4:00 PM Sun 21 Nov 71
Sitting in the big window all packed, waiting for Bruce to come home so we can drive to Florida and I can meet his mother. Spent 3 hrs cleaning the apt which is a lot for me. Hoping coffee and ghost stories will keep us awake. Reading another AEW Mason – it is just like a Spiegel catalog. Is this man a novelist or a dress designer? I refuse to EVER AGAIN be subjected to one of his pale ethereal heroines, wearing green chiffon with silver starbursts on the shoulders, satin buckle shoes and a diamond belt, writhing and roped throughout the denouement. The man has a problem. St. Petersburg Fla – Wd 24 Nov 71 Bruce pulled a Bertie Wooster – ran into an old friend at his gig he wanted to party with so we left a day late. Fortunately it was all right with the dog & cat people. We are going crazy in this place so Bruce had Buster call to say they had an Important gig. Sorry! No Thanksgiving! We leave at 3 this afternoon if we can stand another 3 hrs of this torture. Not sleeping together is bad enough, B’s mother is an angry, vengeful old sourpuss. Mrs. Vill never goes anyplace, never sees anyone, never thinks of anything interesting, never does anything but take care of the old lady (her Mom) who is gaga. (B’s father staged a final heart attack just to escape.) I’m tired of being lectured on bra-less-ness, long hair, the Ungrateful Young and the duties of a wife. The most interesting part was the scrapbooks. Bruce was a Baby Genius – learned to read and write music at age 3 – it was in the paper. He cried over discords on the piano. He was cute. Also Mrs. V’s wedding pix – she claimed everyone thought she looked like Dolores del Rio. She certainly went overboard with the satin, lace and veiling – very disappointed to hear I won’t be wearing a veil and that I’ve yet to buy my dress. She looked up my father in Who’s Who and not only is he in there, so am I (all of us by name.) This makes her angry that she lives in St. Petersburg in a little house with an old lady, but I think Old Mrs. E keeps her daughter young – she gets to be the “can do” one. (Old lady can’t walk and has no idea who we are.) The furniture is pretty awful Louis Quatorze and the food is sparse (she has put me on a diet.) When I suggested we go out to eat I got a long lecture against restaurants. Restaurants! She is repelled by the idea that you don’t know exactly what you’re eating or who it’s made by and she is not comforted by my embrace of the “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” philosophy. So horrified that I ate lamb lung & eyeball in Algeria she may never recover. We spend a lot of time washing dishes (by hand) while B sleeps. Bruce doesn’t even try to talk to his mother and his brother, who lives all the way up in St Augustine, refuses to come down to say hi (we will see him at the wedding where he’s B’s best man.) She goes on an on about how Bruce should be a lawyer because she’s read they make the most money of any profession. 10:20 PM After a fabulous dinner at The Kingfish we are looking up all B’s friends who all appear to be musical. They are playing right this minute. Reading Eleanor & Franklin. Penn Station Baltimore Fri 3 Dec 71 – 5:18 PM Sitting at the train station with red suitcase, wearing long green coat & muff, missing B already. Going home to spend my birthday shopping for my wedding dress! Striving towards perfection – wrote a poem. GOTHIC NOVEL A woman alone is open, gaping a button hole without a button hook. She carries her muff before her like an offering Flic, flic! Stranger’s eyes will slit the pause like razors. The railway carriage stinks of creosote, wet fur. I prefer the window up, thank you I prefer it down. She lights a Sobranie to remind her of Devon in the haying; the gentlemen lean forward, reading the faded gold initials on her morocco case. Reading and enjoying Sayers’ Mind of the Maker.
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Alysse Aallyn
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