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.
Marianne, you just have the most beautiful way of putting words to paper (or keyboard). What a gift!
ReplyDeleteThank you again for sharing, this entry hit home...in so many ways :-)
Thanks Lara. I never really know what is inside me till I start writing and then it all tumbles out.
DeleteMother -daughter relationships can be so very tenuous. But they often turn out so much better than you think they will. Sometimes the reason there is conflict is that you are a bit too much alike. But later on that can be a blessing. Ask Feona.
.
So beautiful. Thanks for these thoughts.
ReplyDeleteThanks Bev. It is interesting to see what God lays on my heart to share. And so encouraging to see that the words he gives impact those who read them.
Delete