Grandma's Gift
Welcome to Real Life. Some gifts never stop giving.
“Peggi, can you come over?” my grandmother asked by phone. “I want to give you something.”
I was a young wife then. My grandmother, the once robust matriarch, had grown frail after a recent by-pass operation. As I entered her kitchen, I noticed a box and some newspaper on the counter. She opened a cupboard.
“Peggi, I want you to take my china,” she said. My heart sank. Her china was gorgeous. I loved it. I felt deeply honored. But accepting her gift meant closing the door of an era.
The Sugar Bowl
“No! Grandma, you’ll use these dishes again,” I protested, fighting to keep that door open. Oh, the culinary delights I devoured on these dishes while safe and warm in childhood’s womb. I picked up the sugar bowl. And I saw my younger self in a gaggle of siblings and cousins. We huddled around our treasure on my grandparents’ dining table in the basement. We sucked our index fingers, dipped them in the sugar bowl, and licked off the sweet crystals. Sugar-energized, we stampeded up the steps. My apron-clad grandmother stood sentinel before the kitchen sink, carefully washing each china plate. Mom and Aunt Cathe manned the drying rack.
Christmas Eve at Grandma’s House 1966
That’s me holding the blue doll.
“I won’t use them again, Peggi. I want you to have them. I know you’ll use them,” my grandmother insisted.
A few months earlier, I hosted my first Christmas Eve dinner. It was a meal my grandmother had always served. This time, she sat a guest at my table. I used paper plates. After dinner, she pulled me close and whispered, “Who made the coffee? It’s horrible.”
“I did,” I confessed. I barely drank coffee at the time. It was my initial attempt at brewing in my mom’s party-sized coffeemaker. My inexperience tasted obvious.
A few days later, the phone rang. “I’m sorry I criticized your coffee,” my grandmother began, “You made a wonderful meal, Peggi. Thank you for having us over.” Her praise warmed my heart. The master encouraging the novice.
Alone, at age twenty-three, Maria Duricova left her small village in Czechoslovakia for America. My grandmother earned her first paycheck keeping house for the wealthy. Perhaps it was there Mary developed an appreciation for quality. Her hands produced impeccable work—cooking, baking, sewing, cleaning. She mastered English with barely the whisper of an accent. From nothing, she built a family, a home, and a position of respect in her community. The china had been an extravagant wedding gift from her best friend, (whom we all loved and affectionately called) Aunt Anita.
Aunt Anita and Grandma on Her Wedding Day
So, I brought home Grandma’s china. She was right. I use it—often. Each time I do, I think of her. It may sound silly, but sometimes when I pick up a plate, I caress it. Her hands touched these dishes innumerable times. I feel her close. I sense a surge of her DNA. My dear grandmother’s legacy lives in me. And I’m grateful.
Thank you, Grandma! I cherish your gift.
You’d be happy to know. I even learned to make a decent pot of coffee!
Have you inherited a meaningful gift? I’d love to hear about it. Please leave me a comment.
