The Life Box (Part 1)

I though I'd lost the programs from the Rudolph Nureyev performance I attended with my Godmother. I recall having lent the programs to a dear, high-school friend, and I did not remember whether she returned them. She's a do-the-right-thing kind of person—always has been—so it was hard to imagine she didn't give it them back to me.

 

She did return them; I just forgot where they were. 

 

Mr. Irene and I each have "life boxes." The life boxes are oversized plastic bins into which we drop mementos. My life box contains ticket stubs, prom dance cards, menus from restaurants, a little wooden boat Dad carved, an empty can of vending-machine juice that I once threw at a boyfriend when I still lived in Sherman Hall, my First Communion rosary, the tail of a squirrel that Meškė brought home, a few political buttons, and so on. I rifled through the life box last weekend when I wanted to pull out that Verona Morning Star project. At the bottom of the box was a bag in which I'd stored programs and Playbills. 

 

There were the Nureyev programs. I was delighted to see that my Godmother had taken my to see Nureyev not once, but twice.

 

 

Lyric Opera House, Chicago, Illinois, April 7, 1973. I'd forgotten about this performance.

 

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Lyric Opera House, Chicago, Illinois, March 23, 1974. By the time I saw this performance, I wanted an autograph. This was the free program all audience members received.

 

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Lyric Opera House, Chicago, Illinois, March 23, 1974. This was the glossy program my Godmother bought for me. I took it to the stage door after the show. I met Mr. Nureyev, but he declined to sign my program. *Whimpers.*

 

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Lyric Opera House, Chicago, Illinois, March 23, 1974.  Here's my ticket stub and some newspaper clippings. "Admission $7.50."

 

The performance was "Giselle:"

 

 

Goodnight, Swan.

Maria Tallchief has died. Tallchief served as ballet director of the Lyric Opera during the era when my Parents sometimes bought season tickets.

 

Here's Tallchief in a duet with my favorite dancer, Rudolf Nureyev, as Nureyev made his American debut:

What is your earliest memory?

One of the people I held "in my pocket" throughout my early life was my Godmother. Like my Parents, she and her husband had arrived in the United States as Displaced Persons. Like my Mom, she was a physician.

My Godmother treated me like I was something special. She stayed close to me over time. In the early 1970s, she took me to see Rudolph Nureyev when he danced in Chicago. I wanted to meet him in person, and my Godmother complied. She stood with me outside the stage door after the ballet, until Nureyev walked out in his fatigue coat and beret. She treated my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, and me to a rousing performance by the Russian Balalaika Orchestra. There were many special events to which she took me until I left for college. Later, when we lived in different cities, she visited me once a year, usually around the time of my birthday. When I went back to school later in life, she attended my graduation. When she died, she left me her favorite piece of glass.

My Godmother gave me a stuffed dog that became my preferred toy. I slept with it, ate with it at my side, and walked around the house with it. The dog was unusual because it only vaguely resembled the poodle breed. Its coat was made of some curly material that closely imitated real dog fur. To me, the stuffed dog looked like our neighbors' parti-colored poodle, Mikey.

A few years later, my Dad and I returned one morning from our weekly, Sunday trip to Brookfield Zoo. My Mom greeted us at the door and announced that the stuffed dog was gone. She had tried to wash it in the Maytag; the stuffed dog had disintegrated in the suds. I looked into the washing machine, and I saw tufts of snagged stuffed dog hair lining the washer's basin.

Mom tried to compensate for the loss by buying me an even more beautiful, stuffed dog, but there was no replacement for this dog.

Suburban Chicago, May 1961. This is one of the earliest moments I remember. My Godmother gives me the stuffed dog. She likely was visiting us to celebrate Mother's Day.