The next few days passed quickly, even for Judy. The house had to be made livable. “The kitchen is as old as Methuselah,” Mrs. Lurie said, “and has the conveniences of the Stone Age.” But once everything was done and food supplies stocked, Judy found her parents still “tearing around like mad,” a phrase she used in her recent letter to her grandparents.
There were faculty meetings, rehearsals to be arranged. John had to set up programs for his newly organized quartet, and Minna was in daily conference with Mme. Rousse and her pupils.
After four days of comparative quiet, the music students of the School began to arrive with clockwork regularity at two-hour intervals. Judy saw them sometimes, deadly serious as they rushed out after practice to some other task or perhaps to a date. They were intent and enthusiastic young people but to Judy they seemed hoary with age and responsibilities.
For want of anything better to do, she threw herself into organizing the household regime. Washing dishes and making beds were her department. Her father used the carpet-sweeper and mopped up the kitchen floor with giant strokes more suitable for a shuffleboard. There was laundry for Minna to iron whenever someone remembered to borrow a car and call for their bundle at the laundromat.
Judy never wondered how her mother managed to prepare their meals. Mrs. Lurie did that and many other things besides with an ease, a sleight of hand that was slightly deceptive. She worked hard to get everything done and yet find time for her arduous profession. She had set herself the task of singing in opera, a dream possible of realization here at Aspen, but she doggedly pursued her domestic tasks. For breakfast she whipped up some wonderful pancakes and for sheer quantity consumption, Judy held the family record. Lunch was tuna fish, an egg, or a salad, usually prepared by Judy for herself. Dinners meant hamburgers or chops broiled over their outside grille, with soup and vegetables frozen or out of a can, milk, and fresh fruit. Once a week she went all out to bake a chicken or something in a casserole, which she optimistically expected to see them through for days. It rarely did.
New friends and some old ones dropped in nearly every night, that is, when there were neither lectures nor concerts scheduled. It was a busy, full life for Judy’s parents.
But to Judy, the prospect of spending an entire summer doing simple household chores and wandering about sightseeing alone was far from cheering.
Each morning her mother left the house, visibly disturbed. “Judy dear, I’m planning to take you to the pool a few afternoons during the week. We’re dying to go ourselves. It’s already past nine. We’ve got to rush. Good-bye, darling.” The door closed. A moment later her mother’s head reappeared at the door.
“Forget anything, Mother?”
“No, dear. I just wanted to tell you that once our schedules are definitely arranged, we won’t be so hectically busy.” There was the impatient honking of a horn from the car picking them up. Her mother hurriedly left.