by Dawn Fourie (nee Dobbie)

My grandmother's name is Angela Brill Thaler. She was born November 30, 1913 in Vienna, Austria, where she lived until 1938. Because of Hitler, she and my grandfather, Max Thaler, escaped to Switzerland. They lived in Switzerland for ten years and had two children there, Ellen born in 1943 and Joan in 1946. Since they could not get permanent residency, they moved to the United States, and lived in New York City while Max got his internship in general medicine. In 1950 they moved to a small town in upstate New York, Parishville. Max opened a family practice and was the only doctor in three towns. They had two more children, David who was born in 1953 and Susanna, 1955. They lived happily in Parishville for thirty-nine years. Max Thaler died September 9, 1989.
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After the funeral the family gathered around the kitchen table. People were reminiscing about the past. My grandmother, Angela, told a story from her childhood, about her grandmother, Sophia.

"The year was 1918, I was five years old, right at the end of the first world war. An epidemic of influenza had spread all over Vienna. My baby brother, Bobby, caught it, so my parents decided it would be best if I stayed with my Grandmother Sophia so I would not catch influenza.

I had never spent much time with my grandmother, let alone spent the whole night. She was a very distant woman; I had always admired my Grandmother Sophia. She was incredibly beautiful, and although she was a widow who always wore black, she dressed to the height of fashion. She had exquisite snow white curls piled high on her head, and she had the smallest wasp waist I had ever seen. There was a sophisticated air about her. She definitely was a lady.

I had a wonderful afternoon with her. She took me to the most expensive restaurant in the whole city. I had an extremely lavish meal, the best a five year old girl could dream of. The dessert was amazing, a chocolate mousse, with whipped cream piled high, in sweeping swirls just like my grandmother's beautiful hair.

After dinner we went to the opera, which was another new experience. I had never seen so many extravagant women! They were wearing beautiful furs and jewels. The

opera house was fragrant with exotic perfumes. I had never seen this world and it enchanted me. Of all the beautiful women there, my Grandmother Sophia was still the most beautiful. I was so proud to be there with her. She was the queen and I adored her.

We got home late, and we were both exhausted. I washed my face, brushed my teeth and put on my nightgown. Then I climbed into my grandmother's deluxe king size feather bed with its silken sheets. Grandmother Sophia came in and sat at her vanity table where she began to remove hairpins from her hair. She then removed her hair! She lifted off her beautiful white swirling locks and put them on the bureau. I was so shocked, I just sat there with my mouth open. I could not believe my grandmother's beautiful hair was not her hair. How could this be? All she had left were a few short gray hairs.

That was not the worst of it. Next she undressed; after her dress came off she unlaced her corset. I had never seen a corset before and as she unlaced it I saw her grow fatter by the second. When she was finished she put the bony contraption on the bureau next to her hair. She then washed her face and off came her eyebrows and rosy cheeks. At that point she barely resembled my grandmother, and I was getting quite frightened. She then removed her teeth and placed them in a glass jar on the bureau next to her hair and the corset.

Finally, a bald, fat, ugly, old woman, who I didn't even know, climbed in bed with me, and grinned a toothless grin. That was when I started screaming."

That's how Angela finished her story. It made me laugh hysterically, but it also made me feel very sorry for poor old Sophia.

As we sat around the table, I remembered that the five year old girl was my beloved grandmother. I also realized that I could be that five year old girl, but my grandmother's beauty was natural and I could never be afraid of her. I could only love her.

Written in 1989, Published in "Angela's Artwork" 2002
Copyright 1989 Dawn Fourie (nee Dobbie)


September 1989

This is a true story. This is what happened. But what she didn’t mention, but I remember, is this: There on the table was my grandmother, somehow magically disassembled, but my grandmother. And what came into bed with me was not my grandmother. A stranger came to bed with me. That’s why I started screaming— Angela 2001