Dexter Adorned
Parties were exciting at the big mansion on Dexter Avenue, because everything had to be perfect. The cooking was overseen by my Aunt, and the cleaning was done by the cleaning maid at hand. The dinner was suggested by my uncle. He prepared before dinner drinks, wine to "go with" the meat, and of course, after dinner drinks to complement the dessert. It was a well planned out five act play, complete with prologue and epilogue, entre-acts, which sometimes needed additional entertainment. The children were sent scurrying off to bed early, after watching the first guests arrive from the jail bars of the second floor banisters.
Often the guests were business partners from out of town, competitors from other branches, or friends of the firm, which were being wooed. Members of high society were invited to make the evening exciting for all, and the buzz from down stairs continued until late.
Christmas was more beautiful than imaginable, with a huge tree adorned floor to ceiling, ringed with lights and scalloped with beading. The topping was magnificent, and I marvelled at it all, coming from war torn Germany to such opulence. Stockings were hung at the mantle, and everything sparkled with season's joy.
One holiday among the mountain of toys received by my cousins there were a pair of life sized dolls. A "Peggy" that looked just like my cousin, that wore clothes of a real child, had hair cut just like Peggy, dark eyes, and stood up to her shoulder. The Michael doll was blond, blue eyed, and wore boy clothes. Both dolls ended up on the Duncan Phyfe Divan in the salon. I recall feeling spooked as they watched me walk past, their lifelike eyes penetrating the space between us, when I came to visit in later times.
My Aunt Barbi seldom shouted or used angry words with me. How she was to the other children, I'm not sure. I do know she wore a hairband, onto which she attached hearing aids, without which she was quite deaf. I believe her bones had calcified, and she needed the help to hear just about anything. You could walk up behind her without them and shout, and she would not know you were there. Later in life she had an operation that "scraped" her bones in her ear, so she could hear quite well. She did not like it at all, being able to hear, she said, because, everything was "SO LOUD!" She was particularly annoyed at having to hear herself chew carrots and apples. She never got used to eating in public, thinking we could all hear her chew loudly. She did teach us all about notes in music by the way she called our names. If she said your names in the chord of a third, going down the scale, Mi-chael, softly, all was okay, but if she used a fourth, ascending, you were in trouble. Mi-chael. She had not spoken louder, but raised the tone of her voice, as in the scale. In my case, Cor-ne-lia- she spoke the first two notes the same, raising the "Lia" higher, I knew I was in trouble!
Fine meals in the dining room were challenging to the immigrants from Germany. Little Tyll and even young Cornelia were not familiar with most foods, and could not imagine what to do with the multiple implements before them at the table. Mother sat between us, hoping to restrain us and guide us from doing anything totally savage. Michael and Peggy were trained to behave properly, but waited eagerly to see how we would respond to the stress of this test. Uncle Gibson's piercing eyes did not have any mercy for even the slightest slip ups, and we had many. Not knowing what napkins were for, how to eat peas, how to cut meat, you name it, we did it wrong. Celery was new to me. It had string in it, and tasted like water. I thought it was horrid. Then there was an orange, new to my taste, and I did not have any idea what to do with that. We watched as Peggy started to drown her peas in her milk, slowly secretly, and Tyll laughed, milk spitting out his nose. Well, that was not so good. Mom was a bit undone. Peggy ended up in big trouble, and Aunt Barbi had some explaining to do. Somehow, Uncle Gibson expected her to know why things went wrong, and "explain" to him, as if she was the actual wrong doer. Such was the goings on of a formal dinner, what went on every evening. No wonder Uncle Gibson went off after dinner to his study with a drink.
It seemed that children often ate in the kitchen and adults in the formal dining room. We were given some more training by the maid in the kitchen as we ate, and some help by Mom, but time passed and we got a little more used to the food in general, so that by Thanksgiving, a large formal dinner, and we were more competent to eat in the formal dining room with the adults.
Uncle Gibson wore a formal suit for the occasion, a tie, and stood quite tall. My Aunt Barbi was over six foot also. He was standing at the head of the table, carving knife in hand, sharpening the knife, with the large beautifully brown roasted turkey in front of him.
Tyll and I sat next to each other, a mistake, and he whispered to me, "Doesn't Onkle Gibson look like a big gorilla?" I stifled a laugh, and all eyes turned on me. My Mother gave me the evil eye, and I looked down, folded my hands and prayed that Aunt Barbi had not served peas for supper that night. Uncle Gibson sometimes turned up the corners of his mouth, wrinkled the edges of his eyes, but his eyes never shone out and smiled. A child can tell if an adult has a hard heart and finds children bothersome and annoying as he did. Aunt Barbi had love shining out of her eyes, and love blossoming out of her heart. It was not because she did fun things with us and for us, it was that she cared about us. Uncle Gibson seemed to us, that if we were little flies, he would have reached for a swatter and smashed us flat.
