Marge
January 1, 2009 | Filed Under Cast of Characters | Leave a Comment
Marge is at the heart of what I will always remember as our Camelot. She married Tom’s dad a few years before I entered the scene. They created an unusual blended family because their children were all young adults. I was added to the mix and we found ourselves sharing a universe of art, ideas, and a profound sense of order.
Marge represented everything that I was not. She had an M.A. in French. In my first year at the University of Nevada, I dropped French like a hot potato. My brain could not cope with the sentence constructions and all the words sounded the same to me. I had no strategies for learning. Later, I read a theory that dyslexia has a hearing component that makes the hearing of certain sounds more difficult and that might have been part of my problem. In any event, anyone who could have mastered French was just plain smart in my book.
My first meal with the family was nothing short of terrifying. When I arrived in the formal dining room, wearing a long, hand-made, patchwork, velvet skirt, I felt decidedly at a loss. I stared at the impressive mask collection on the wall and wished I could disappear into one of the African masks. Marge was elegant and warm. She complemented me on my skirt, which she assured me was an absolute work of art, and right there, she had a friend for life, whether she wanted one or not.
The table was filled with big glasses and little glasses and more silver than you could shake a stick at. I felt as though I were living inside one of the paintings I had been studying. On Christmas Eve, we ate spectacular gourmet dinners before retiring to the living room where Marge would light real candles on the tree, while classical music played in the background. Nothing could have been more magical. We were all young and beautiful and living in an extraordinary time. We talked about politics and books and films. .
Unfortunately, this flawless environment cast a long shadow on my own sense of insecurity. I was thrust into an intensely intellectual environment even before I had the opportunity to complete one year of college. I trained my eyes on Marge and looked for clues about what to do next. I bought gourmet cooking books and learned to cook. I read at least three books a week. Some days we would sneak away and go to a movie in the middle of the day. We discussed everything. We read Pauline Kael’s film reviews in the New Yorker and restaurant reviews in the San Francisco Chronicle. I joined Marge’s painting group and we would paint all day. In retrospect, I am certain that I would never have had the courage to go to Europe with a small child if it hadn’t been for Marge’s tales of her life as a young expatriate mother in France, Italy, and Spain.
When we all began to bring our babies home, Marge was in top form. She had great memories of her grandmother and was determined to have great relationships with her grandchildren. She transformed the sculpture garden into a toddler paradise with the addition of a bright plastic slide and wading pool. Every child was given a small paper bag with a bottle of bubbles, crayons, a small pad for drawing, and small tin of play-doh. This was one of the most brilliant collections that I have ever seen assembled for toddlers. We had five little ones navigating a garden with magnificent sculptures—some were sliding, some stopping to draw, some making play-doh creatures, while others blew bubbles. There was perfect symmetry in motion.
From time to time, there were whispers that Marge came from old money but if she did she never let on. Economy characterized everything she did. When she spoke she listened carefully to every word and would backtrack until every thought was perfectly expressed. She purchased only those things she needed and I never saw her waste anything. She invested her time and her thoughts in things that had real value. Every year she rented houses by the sea so the grandchildren could continue to play together and have a life-long connection. There are at least twenty-five years of pictures with our children all together, smiling, and waving back at the camera.
When Tom’s dad died, a part of all of us died. Everyone mourned in his or her own way. I was sad for Tom and Kristian and wished them just a few more years with this extraordinary Renaissance man. But I was completely devastated for Marge. Marge and Newt had given us all so much joy but they also gave our children a true measure of success–a gift that transcends time. Our children were able to see the elements of a truly happy marriage.
Marge is still the bright star I set my course by. Last summer, she invited me to the beach house. I was excited to see her granddaughter Amy and her great grandson Jackson. On my way, I ran into a little store to buy alphabet letters because I love giving children letters. The store was all out of the letter N so I ended up buying “J-A-C-K-S-O-M”. Amy’s husband was gracious enough to engineer the M into an N and I was greatly relieved. They also took Jackson to my website and were delighted to see that he could read color words, almost immediately.
We had one of those conversations that I have grown to love. Coming around the corner, Marge said that she had read an article in the Atlantic magazine about how the computer and the Internet are changing the way we think. “People don’t read books any more.” I nodded feeling somehow responsible for the Internet. And, then, Amy told about her experiences teaching first-grade students in a bilingual program in Texas. I thought about the first time I saw Marge and about how little she has changed. I thought about how grateful I am for all she taught me. I am also really proud Amy is a teacher and a great mother. Then, there was a moment, when I looked into Amy’s face and saw Marge. She has her grandmother’s sharp mind and quick wit. As Amy articulated the drama of children in Texas schools, I saw a certain strength of character, depth of perception, and a passion for children I really relate to and I guess you could say that life doesn’t get much better than that.
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