I’m not really a material girl. I drive an eleven year old car. I buy my jeans based solely upon the proper big butt to small waist ratio. I’ve started a small collection of FiestaWare, but so far it includes only 2 place settings. I adore my pearls that my husband got me 2 years ago, but other than my wedding rings, the earrings from that set are about all I wear. And I’m trying to escape from the clutches of Vera Bradley, but that’s a whole ‘nother embarrassing story.
Seriously though, other than my yarn, I’m not a stuff person. I don’t attach a lot of significance to things. And my life in the past was turbulent enough that even if I loved something, the chances of it following me from place to place were pretty slim.
That’s why I’m glad my mother gave me this *after* my life settled down some. Maybe she knew, maybe she never thought of it. But I remember her pulling two old bowls out of the cupboard when I was visiting from Florida right after I moved here. I knew them well. We had used them endlessly over the years. What I didn’t know is where they came from.
My maternal grandmother died when I was about eleven. I will never forget my mother getting the news. This was back in the day when phones had cords.* And she was standing against the wall and she just slid down it and melted to the floor as she listened to the voice on the other end. But this bowl was not from her. This bowl was from my paternal grandmother. She died when I was seventeen. She called me Tink. I even recall her sending me birthday cards to Miss Tinker.
When my mom pulled the bowls out, she told me how Grandma had given them to her when she first started her own household (at 17!!!) and that one was for me, and one was for my sister. My sister chose the simple white one which was a bit larger. I got what I’ve always thought of as the candy cane bowl. Whenever we sit down to a dinner with bread, I use it.
My grandmother was mostly Cherokee, although I’m not sure how much. She might have been all Cherokee. Tonight I served crescent rolls in the bowl, and told the boys a story about how she tried to teach me to walk quietly. Which was a lost cause on this heavy-footed girl. “Tink! They will hear you 50 miles away walking like that! How can you be so little and walk so loud?”
*When I was a teenager my mother used to ground me from the phone. Which I thought was silly, as I came home alone everyday and could easily just use it. Finally she got smart. One day the phone rang and I went to answer it. No one there. I hung up. It rang again, and I answered. No one there. Then I realized. She had taken the phone cord to work with her! The phone could ring ’til the cows came home, but I couldn’t answer it. Score one for mom.