Carol Blitzer
— A hundred years ago, my grandparents finally had enough money saved to buy fine china. They chose “Bridal Rose” by Epiag, made in Czechoslovakia – an exquisite melding of delicate pink roses, with touches of blue, green, yellow and red rimmed in gold, on a white background. The cups had an unusual flat bottom, nesting firmly on their saucers.
I don’t know when my grandmother passed the set on to my mother – likely around when she went into a nursing home due to her progressive Parkinson’s, which was just about when I was born in 1946.
My mother cherished these dishes, using them as her fleishig “good” china that was trotted out for every major Jewish holiday. As a child, I picked up on her double attachment: She loved them because they were valued by her mother; she loved them because they were beautiful.
Sometime in my 40s, she passed them on to me. I too valued them because she did, and they were the one – albeit thin – attachment to the grandmother I only met once (I was 8 and visited her in Chicago when she was completely paralyzed and could barely speak).
Now that my daughters are in their 40s, I want to pass them on to one of them. But … neither one wants the set. They live in small spaces, have little storage room, don’t throw dinner parties, etc.
They, of course, never met my grandmother (who I always felt a real affinity for, given her love of sewing and knitting). They had mixed feelings about my mother, who treated them as also-ran grandchildren, never as interesting (or needy) as my older brother’s children. I’d hoped they had a stronger connection with me.
I want them to take out these plates, set a fancy table, have friends (or family) over to celebrate something, and think of me.
And rationally, I know that “love me, love my china” isn’t a real measure of attachment. I love my daughters unconditionally, and hope they feel the same… I just kind of wish at some future time, they can lift a cup, admire the way it nests so firmly in its saucer, and recall the good times we had.
