70 Year Magazine Archive

Amounting to Something

by C. H. Simonds

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The recently widowed are often given to small but significant gestures signaling independence. One I know of, whose husband had long insisted that music ends with Mozart, went out and bought a record of Mahlerโ€™s First Symphony; another moved to New Jersey. Ruth Berenson had the furniture reupholstered: โ€œWhenever I mentioned it, Norbert used to have a fit. โ€˜Itโ€™s shabby,โ€™ he would say. โ€˜Donโ€™t you like things shabby?โ€™ โ€

Indeed, the lady is, in her civilized way, kicking up her heels: new job, new quarters; not a whole new life, but one veering noticeably. And a new city, Washington, which occasions grumbles from a longtime New Yorker. To reach her new spread, one is vetted by the doorman, then by the desk man with his ever-shifting TV monitors; she has an even harder time: up to the garage entrance, out with the silvery futuristic doodad that, put in its slot, guarantees that she is she and opens the iron gate; park the car, use doodad again to penetrate building; up umpteen floors, fish out two separate keys, determine which opens which lock, home at last. โ€œItโ€™s so dangerous here, you know.โ€ Not dangerous on the Upper West Side? โ€œOh, yes, but I know New York.โ€

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