My maternal grandmother's china is definitely not "me." The design of pastel-y flowers is very busy and very, well, grandmotherly. The china that Pat and I chose almost 27 years ago is simple, with an outer blue band. We received only two place settings—from my late friend Elissa Ichiyasu and her now-widower-now-remarried-and-still-a-friend-along-with-his-wife and from my older sister and brother-in-law—because my mother told everyone that I was slated to get half of her mother's china. I was pissed and chagrined that the main chance to have beautiful dishes that we wouldn't have to pay for was squashed.
The china is still not "me" or not "us." But now, with my grandmother and my mother gone, using the china for a family Thanksgiving works for me. It's not about the dishes. It's about Nana, and Mom, family, and being together.
PS
All's well that ends well: When we have fancy dinners, we use lovely Noritaki china from two very complete and lovely sets that we bought, along with beloved friends, from a hospital thrift store.
(Originally slated for October 11, 2019; posted December 7)
The china is still not "me" or not "us." But now, with my grandmother and my mother gone, using the china for a family Thanksgiving works for me. It's not about the dishes. It's about Nana, and Mom, family, and being together.
PS
All's well that ends well: When we have fancy dinners, we use lovely Noritaki china from two very complete and lovely sets that we bought, along with beloved friends, from a hospital thrift store.
(Originally slated for October 11, 2019; posted December 7)
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