oops! forgot to repost this on its proper day - elm
Subj: Whiskey Sours and Sweet Memories
Date: 4/19/01 10:32:03 PM Eastern Daylight Time
Tonight, I asked Elsa if she would make me a Hot Turkey Leg (Wild Turkey and mulled cider). We do not have any mulled cider, so she asked if I would like a Whiskey Sour. My word, it has been a long time since I have sipped a sour. Elsa made it just the way I like it - all lovely and foamy, over crushed ice, in a cocktail glass with sugar-frosted rim. It tasted very good, it had a nice zip to it. It packed a small wallop - I certainly felt more relaxed after I drank it.
Sipping that drink took me back many years, to memories of when Marjorie (Grandma) Rose and Cornelia Stroh and other older ladies gathered together before Friday Supper for cocktails and nibblings.
It is hard to believe that I can only remember Cornelia and Marjorie - I know there were at least three other women. No memory - maybe they will come to me tonight as I am nodding off. I do know that Sylvia Carlton would always be part of the group if she was visiting Bryn Athyn. We always enjoyed hearing about her globe-trotting travels. We surely did enjoy her oomph.
We enjoyed each other's company so much, we would start looking forward to the next get together practically as soon as we were on our way to Friday Supper.
I always enjoyed the gatherings, whether they were at Marjorie's house, or at Cornelia's apartment on Rose Lane, or at our house - Oliver Smith's stained glass studio on Woodland Road.
If I close my eyes, I can remember the high times we had. No one could be bored around Marjorie and Cornelia. They kept the conversation jumping. We started each gathering the same way, with Marjorie lifting her glass to give the toast - "Here's to the Church - all else is bosh."
Even as it was happening, week after week, I knew it was a special moment in time and appreciated being part of the fun. It was always a delight to go to either lady's home. In the spring, summer and fall, Marjorie's house was surrounded by beautiful flowers - it felt like heaven walking down the path to the front door. Her living room always felt cozy.
For some reason, Cornelia's apartment on Rose Lane - which was built for an artist, Thorsten Sigstedt (in 2011, the Orthwein house) - felt like it belonged in Manhattan, there was such a wonderful air of art and sophistication to the living space. Perhaps I was partially influenced by the fact that Cornelia resembled the First Lady of American Theater, Helen Hayes, although Cornelia was forever irritated by the comparison. Art, quiet sophistication and a suggestion of theater - yes, that would bring Manhattan to mind, even in the heart of Bryn Athyn.
This might sound like a broken record (would today's young adults understand that phrase?), but one of the hardest things about growing older and older is losing so many friends. I consider myself lucky - and I know that I have said this before, but it bears repeating - that as my circle of lifelong friends has thinned out, my circle of newer friends has increased, especially my dear online loved ones. You keep my life hopping.
Week after week, I know that being able to reach out to you (through Faithful Scribe's fingertips) is special and I love still being part of the fun. You help keep away the haunting specter of loneliness and you keep this Ancient One young.
Marjorie and Cornelia would approve.
"Here's to the Chuch - all else is bosh!" Love - Kay
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