Lucille's

MOTHER’S CHINA

                        I laid the table for dinner today. Company’s coming……an excuse to dust and bring out the good china. The linens are pressed, flowers arranged, silverware gleaming at each place. I start to bring out the dishes. Oh how I love them, a century old, roses hand-painted on each cobalt blue-rimmed plate.

                        They had fallen into my hands serendipitously one day, calling my name quite clearly from an antique vendor’s booth set up in the local mall. I had  been ‘chinaless’ for several years having sold my exquisite, expensive Royal Doulton settings to put food on the table for my newly single self and two young children. They cried when the china went out the door, knowing full well my love for beautiful things and my passion for entertaining. Surprisingly, I felt detached almost immediately, grateful they had been provided for just such a purpose, and confident that someday, somehow my table would once again be graced by beautiful dishes.  Now, here, years later, they beckoned, more perfect for me than imaginable, complete with history and intrigue and at a price that just happened to match the exact sum of an unexpected tax-refund cheque I had received that day in the mail. I laughed inside as I hastily made my purchase, literally bursting with thankfulness to a God who cared about my insignificant heart’s desire.

                        I bring out the plates now, one by one, fingering each lovely piece. My eyes divert to a corner of the cabinet where stacks of other rose-patterned plates are piled high.

Mother’s china.

              It’s mine now…..an odd legacy from a mother whose sense of the aesthetics was so highly unrefined. She  was after all not about lace or matching towels, classical music or fine dining. She was definitely more sensible shoes, six o’clock news, brown bread, and ‘eat your crusts’. Ever a daughter of the Depression she bought for economy and function, grace and beauty seldom entering the equation.

                        She offended my sensibilities often growing up........ like the year she bought me a black workman’s lunch pail to carry to school. When I ‘accidentally’ broke the handle Mom improvised with an old shoelace. My mortification was complete. I never could explain to her why I constantly rearranged the furniture or bought her a flat of pansies every Mother’s Day hoping that this was the year she would be seduced by their tiny faces…… that her soul too would be fed by beauty.

                        Our lives diverged long ago, both in proximity and emotionally. It was easy to see that we were cut from different cloths. I so wanted her to affirm me at the point of my creativity. And perhaps in retrospect she too longed for understanding and acceptance of her matter-of-fact, no-frills approach to living. I often regretted our lack of closeness and struggled with feelings of “I wish” and “if only” when it came to our relationship.    

                        The last couple years of her life, Mom failed badly and the time came that I had dreaded, when she needed to move to a nursing home. I was however to find unexpected treasure. At a time when I was feeling less needed by my own children, God in his wisdom allowed Mom to become the child and I the mother. She was suddenly so small with a vulnerability about her that allowed me to care for her in a way that I never could when she was the boss ……and she always was! The tenderness that we shared was a special gift I never imagined possible…… pure, sweet, selfless, full of love. I wanted nothing from her, just her contentment. I can’t begin to express the special joy of that second chance, of seeing her freed from day-to day trials and responsibilities and reliving the carefree days of her youth.

                        Now here today, I think about those days before Mom passed away. I take out one of her plates and lay it on the table next to mine. I realize, surprised, how well they complement one another, hers sturdier and plainer, mine finer and more ornate but both echoing the same motif and providing intriguing contrast. I alternate plates around the table now and am struck by the arrangement. I purpose to set the table like this from now on, hers and mine side by side, the effect of the whole more interesting and beautiful than the part. I will celebrate our diversity Mom, and carry you too side by side in my heart.

                        ……I miss you Mom.

P.S. I wrote this some time ago and no longer have my china….but I have hers.

       As a tribute to my mom, I have named this blog after her….Lucille.