I’m one of those people who enjoys the old-fashioned memories from days gone by. My grandparents were always just a bit older than those of my peers, especially my maternal grandmother. My nana Pringle was born in 1888 and didn’t get married until 1926.
She was a lady through and through. She grew up in New Haven, CT, and retained her New England accent as evidenced by the dropping of her r’s in conversation. Due to being married in the 1920s, she received lots of lovely wedding gifts.
I’m fortunate to have some of her things, including her China. And now, since my mom lives in assisted living I also have hers as well. I like my mom’s, but I love my grandmother’s. Sometimes I take it out and use a piece or two just to feel her near me. It works for me.
Stories swirl around these dishes. So many weekly dinners that my mother and uncle talked about as they aged. So many special dinners for me attached to my mom’s dishes.
One thing I always notice is the size of the plates and bowls in comparison to dishes and flatware we use today. Theirs were smaller. The soup bowl I used tonight was so much smaller than the gigantic bowls of today. Even the bowl of the soup spoon was smaller.
My grandmother’s dishes are almost 100 years old. While they ate those rich weekly dinners, they likely didn’t consume as much due to the sizes of the physical dishes. Plus they walked a great deal more than we do today. They also weren’t in a hurry and lingered over their food instead of bolting it down.
Tonight I had dinner with my nana, my mom, and an old friend at whose estate sale I bought some linen napkins. It cheered me to share time with them and it lifted my mood. Part of me understands why people don’t want to keep and care for these things. Most of me enjoys having them, using them, and remembering the long ago.
Stories Are For Eternity 