A shrine to Wladziu Valentino Liberace

My grandparents and my husband’s family both had summer places in the same bungalow colony. These bungalows were originally all very modest, and furnished cheaply with odds and ends from the occupants' primary residences.

My earliest memories of my grandparents’ place featured orange molded plastic chairs in the “ultra-modern” style, as well as little homages here and there to their interests. Grandpa’s model of a riverboat that he built himself had a special built-in shelf. Grams’s collection salt and pepper shakers were on a display piece which I seem to recall was a ship with little shelves on the sails. There was a souvenir pitcher from Pennsylvania Dutch Country proclaiming that the milk is all but the cream is yet, whatever the hell that means and a spoon collection hanging by the door that never really caught my fancy. Since my grandfather owned a boat and they were near the water, there were various nic-nacs with a nautical theme, given to the man who has everything, I suppose. I also have memories of two sets of drinkware – colorful metallic “glasses” that were pretty but gave a bad taste to the beverages they held (they were more for show) and a glass pitcher with six glasses, all frosted a different pastel color, which happened to be a very cute set. The Munch place at 226 Pine Lane was a little bit heavy on the dust-catchers, but it had a certain charm.

My in-laws, as I mentioned, also had a bungalow. They were fortunate enough to have what was essentially waterfront property or, at the very least, a view. There was a different taste level at their place, perhaps because the cottage had originally been furnished by John’s grandmother, who was a good deal older than mine. The Gardner/Perotti/Coffey clan of 90 Chestnut Lane had plenty of built-in shelves for the sentimental pieces that may have been a little too out-of-date for a year-round home (as was also the case over at cottage #226). There were candy dishes in the form of swans (they are on my nightstand as we speak -- and I put earrings in them) and an assortment of odd bric-a-brac that didn’t have enough cohesiveness to be called a collection. Like my grandmother, someone at #90 had a novelty pair of salt and pepper shakers. Let’s just say, unlike my grandmother’s sets, these shakers were not to be displayed in the presence of African Americans.

The big difference between the mementos displayed at my family’s bungalow and John’s was that his family’s items were not, for the most part, a tribute to the likes and interests of the occupants. The term “for the most part” takes into account that there was a shrine to pianist Liberace over the garbage pail in the kitchen.

Before I mislead my readers, the “Lee” Liberace “shrine” was simply an autographed picture of the entertainment legend, taped or tacked to the wall. Still, it fascinated me. My greatest hope and prayer is that when the kitchen was paneled with knotty pine some years back, the Liberace shrine was simply paneled over so that future occupants could renovate and discover Lee’s grandeur. We regretfully sold to a younger couple; chances are, they may not be aware of Mr. Showmanship’s legacy. As my brother Andrew has said, Lee took it to the next level.