Often the guests were business partners from out of town, competitors from other branches, or friends of the firm, which were being wooed. Members of high society were invited to make the evening exciting for all, and the buzz from down stairs continued until late.
Christmas was more beautiful than imaginable, with a huge tree adorned floor to ceiling, ringed with lights and scalloped with beading. The topping was magnificent, and I marvelled at it all, coming from war torn Germany to such opulence. Stockings were hung at the mantle, and everything sparkled with season's joy.
One holiday among the mountain of toys received by my cousins there were a pair of life sized dolls. A "Peggy" that looked just like my cousin, that wore clothes of a real child, had hair cut just like Peggy, dark eyes, and stood up to her shoulder. The Michael doll was blond, blue eyed, and wore boy clothes. Both dolls ended up on the Duncan Phyfe Divan in the salon. I recall feeling spooked as they watched me walk past, their lifelike eyes penetrating the space between us, when I came to visit in later times.
My Aunt Barbi seldom shouted or used angry words with me. How she was to the other children, I'm not sure. I do know she wore a hairband, onto which she attached hearing aids, without which she was quite deaf. I believe her bones had calcified, and she needed the help to hear just about anything. You could walk up behind her without them and shout, and she would not know you were there. Later in life she had an operation that "scraped" her bones in her ear, so she could hear quite well. She did not like it at all, being able to hear, she said, because, everything was "SO LOUD!" She was particularly annoyed at having to hear herself chew carrots and apples. She never got used to eating in public, thinking we could all hear her chew loudly. She did teach us all about notes in music by the way she called our names. If she said your names in the chord of a third, going down the scale, Mi-chael, softly, all was okay, but if she used a fourth, ascending, you were in trouble. Mi-chael. She had not spoken louder, but raised the tone of her voice, as in the scale. In my case, Cor-ne-lia- she spoke the first two notes the same, raising the "Lia" higher, I knew I was in trouble!
Fine meals in the dining room were challenging to the immigrants from Germany. Little Tyll and even young Cornelia were not familiar with most foods, and could not imagine what to do with the multiple implements before them at the table. Mother sat between us, hoping to restrain us and guide us from doing anything totally savage. Michael and Peggy were trained to behave properly, but waited eagerly to see how we would respond to the stress of this test. Uncle Gibson's piercing eyes did not have any mercy for even the slightest slip ups, and we had many. Not knowing what napkins were for, how to eat peas, how to cut meat, you name it, we did it wrong. Celery was new to me. It had string in it, and tasted like water. I thought it was horrid. Then there was an orange, new to my taste, and I did not have any idea what to do with that. We watched as Peggy started to drown her peas in her milk, slowly secretly, and Tyll laughed, milk spitting out his nose. Well, that was not so good. Mom was a bit undone. Peggy ended up in big trouble, and Aunt Barbi had some explaining to do. Somehow, Uncle Gibson expected her to know why things went wrong, and "explain" to him, as if she was the actual wrong doer. Such was the goings on of a formal dinner, what went on every evening. No wonder Uncle Gibson went off after dinner to his study with a drink.
It seemed that children often ate in the kitchen and adults in the formal dining room. We were given some more training by the maid in the kitchen as we ate, and some help by Mom, but time passed and we got a little more used to the food in general, so that by Thanksgiving, a large formal dinner, and we were more competent to eat in the formal dining room with the adults.
Uncle Gibson wore a formal suit for the occasion, a tie, and stood quite tall. My Aunt Barbi was over six foot also. He was standing at the head of the table, carving knife in hand, sharpening the knife, with the large beautifully brown roasted turkey in front of him.
Tyll and I sat next to each other, a mistake, and he whispered to me, "Doesn't Onkle Gibson look like a big gorilla?" I stifled a laugh, and all eyes turned on me. My Mother gave me the evil eye, and I looked down, folded my hands and prayed that Aunt Barbi had not served peas for supper that night. Uncle Gibson sometimes turned up the corners of his mouth, wrinkled the edges of his eyes, but his eyes never shone out and smiled. A child can tell if an adult has a hard heart and finds children bothersome and annoying as he did. Aunt Barbi had love shining out of her eyes, and love blossoming out of her heart. It was not because she did fun things with us and for us, it was that she cared about us. Uncle Gibson seemed to us, that if we were little flies, he would have reached for a swatter and smashed us flat.
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