When I was growing up in the 1960s in the northern San Fernando
Valley, we lived on a newly developed suburban neighborhood street filled with
young families like ours. One family in particular, who lived two doors down
the street, became my parents’ closest friends. My brother and I played with
their two kids about the same age, and the parents became “Auntie Beryl and
Uncle Gary” to us. We were back and forth at each other’s houses almost like a
second home. On Monday nights when Dad and Uncle Gary worked late, Mom and Auntie
Beryl would take turns cooking dinner for both families. They swapped recipes clipped
from Sunset Magazine and the LA Times. I remember one,
burger trittini, being a
favorite. On weekends, the grown-ups would sometimes go out together, or make a
nice dinner in and play bridge and drink wine. Auntie Beryl had a musical
voice, and I remember the sound of her laughter when the “grown-ups” were
having a good time. I remember the minced meat pies that Beryl (who grew up in
England) made at Christmastime, from her mother’s recipe. She was very musically
talented, and not long after I started school, I also started taking piano
lessons from her. She persuaded me to sing in the children’s choir at the Methodist
Church that they attended, as a further musical education. She was a good
teacher and a rigorous one, emphasizing the importance of theory and giving a
great understanding of music history while teaching the technique of the keyboard.
She was very involved in the Music Teacher’s Association of California, and all
of her students took annual exams as well as performing regular recitals at the
studio they had built into their home. The piano lessons were strict, but she
also took time with me (and I suspect with all of her students) to show a
personal interest in how we were doing, and sharing a little life advice. I
have one memory of her telling me, “a handsome face and a fun time can attract
you, but you also need to ask yourself is this person someone you’ll want to get
up and have breakfast with every day.” The way she said it was as someone who
was happy with the choices she had made, and wanting to share that – it was
sweet. (It’s also one of those things I probably appreciate much more now than
I did as a young teen.)
They eventually moved away, moving to the Oregon coast
when Uncle Gary retired, but they and my parents always stayed in touch and
visited one another. I’d sometimes enjoy getting to see them at my parents’
house when they were visiting. Not long after George and I married, we had a
trip up to Portland, and they invited us to stay with them a few days in their
beautiful home at Salishan overlooking Siletz Bay. Beryl and Gary (who told me
I was old enough to just call them by their first names) showed us all around
and we had a lovely visit, including going to their church where we heard Beryl
sing a solo and in the choir. Toward the end of our visit, she caught me alone
a moment and told me “I’ve been watching and listening and asking George
questions, and I think you’ve found a very good husband. We’re very happy for
you.” I was really touched, and it reminded me of the little life lessons that
sometimes came with the piano lessons. In recent years they had moved to
Washington to be closer to their daughter in Bremerton, and Alzheimer’s disease
had started to take its toll. On New Year’s Day, Dad got the call from Gary
that Beryl had passed. We’re sad for Gary to have lost his wife, for Diane and
David who have lost their mother, and for the grandsons who have lost their
grandmother. With a tear in my eye, I’m glad to have known her, she will always
be a grace note in the score of my life.
