Portrait of Ninon Romaine Currie hangs in the Ascunce home.
In our living room there is a portrait of a woman named Romaine. Today’s column for this Mother’s Day is a story about my grandmother and how this painting found its way into our home.
“Honey,” I said to the wife, “I want to write about my grandmother. Will you be hurt or mad that I’m not writing about you?”
“Are you kidding me?” she said, “I would appreciate the break from your mindless ramblings about me. You go for it, Dear. Write about your grandmother…please!”
My grandmother was a tiny, petite woman who was very stylish and reserved. She was typical of the wives of the ’50s and ’60s. She could make a radical meatloaf, just about any kind of Jell-o mold imaginable, and kept her candy bowl full of butter mints, all while wearing a housedress, apron and pearls.
But she had many other talents. I remember watching in awe at the end of every meal how she would pull out her lipstick, make a couple of quick strokes without the aid of a mirror, and smack the cap back on the lipstick saying, “There…We’re done!”
She had an awesome laugh that often surprised her, causing her to put her hand over her mouth saying, “Oh, my!” like she shouldn’t have laughed at that.
But the talent that most defined her, was her piano playing. She was a concert pianist for the Toledo Civic Symphony Orchestra, a rag-tag group of civil servants who played concerts in the Toledo area during World War II.
Grandma must have been a very good pianist because she caught the attention of a more famous pianist by the name of Ninon Romaine Currie who would tour Europe with her piano concerts. They became great friends and Romaine, as she went by, tutored my grandmother on the piano.
Their friendship grew and by 1929, Romaine asked my grandmother to tour Europe with her. She agreed to go.
I can only imagine the excitement my grandmother must have experienced knowing she was about to tour Europe with her mentor.
Unfortunately, it was not to be as my grandmother found out she was pregnant with my mom, so she was not able to go on the tour.
Romaine went on to Europe, but before her tour ended, she contracted typhoid fever and passed away. My grandmother was devastated to lose her good friend and mentor. To honor her, my Mom was named after Romaine.
After her death, Romaine willed a portrait of herself to my grandmother. The portrait has been in our family ever since I can remember.
After my grandfather died, I spent a lot of time with my grandmother, doing chores for her, having a cup of tea, or just listening to her practice her piano while eating butter mints under the watchful eye of Romaine.
My grandmother never achieved the greatness of the woman in the portrait, but she couldn’t have been greater in my eyes. She was a sweet, gentile little lady who could put on her lipstick without a mirror and never go over the lines!
“Honey, are you done writing your Mother’s Day column yet?’ the wife hollered from another room. “I’ve brewed us a cup of tea.”
“Let’s have it in the living room with Romaine,” I said. “By the way, do we have any butter mints?”
Raul Ascunce is a freelance columnist for the Sentinel-Tribune. He may be contacted at [email protected].
