case, I don't see what harm it'll do.