My Stoneware Plates
I would like to tell you about a couple old plates I have in my cupboard. They are perfectly white old stoneware of a generous size and so heavy that they are practically indestructible. Since there are only two of them I never used them when company came.
My husband and I became very fond of these plates. I think it was because the food looked so good on them, the green of the peas and the orange of the carrots standing out against the stark white and there was room on them to keep each portion separate.
On these plates, the first fruits of the garden became a celebration, and my husband’s home-baked beans became fit for a king. We liked to draw our chairs up to each side of the little table with our plates laden before us and relax in each other’s company. Sitting there, we knew we were lucky. I’m glad we didn’t take it for granted and we expressed our appreciation of the food and our circumstances often.
Since he died, few things evoke his presence more than these empty white plates. They stay in the cupboard now.
I still enjoy my life. I have a loving family, my friends care and I have more to do than there is time to do it in, but when meal time comes around a sandwich in front of the TV does not compare to our own simple meals for two served up on the old stoneware plates.
…
Just as I finished writing this, Krista Beth came in and asked, “What are you writing, Gram?” I asked if she’d like to read it. When she had read it all she said, “Gram, I’ll come over and eat with you.”
So next morning she arrived, fresh from her shower, bringing bacon borrowed from her mother. We laid a pretty cloth and napkins, fixed the eggs, bacon and toast and put on some of Hannah’s raspberry jam. We sang the familiar old blessing, lit the candles and enjoyed each other’s company.
There were only two of the old white stoneware plates before us but that morning, I’m sure there were three present at the table.
