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Fine housewares.
Dec. 31st, 2003 10:52 amFor almost ten years, my parents have had a box deep in their attic labeled "Aunt Kings china - for Rebecca." This Christmas, they dug it out and gave it to me to bring home.
I don't remember my Aunt Kings, whose real name was Elizabeth Kingsley. She was a spinster, my father's mother's sister. She might be the only one of my father's blood relatives whom my mother unreservedly liked. I wish I'd known her.
Setting the table on holidays was always my favorite job. I would iron the tablecloth and napkins, set out water goblets and wine glasses just so, arrange the centerpiece, polish the silver - I liked to make the table look perfect. When I was allowed to choose between my parents' wedding china and my Aunt Kings' china, I always chose hers. I just loved it. Somewhere along the line, without discussion, it became accepted family knowledge that one day her china would be mine.
This Sunday I brought the set home. The pieces are an odd assortment - I've got 12 dinner plates, 13 lunch plates which are possibly salad plates, 7 bread-and-butter plates, 4 teacups, 6 saucers, and 3 unidentified dishes that I think must be for sauces or relishes. This is the pattern.
Searching online for pieces that might make up a more complete set, I made a shocking discovery. "Michael, there are people who want, like, $350 for a serving bowl in this pattern." He looked up, startled. "We're going to need to increase our renter's insurance." Somehow, even knowing that the china was antique, I had never thought about its financial value. I looked at more prices: $200 for a sugar bowl. $45 for a single cup and saucer. $39 for a lunch plate - we had thirteen. I started to multiply numbers in my head and feel nervous.
I had always loved the idea of using these dishes in my own home, on my own table. I had always thought that I would use them more often than my mother used them - not every day, but certainly not just three times a year. But now I saw them accidentally crashing to the floor. What if someone broke in and smashed up our stuff? We live in a high-crime city. Don't I have the responsibility to take extra-good care of a valuable family heirloom?
Eventually I settled down. What makes this china a family heirloom is the fact that it's been admired and loved and used. I certainly don't feel the same way about my great-grandmother's silver tea service, which was always packed so securely away that I've never even seen it. Aunt Kings' china won't be an heirloom to my children if they've never carefully laid it onto a freshly ironed tablecloth and watched the gold rims glint in the candlelight.
At the end of the day, it doesn't really matter what they're worth. I'm not going to sell them. They're not an investment - they're plates. And plates are meant to be eaten from.
I don't remember my Aunt Kings, whose real name was Elizabeth Kingsley. She was a spinster, my father's mother's sister. She might be the only one of my father's blood relatives whom my mother unreservedly liked. I wish I'd known her.
Setting the table on holidays was always my favorite job. I would iron the tablecloth and napkins, set out water goblets and wine glasses just so, arrange the centerpiece, polish the silver - I liked to make the table look perfect. When I was allowed to choose between my parents' wedding china and my Aunt Kings' china, I always chose hers. I just loved it. Somewhere along the line, without discussion, it became accepted family knowledge that one day her china would be mine.
This Sunday I brought the set home. The pieces are an odd assortment - I've got 12 dinner plates, 13 lunch plates which are possibly salad plates, 7 bread-and-butter plates, 4 teacups, 6 saucers, and 3 unidentified dishes that I think must be for sauces or relishes. This is the pattern.
Searching online for pieces that might make up a more complete set, I made a shocking discovery. "Michael, there are people who want, like, $350 for a serving bowl in this pattern." He looked up, startled. "We're going to need to increase our renter's insurance." Somehow, even knowing that the china was antique, I had never thought about its financial value. I looked at more prices: $200 for a sugar bowl. $45 for a single cup and saucer. $39 for a lunch plate - we had thirteen. I started to multiply numbers in my head and feel nervous.
I had always loved the idea of using these dishes in my own home, on my own table. I had always thought that I would use them more often than my mother used them - not every day, but certainly not just three times a year. But now I saw them accidentally crashing to the floor. What if someone broke in and smashed up our stuff? We live in a high-crime city. Don't I have the responsibility to take extra-good care of a valuable family heirloom?
Eventually I settled down. What makes this china a family heirloom is the fact that it's been admired and loved and used. I certainly don't feel the same way about my great-grandmother's silver tea service, which was always packed so securely away that I've never even seen it. Aunt Kings' china won't be an heirloom to my children if they've never carefully laid it onto a freshly ironed tablecloth and watched the gold rims glint in the candlelight.
At the end of the day, it doesn't really matter what they're worth. I'm not going to sell them. They're not an investment - they're plates. And plates are meant to be eaten from.
