and work with each of us on a one-to-one basis by next week.
Our vocal lesson followed a similar procedure. Mr. Littleton's main objective was to get us to understand how the voice was an instrument in and of itself. Projection, breathing combined with
enunciation, and some dramatic awareness would all blend together and make us more effective in so many ways. It made sense and was truly an effort to give us a well-rounded artistic education.
Dance class served as our physical exercise class as well as an effort to help each of us develop poise, grace, and coordination. Since this first class was simply an orientation, we didn't do very much, but for the next class, we were to all dress in appropriate clothing. It was Ms. Fairchild's job to provide us with it. including dance shots. All of us. including Steven, laughed at the image of him in a pair of tights, especially with his toothpick legs.
We all thought we would have some time to ourselves after our dance class, but Ms. Fairchild informed us that our culinary education would begin with the evening's meal. Accordingly, she wanted us to dinner a half hour earlier. It seemed Madame Senetsky, from time to time, brought in a culinary critic or a well-known New York City chef to lecture to us about different cuisines, from Cordon Bleu to Szechuan to Greek. It was here that I would taste entrees like chicken Kiev, paella. beef Wellington, and so many other things that I had only read about, and many more I had never even heard of.
This first evening we were treated to a lecture on Spanish food. Madame Senetsky began by explaining that our food lectures would be like travel guides. The speakers wouldn't just talk about food, but the cultures as well.
She introduced Senor de Marco, a teacher from a New York City culinary institute. We sat with glasses of sangria and listened to him describe how the Spanish people gathered in bars, which he described as being closer to meeting halls than a gin mill.
"In small towns in Spain, the only place to have coffee is at a bar. In others, the only place that sells ice cream cones is the bar in the central square.'
He then went on to describe tapas and the variety of dishes we were about to enjoy, including paella with fish. Russian salad, chicken wings, gizzards, or hearts in sauce, and tortilla Espanola, all with sangria.
The more Steven drank, the funnier he became.
Before the evening ended, he cried out, almost in desperation, "Is everything we do here part of our education? Maybe well even get instruction on how to take a shower!"
"Maybe you'll get instruction on how to hold your liquor. Steven." Cinnamon countered, and everyone laughed.
Later that evening. I sat and wrote my first letter to Uncle Simon. I thought he would appreciate my description of the flora and the grounds, but I made it clear how much it all reminded me of him and how I missed him, as well as Mommy and Daddy.
Mommy called that night as well.
"I wanted to call before this," she explained. "but your father thought I shouldn't. Is everything all right?"
"Yes," I said and described all that I had done, our meals, and the other students. We spoke for nearly a half hour. "This phone call is costing so much," I realized.
"I don't care," Mommy said. "You don't hesitate to call me and reverse the charges. Honey. Promise you will whenever you feel you need to or need to tell me something. okay?"
"Okay, Mommy," I said.
Finally, she put Daddy on.
"How's life in the big farmhouse?" he joked.
I almost told him about the strangely barred rear doors and windows, but didn't. I wanted to be sure I didn't sound any sort of negative note and plant the seed of worry in him or Mommy. Besides, what was there to worry about? I was sure there was some logical explanation.
Instead. I asked him questions about the farm. He was comfortable talking about the corn crops, the market, and his new machinery.
"Finally replaced that old grain combine of Grandad's," he told me. "I did a trade on a new
Our vocal lesson followed a similar procedure. Mr. Littleton's main objective was to get us to understand how the voice was an instrument in and of itself. Projection, breathing combined with
enunciation, and some dramatic awareness would all blend together and make us more effective in so many ways. It made sense and was truly an effort to give us a well-rounded artistic education.
Dance class served as our physical exercise class as well as an effort to help each of us develop poise, grace, and coordination. Since this first class was simply an orientation, we didn't do very much, but for the next class, we were to all dress in appropriate clothing. It was Ms. Fairchild's job to provide us with it. including dance shots. All of us. including Steven, laughed at the image of him in a pair of tights, especially with his toothpick legs.
We all thought we would have some time to ourselves after our dance class, but Ms. Fairchild informed us that our culinary education would begin with the evening's meal. Accordingly, she wanted us to dinner a half hour earlier. It seemed Madame Senetsky, from time to time, brought in a culinary critic or a well-known New York City chef to lecture to us about different cuisines, from Cordon Bleu to Szechuan to Greek. It was here that I would taste entrees like chicken Kiev, paella. beef Wellington, and so many other things that I had only read about, and many more I had never even heard of.
This first evening we were treated to a lecture on Spanish food. Madame Senetsky began by explaining that our food lectures would be like travel guides. The speakers wouldn't just talk about food, but the cultures as well.
She introduced Senor de Marco, a teacher from a New York City culinary institute. We sat with glasses of sangria and listened to him describe how the Spanish people gathered in bars, which he described as being closer to meeting halls than a gin mill.
"In small towns in Spain, the only place to have coffee is at a bar. In others, the only place that sells ice cream cones is the bar in the central square.'
He then went on to describe tapas and the variety of dishes we were about to enjoy, including paella with fish. Russian salad, chicken wings, gizzards, or hearts in sauce, and tortilla Espanola, all with sangria.
The more Steven drank, the funnier he became.
Before the evening ended, he cried out, almost in desperation, "Is everything we do here part of our education? Maybe well even get instruction on how to take a shower!"
"Maybe you'll get instruction on how to hold your liquor. Steven." Cinnamon countered, and everyone laughed.
Later that evening. I sat and wrote my first letter to Uncle Simon. I thought he would appreciate my description of the flora and the grounds, but I made it clear how much it all reminded me of him and how I missed him, as well as Mommy and Daddy.
Mommy called that night as well.
"I wanted to call before this," she explained. "but your father thought I shouldn't. Is everything all right?"
"Yes," I said and described all that I had done, our meals, and the other students. We spoke for nearly a half hour. "This phone call is costing so much," I realized.
"I don't care," Mommy said. "You don't hesitate to call me and reverse the charges. Honey. Promise you will whenever you feel you need to or need to tell me something. okay?"
"Okay, Mommy," I said.
Finally, she put Daddy on.
"How's life in the big farmhouse?" he joked.
I almost told him about the strangely barred rear doors and windows, but didn't. I wanted to be sure I didn't sound any sort of negative note and plant the seed of worry in him or Mommy. Besides, what was there to worry about? I was sure there was some logical explanation.
Instead. I asked him questions about the farm. He was comfortable talking about the corn crops, the market, and his new machinery.
"Finally replaced that old grain combine of Grandad's," he told me. "I did a trade on a new
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