The Good Stuff

 

My father and mother got married later in life. As such, all of my fathers’ relatives had passed well before I was born. I did not know my father’s parents, or really much of anything about my father’s side of the family. As a child, I always wondered what they were like; who they were; what they did. What did their days look like? What kind of relationship would we have had? (Just some of the millions of questions I should have asked my parents before they passed. I so wish I would have taken the time to do this. I will share these things with my own children. I will write them down. I simply must.) 

One of the things I inherited when my father passed away was a large box of my grandmother’s china. It was the “good stuff” that had been boxed up for most of my life. I sort of remember seeing it in the china cabinet, but I don’t remember using it growing up. We might have, but I have no real memories of it. It was just grandma’s china that lived in the cabinet. 

When J and I bought our new home, one of the key components that drew me to this one was its large dining room with built-in china cabinets throughout. See, J and I? We like a good dinner party. Or drinks. Or just having friends over. Of *hosting* things. We both love to cook, love to entertain, and consider that the greatest gift we can give others is bringing them in—feeding them, hosting them, offering hospitality and sanctuary and warmth. Our home, in whatever shape and size it has been, has always been YOUR home, too. 

In every home we’ve had together as a couple (and dear lord, that’s been three different houses in the five years we’ve been married…) our dining room has been central to our home...and *wee.* Enough for a handful of folks, but not nearly enough to really host a party like I would like. 

(I’ll never forget the Thanksgiving that J was deployed and I decided to throw a friends and family Thanksgiving at my house, and because it was just me and Ellie ALL my friends decided to show up. I tried to squeeze like ten or twelve people onto a table made for 6 and nearly had a nervous breakdown when I couldn’t get place-settings down in {what was to me…} a reasonable fashion.) 

When J and I started dating, one of the things that we talked about as a reason for our getting along so well, was that we put equal value into our relationships with our friends. As far as we were concerned, friends were considered family. And for family, we would do anything. Host a dinner; take them in; let them come over in the middle of the night. And we have never had to ask or explain to one another this implicit importance. “Hey, set another place for dinner.” “Hey, I have a friend who needs a place to crash for a month.” The answer has always just been, “well, yes, of course.” 

When J and I got married, we didn’t register for a china pattern. Partially this was because we didn’t have space for it, and knew we’d just have to pack it up and take it from house to house until we “settled down.” And partially it was because I knew I had my grandmother’s china waiting for me. 

This week, as we finished unboxing the main part of our new home, I stumbled upon the box of grandma’s china. And since I now had a china cabinet, I decided that it was time for it to come out of storage for the first time in, literally decades. The first thing that struck me was its simplicity and its beauty. Myself not being particularly fancy, this simple design, very delicate, but classy was exactly what I would have picked out for myself had I had all the china in the world to select from myself. A small grayish blue leaf in the middle, with a silver edging. (I’m not really the pink/ floral/ gold filigree type.) 

Ah yes, this is actually stuff I would use. 

And then I began to unwrap each piece. Piece after piece after piece. Good lord, how much of this stuff was there? 

All told, it was a 14-piece place setting. Plates, salad bowls, soup bowls, cups, saucers, dessert plates, two serving plates, two serving bowls, sugar and cream and gravy boats. Holy cow—a full set of late 1800’s, delicate Japanese china…in a set of 14. Who gets china of this value, at that cost, during that time period in a set of FOURTEEN? Who could possibly need a place-setting for 14? 

We do. 

And they did. 

Exactly right. 

Suddenly, I looked at the dishes differently. I started wondering how much like my relatives I maybe was. Did they set a table for 14 on the regular? Did they host dinner parties? Have friends to the table? Parties into the night with wine and good food and conversation? All of my assumptions about my father’s family were based on the little that I knew about them: They were pre-Depression era, turn of the Century, Midwestern, blue-collar workers and farmers, who were extraordinarily pious and faithful, and to be honest (in my head) a little “colder” than I am. 

But maybe not. 

Maybe they enjoyed a good dinner party. 

As I unwrapped the delicate dishes, one at a time, I started to love the imperfections that come from use—the gravy boat, chipped; a plate broken; a soup bowl quite simply missing. They used these dishes. They loved these dishes. My grandmother’s hands had washed these cups once; had served Thanksgiving dinners on these plates; had no doubt filled the bowls with mashed potatoes. These are things that I will do, too.  

What a lovely connection we now had. 

This weekend, for Mother’s Day, I’m excited to say that J and I are hosting a brunch at our home. It is the first party for our family that will take place in our new dining room—a room that can hold the people we will host. 

And I’ll have the china do so. 

I anticipate that we’ll have our own chips and scrapes to add to the collection. And hopefully my children will have fond memories of these meals, and will carry forward our family’s love of others, good food and hospitality. 

And the china. They'll have the dishes. And all the other good stuff, too.