Mary Bryant entered high school fairly late in life. After eighth grade, she cooked for several socially prominent families in Chicago. Then, when she turned nineteen, she abruptly dropped out of cooking and became a high school freshman. She elected to take beginning French, a course my mother taught. At first Mother was thrilled to have her as a student. Mary was so bright, and she "got" French so easily. The grammar, the vocabulary, even the pronunciation! Mother's ambitions for her began to soar. After graduation, what would she be? A doctor? A lawyer? A merchant chief? Even though Mary was the laziest student my mother ever taught, Mother believed she could end up with a grand career, a glorious future. Mary elected to take French again her sophomore year, her junior year, and her senior year. When Mary graduated, Mother's soaring ambitions for her crashed. She did not want to become a doctor, lawyer, or merchant chief. Instead, after graduation, she returned to her former career as cook for socially prominent families in Chicago. She'd move in with her car and her dog, Lucky. She'd make herself at home, i.e., take over the place, and pursue her career: cooking, caring for the family's children, and ruling the roost.
Mary had the power of a CEO.
My mother had three lifelong friends. Mary was one of them. She made all of us laugh, and we made her laugh. She was both a Mrs. Malaprop and a creator of new words. Mother wrote down several of them in my baby book. Yes, my baby book. Here they are, the promised levity.
"Oh,don't abstract the baby."
"I just can't understand why those Episcopathians and Luthereans can't get along."
"I like the Sympathies of Beethoven."
"I'd marry John, but he doesn't appeal to me sectionally."
What a baby book!
My father-in-law was a great mixer of words. During my teens my brother-in-law was just my best friend, and his stupid little sister was just a snot (funny, when I got back from the service, she seemed to have changed). They had a house full of company, and there were about 10 teens, myself included, in the living room watching a monster movie with my future father-in-law. A giant squid appears on the screen and my father-in-law announces "look at the testicles on that squid." Another time he asked a neighbor lady how her syphilis plant was doing. He meant schefflera. I was not always convinced of the innocence of these slips.
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