I eat dinner off of fairly new stoneware I received from my relatives for my wedding. I chose the style of dishes to match my future “dream kitchen”. The dishes have a blue center with a yellow border. In the yellow border are little blue flowers. I remember choosing a more casual dinner sitting as opposed to fine china, because I wanted to have nice dishes to use every day. I also wanted to find a unique and more special pattern for my china. I figured I wouldn’t be using china for several years, or at least until I start hosting my own Thanksgivings. So it could wait to join my budding dishes collection.
These plates and bowls may seem slightly silly to hold in such high esteem. As a poor, married college student, I probably shouldn’t expect to eat of brand name stoneware, and should be content with eating out of plastic mismatched utensils, just like my husband. I also probably should avoid concerning myself with determining my future “dream kitchen”. Especially since more important things need to be worried over.
But these dishes are special to me. They hold significance in my life and they connect a number of important factors together. My grandmother on my mother’s side has always been very close to me. I like to flatter myself that we are very much alike, and I inherited her expensive taste and knack to make her home appear sophisticated, yet budget friendly. (The future home in my mind is much closer to this than my current scatter-brained apartment). These wedding dishes begin my own collection and also remind me of older memories with dishes.
My relatives purchased the dishes for me, namely my grandmother and aunts on my mother’s side. My grandmother organized the contributions to purchase these dishes. She owns several different kinds of dinnerware, and continually collects more. She loves to cook, she is an impeccable housekeeper, and thoroughly enjoys entertaining with her fine china and dishes. She cooks generous meals for those who are friends, family or simply guests. She believes good dishes makes things even more civilized and enjoyable.
My beautiful grandmother, to whom I am her oldest grandchild, bought me my very first tea set. It was off-white with pink roses in the centers. It was real china, with matching candelabras and two little pink fake candlesticks. I received them on Christmas morning when I was about six years old. Previously that year, I got caught admiring my grandma’s first tea set she had as a little girl. It was displayed openly on her hutch. She decided it was high time I have my own tea set to distract me from potentially breaking hers. I saw that first tea set as a way we were now similar. My own dishes collection just began, and one day I hoped to have beautiful dishes just like grandma.
I cherished that tea set. I was never the girliest of girls growing up, but something in that tea set sparked my inner girly. I had so much dressing up my dolls and little sister, decorating our little wooden table my grandfather made for us, and throwing a tea party with water and saltine crackers (that was all my mother permitted us eat in our bedroom). If we felt especially mischievous, we would bust out the hidden stashes of Halloween treats and enjoy delicate tarts with the tea. The meals were always fancy. Something about pick roses insist that everything must maintain the highest possible standard of fanciness to a little girl. During the summer time it was essential that our pretty table have a vase with flowers from the garden to sit in between the pink candlesticks.
It was thrilling to dress up and pretend to become the most polite Lady Sarah and honorable Madame Lucille. We held eloquent conversations in our supposed British accents. We discussed the weather and the poor health of our dolls. We wore the laciest, frilliest dress-ups in the box, and made sure to take turns using the pink clutch that looked like it had diamonds on it. When things got dull we would consider and plot how we could possibly sneak into mom’s makeup. When that seemed fruitless the imaginative roles would alter and the plot shifted to the backyard rope swing, where we inevitably morphed into lost British ladies in the Amazon, who lived in a cave and swung across a huge lake to gather pecans that fell from the generous tree above. Eventually, fairies and unicorns wandered into our storyline, and we would be far from the original tea party by dinnertime, only to remember it right before bed while we picked up our mess.
I grew up before too long, and by the time my younger sister got her own tea set, I was a little too old for those games. Her tea set had a checkered tablecloth and a cute carrying basket, and she resorted to engaging the next sister in the fantasy world we first created. Eventually all three of my sisters received their own teas sets before long, and I know all three have made up their own parties with each other and their dollies. Their plots seemed wildly elaborate, but they still clunked in mom’s old heels and argued over the prettier dress-ups, just like me and the oldest of my three sisters.
