I'm learning Sweetie likes to change around every now and then. Not long ago, he declared he was ready for some new dishes. Huh? What's up with that? At the risk of sounding like someone named Luther, I think our plates are perfectly fine.
Okay, perhaps they are a little boring - no flowers, no stripes, just plain Jane white. They still function well, so why bother to change them? And what would we change to?
I don't know how Sweetie would respond to that question, but in my opinion, the answer is clear. We'd go straight to the Fiestaware store we browsed in Savannah, drop down a bucket load of money and walk out with plates, bowls, pitchers and platters in the old fashioned turquoise, yellow and green. They'd be called vintage.
A turquoise disc pitcher of an age long ago never fails to remind me of being at my Grammy's camp in Vermont. It conjures up the whole feeling of camp. The pansies growing, snoozing in the hammock with a Nancy Drew mystery across my chest, the moldy, woodsy smell of the Patty cabin, a whole series of Oz books, the gasoline smell and the sound of a small boat putt-putting across the lake (how when someone stood up to pull the choke string I was afraid we'd tip over), digging up worms from the loamy soil in the woods next to the
The sad truth, of which I'm pretty sure, is that I'll never own any Fiestaware. And if I did, it wouldn't be Grammy's. And it wouldn't have the stories of my youth embedded in it's lead-free paint. Maybe that's why I could care less about our plain Jane plates. We haven't had them long enough for them to hold our stories. I'd gladly eat of plates laden with lead again if I could see my mom sitting on the front stoop, with a cigarette in her hand and a scarf wrapped around her head.
Last week, for no particular reason, I decided to pull out the "good china." Mom's Noritake. Thinking about it now, my heart must have known the reason. It just took awhile for my brain to catch up. Lately I've heard a lot of sad stories about lives unexpectedly cut short, of freak accidents or cancer diagnoses. Each story, whether it happens in Timbuktu or my own back yard, is a reminder of the tenuous hold we have on life. If life is so very fragile, why save the "good" china for a time that may never come? Why wait for a dinner party I'll probably never have? Why let the pretty plates with delicately painted flowers and a gold trim languish in plastic bags on a cupboard shelf? Shoot, throwing them in the fireplace after Thanksgiving dinner would be a better end for a stained coffee cup and saucer than ending up in a thrift store waiting to be picked like a puppy at the humane society.
When did people start having two sets of china - one labeled every day and one labeled good? Who made the "good china" is only used on special occasion rule?
"... Because every day we have in life is lucky.Every moment we spend with someone who truly loves us is profound.Everyone we let into our home is impacting our lives in some way.Every day is special, even if it seems ordinary.And every moment matters. Every. Single. One.So get that china out. Seize the moment. Declare it special enough. Celebrate one more day of living." [http://christineperkett.com/?s=good+china]