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was forever taking pictures of Ingrid, a most willing subject who loved nothing better than to pose. He'd take her with: Aunt Ellen's spectacles slipping down her nose or his own hat perched on her head or togged out like a lady in clothes her mother had worn.
She couldn't remember when this dressing-up business had started. It went back beyond the dawn of consciousness. She'd dream up little stories and act them out, dance to her own reflection in the mirror, learn poetry by heart before she could read. After learning to read, she'd memorize whole plays and put them on — a grave, fair-haired child, doing all the parts from ingenues to ancients, content to be her own cast and audience, applauding herself, then taking a stately bow. It was her best-loved pastime.
Next to Ingrid and painting, Father loved music. He had a beautiful voice and sang with a famous chorus in Sweden. Once he went with the chorus on a tour of America. At first she thought she couldn't bear his being away, till he explained how badly he wanted to see his brothers and sisters in that faraway land, and that this trip would be like a gift from her if she'd be brave and cheerful. Then it became easier. And easier still after the postcards started — showers of postcards from all over America. One was so lovely — a picture of orange trees with people picking the fruit. "Some day you will come here to California," Father wrote, "and pick yourself an orange."
Because of his passion for music, she began very early to take singing and piano lessons. She couldn't honestly say she cared much about them. But to please Father, she would have endured worse. School was far
Ruth Roberts (extreme right) was I ngrid's first Eng. coach, still harasses her about her j's and y's. But Ingrid flies through books faster than teacher, can cut through two an evening.
worse. She loathed it from the start. Like a small animal surrounded by enemies, she sat tense and quivering, utterly defenseless against she knew not what terrors. When the teacher asked a question, even though she knew the answer, she couldn't give it. Her voice stuck in her throat.
She grew used to it after a leave, though Father said she would have insisted on school. Not Father. "It must be dreadful. Why don't you quit? You can have lessons at home, and that will give you more time for your singing." But [Continued on following page)
"Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" flung Bergman into first hussy role. Though spouse Peter's in California now, she's doggedly finishing heftv woolen sweater meant for his icy winters in Rochester.
while and refused to might. Most parents
august, 1943
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