Tag: Mary Alice Fournier

This was the first time we used the “Future Residents” slot at the Highlands and we got caught. We were only going to drop off a few things at the Bistro Café and then drive around to Peggi’s mom’s old apartment but time got away. A number of people who came to the small gathering we had in her honor pointed out how much they liked our parking spot.

Peggi prepared a few words to say about her mom and I did the same but we never got around to it. Everyone who came shared thoughtful memories of her with us and at some point it seemed like we all turned some sort of corner and we’re moving on. We may have missed our envelope but I think Mary Alice would have loved the whole affair.

I was going talk about how she used to collect the remainders of bar soup and roll them into these multi-colored balls that she put in the guest bedroom. That is one of my earliest memories of her. She made a mean pecan pie, her Aunt Mabel’s recipe. And even though she travelled all over the world when Peggi’s father was transferred to Australia she was a small town girl at heart. She liked rides in the country and Vic & Irv’s. When she reminisced it seemed she was the happiest as a child in Evansville, Indiana.

I ran into the Springers in the hallway after Mary Alice had passed. They lived in the apartment next to her and coincidentally the Springers had introduced my parents to one another. Mrs. Springer said, “Mary Alice was a pistol.” We all laughed and Mr. Springer, pointing to his wife, said, “And she would know. She’s a real pistol too!” It’s an apt description. Mary Alice was opinionated and sharp, a worthy opponent in hot button discussions.

I was happy to have her her in Rochester for the last eight years of her life. I loved going to the operas with her and watching her have a good time at Margaret Explosion gigs. We genuinely had a good time together and I’ll miss her.

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We raced out to Peggi’s mom’s place for the last time on Saturday. It was pretty clear it was the end of the line this time so we did what we could to keep her comfortable. I hooked up the DVD player in her bedroom and Peggi put on one of her mom’s favorite operas, Mozart’s “Le Nozz Di Figaro” with Rochester’s Renée Fleming in the lead role. Peggi’s mom was gone before the opera finished, just before the applause for the fourth and final act, and I already miss her.

The three of us had seen many operas together in the eight years she spent here. She generally liked the lighter fare. My favorite was Coplands’s “Tender Years”. We had a similar divide when it came to art. She volunteered at the Detroit Institute of Arts and we went to many openings at the Memorial Art Gallery here. Peggi’s mom was troubled by abstract art and she was always asking me to explain pieces. I decide whether I like an art work in seconds. I don’t think about it so I was always at a loss to explain why I liked something. I tried many different approaches, many times, finally just saying things like, “You don’t have to like it.”

A few years back she spotted an review in the Wall Street Journal of a book by Kirk Varnedoe, the former chief curator of painting at the Museum of Modern Art, called “Pictures of Nothing.” She took the bus from her apartment to Pittsford Plaza and walked with her walker to the Barnes & Noble store at the other end of the plaza and picked up a copy. It is a gorgeous book of “Abstract Art Since Pollack” and the pictures are accompanied by the extremely inciteful text from a series of six lectures that Varnedoe gave as a Mellon lecturer at the National Gallery. If anyone really wants an explanation of modern art I can’t think of a better source so I often wondered why she gave the book to me instead of reading it herself. I didn’t think I needed it but I savored every bit of this book. I could do a much better job of explaining abstract art now.

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