Returning to my wedding, and the grown up dishes I now own. I was married in the Albuquerque, New Mexico LDS Temple. I upheld a longtime Mormon tradition, by being married in this sacred building. As the oldest grandchild on my mother’s side, I feel I set a huge example to not only my younger sisters, but all my younger cousins as well.
Families are important in the Latter-day Saint religion. The events of my wedding spanned a weeklong event where dozens of cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and bosom friends came to celebrate. The closest of these watched us marry in the temple, and many, many others celebrated with us at the two separate receptions held in our honor. One reception took place in Portales, New Mexico in my parent’s backyard at sunset. The second took place in my husband’s hometown, Carlsbad, New Mexico at the local LDS chapel. Both were equally lovely, although I admit I preferred the Portales reception, because my family and friends attended. In Carlsbad, mostly my husbands friends, and family, attended, and most of these attendants I met for the very first time.
My mother’s fours sisters, my aunts, took charge of the decorating at the first reception. My colors were yellow and light blue with daisies being the main flower. The decorations were a success, even with the ever-persistent prairie wind that fluttered the tablecloths, ladies skirts, and the labored decorations.
Paper lanterns bordered the fence to the garden, daisies were on every table, and homemade blackberry ice cream was served with the cake. The blackberries were even fresh from my family’s garden! The pale colors and daisies highlighted the essential fresh country look I wanted. In fact, in some of the pictures form the reception; you can see my family’s chickens pecking bugs and seeds within the fenced garden.
My aunts used two displays as part of the decorations. One was a small quilt they made with a picture of the temple in the middle and fabric matching my wedding colors around it. The second display was my dishes. The dishes I chose months before. They matched my wedding colors. I did this on purpose, so I would always have a reminder of that special event.
They set the dishes on the same wooden table, my grandfather made and I used growing up for those first tea parties. I believe they chose that table because it was convenient and the right size, but the two together symbolized a powerful binding of memories. Amidst the hugs, smiles, laughter, and delicious ice cream, I noticed that table under my new dishes, and my smile widened.
When the sun was an orange, fiery ball along the waves of grass, my reception drew to a close. For the beginning of July, the weather was extremely cooperative and happily allowed us to celebrate in a comfortable temperature. The breeze gusted generously, but merely added a charming flutter to the decorations. The sunset altered the colors of the reception ever so slightly, and my dad lit the floating candles in the goldfish pond, much to the delight of my young cousins. Fewer people arrived, but many still hovered around for hugs and conversation. The ice cream began to melt, and finally I decided to toss the bouquet and signify my reception was beginning to end.
When the guests remaining were mostly family, my grandmother finally found time to talk to me. She was the one who organized my extended families contributions to purchase my dishes. Even though I chose the dishes and knew exactly what they looked like before tonight, she wanted to make sure I loved them. I walked with her over to the table and picked up the plate.
“I love these, Nanny. Thank you so much!”
“I’m glad you like them. They suit you, and you have good taste! I remember when I bought your first tea set. You were so excited to open it up and play with them that Christmas morning. Do you still have them?”
“ Of course! Well, they’re all packed up in a box, but I have them. Every piece too, I think. And look! My new dishes are sitting on that wooden table Papa made for me a long time ago!”
“ Really? Oh they are. That’s neat. Take care of these new dishes too so your family can eat good food off them even when you are my age. And perhaps you’ll have a daughter someday who can take that tea set out of the box.”
“I hope so. And I hope I make good food! And don’t worry, Nanny, I’ll take very good care of them.”
“I’m proud of you today. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
My grandmother left me to look at my dishes. Yes, they were just dishes, but they were another special gift from my grandmother. These dishes continued my beginning collection of dishes that would be used to share future food, and family traditions. These dishes connected two memories, and two women. My childhood and my newlywed life, myself and my grandmother bonded over those dishes.
