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Mar. 29th, 2005 11:02 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chelseagirlLast night was the memorial service for Mies, my next-door neighbor of 12 years. I didn't write about her death here when it happened back in December, but she was a very special lady, the 74 year old grand dame of the building, the one everyone knew and stopped to talk to, but also a very private person who managed to hide her decline from nearly everybody.
The memorial service was at the Episcopal Actors' Guild; Mies and her late husband were both very much part of the theater. Since Mies had a pretty serious accent (Dutch) she mostly did summer stock and little theater, but her husband (he was much her senior and died long before I moved in) was Doc for most of the run of West Side Story and had some other impressive credits. Except for half a dozen of us from the building, the other people present were her acting buddies -- a roomful of aging thespians, you can imagine! There was the woman who "sang" a poem in a quavering soprano and a woman who recited Millay with about twice as much emphasis as I would have found appropriate. Many impressive hats and chandelier earrings. Stories about theater in NYC in the 60s and 70s, very time-capsule and wonderful.
Also found out that Mies (only child of a doctor in Amsterdam) and her family had hidden a Jewish family during WWII; unlike Anne Frank's family this family survived to the end of the war. (But the poor nutrition she had during the war may explain why she seemed older than her age, despite her elegance and etc.)
We talked about her elegance and sense of style. I remember once I was taking my Christmas tree out to the curb and got locked out of my apartment; I needed to go to someone's office who had my spare keys but had run out coatless. (At the time the super didn't have a set of my keys, you can believe he does now!) Mies lent me a coat -- because I am tall, she picked out her opera coat, so I was off in my jeans, sneakers, and a long wonderfully elegant paisley coat with a fur collar.
She had several dogs in the time I knew her. After Harriet died, she adopted Desiree, who was 15, deaf and toothless, but the sweetest thing you could ever meet. A vet and his wife in the building have Desiree now, so she is safe and happy.
Oh, yeah, and my wondrous tiny VAIO arrived. M. has to help me with getting some of the software set up and then it will come with me to the library every day, 'til the damn thing is written and done with.
The memorial service was at the Episcopal Actors' Guild; Mies and her late husband were both very much part of the theater. Since Mies had a pretty serious accent (Dutch) she mostly did summer stock and little theater, but her husband (he was much her senior and died long before I moved in) was Doc for most of the run of West Side Story and had some other impressive credits. Except for half a dozen of us from the building, the other people present were her acting buddies -- a roomful of aging thespians, you can imagine! There was the woman who "sang" a poem in a quavering soprano and a woman who recited Millay with about twice as much emphasis as I would have found appropriate. Many impressive hats and chandelier earrings. Stories about theater in NYC in the 60s and 70s, very time-capsule and wonderful.
Also found out that Mies (only child of a doctor in Amsterdam) and her family had hidden a Jewish family during WWII; unlike Anne Frank's family this family survived to the end of the war. (But the poor nutrition she had during the war may explain why she seemed older than her age, despite her elegance and etc.)
We talked about her elegance and sense of style. I remember once I was taking my Christmas tree out to the curb and got locked out of my apartment; I needed to go to someone's office who had my spare keys but had run out coatless. (At the time the super didn't have a set of my keys, you can believe he does now!) Mies lent me a coat -- because I am tall, she picked out her opera coat, so I was off in my jeans, sneakers, and a long wonderfully elegant paisley coat with a fur collar.
She had several dogs in the time I knew her. After Harriet died, she adopted Desiree, who was 15, deaf and toothless, but the sweetest thing you could ever meet. A vet and his wife in the building have Desiree now, so she is safe and happy.
Oh, yeah, and my wondrous tiny VAIO arrived. M. has to help me with getting some of the software set up and then it will come with me to the library every day, 'til the damn thing is written and done with.
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Date: 2005-03-29 04:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-30 04:52 pm (UTC)Of course, without her and her understanding of the bibliophilic nature, I may never be able to get the apartment painted ever again! ;-)
She was really fabulous. I only wish I had been able to help more in the last year. But she was the kind of person who didn't want anyone to know something was wrong. One woman in the building, her vet's wife, she "let in" a bit more, but everyone else she pretended for.
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Date: 2005-03-30 02:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-30 04:50 pm (UTC)At the memorial there were photos from various periods of her life (her childhood in Amsterdam, theatrical headshots, recent pics of her with Desiree), as well as this gorgeous portrait painted in the 60s (when she must have been in her 30s). I could have imagined her in those times and places, but the stories made her a real person in those situations, if you know what I mean.
I miss her.