Suburban Chicago, December 31, 1963. Lily offers someone sugar—or just a sugar lid—for coffee. My Mom's best friend Donna—in the center wearing the dress with the illusion neckline—watches. There's a "Reišutinis Tortas" (Nut Torte) on the table; my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana likely baked it. It was a dry torte made with hand-ground walnuts. Tatjana soaked the layers with a rum syrup, spread lingonberries for the filling, and dressed the torte with a penuche icing. I longed for a moist, spongy, frosted American-style cake.
Do you see the little ashtray with the ceramic tile inlays? We used to make those. Hot plates and ashtrays were practical objects for the popular tile projects.
When we were looking last night at the photo I posted yesterday of this table, Mr. Irene and I noticed that the damask tablecloth had creases. Tatjana carefully ironed tablecloths after she washed them. But I think she folded the tablecloths, stored them in a drawer, and then took them right out of the drawer—without further ironing—when she wanted to use them. Mr. Irene wondered if the creases didn't make an imprint on compulsive-neatnik-little-Irene because—since we've been married—I always store tablecloths on coat hangers in a closet (never folded in a drawer), and I obsessively iron them (sometimes right on the table) before we finish arranging the place settings.
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