The Good Dishes

I'm not saying that other people's way is wrong here, it's just not for me. I loath plastic dishes. Plastic storage containers, love 'em, but not dishes. And that includes the utensils and glasses. It's not a health issue or an environmental issue or any other high minded ideal. I just don't like the look and feel of them. I'd rather drink out of a re-purposed glass jar than a plastic cup. I'll pick the itty bitty glass wine glass over the mongo plastic wine "glass."

This plan to use glass and ceramic ware was simply a matter of taste for quite a few years. There were no consequences one way or the other. Then I had children. At my baby shower I received plastic dishes and plastic sippy cups and plastic utensils. I used them for awhile. You know how it is when you're first starting out in parenting, all the little baby gadgets are kind of fun, and those no-spill sippy cups are genius. When kid number two came along however, I was over a lot of things. Plastic dishes were one of them. (Although the genius sippy cups got a pass.) I started setting the table with the same dishes for everyone.

I didn't have the sort of dishes a person would be attached to or proud of. I believe my mom collected them a few at a time in a grocery store deal when I was still in middle school. It's a good thing too, because it wasn't long before those babies were old enough to start helping out with the dinner clean up and I watched my supply of dishes quickly become depleted. Not that the kids were the first ones to break dishes; my husband and I are pretty clutzy ourselves. Eventually I didn't even have enough plates or glasses to set the table for a couple of guests.

For my 34th birthday, after 10 years of marriage, I asked for and received a new set of plates and bowls. This was a good time to rethink my aversion to plastic. My children were five, three, and unborn at the time. I could keep the new, very awesome, dishes only for adults, or only for guests. I really liked these new dishes. I liked that I had gotten to pick them out myself. I liked that they were bold colors and had a handmade look. I liked that they came in six different colors and made the table look cheery in any season.

That love was the downfall of the dishes. And when I say downfall, think, slipping from small fingers, crashing into sinks, falling to the floor, being knocked off of tables. I could have gone back to plastic and kept the dishes safe so that I could enjoy them far into the future. I didn't. And I'm not sorry.

I went the route of enjoying the dishes now. I set my table with those cheery dishes each night and smiled at the sight of them. When they got broke, I did feel sad, but I moved on pretty fast. Eventually I took advantage of their mix match appearance and started filling in the set with odds and ends I picked up at Goodwill, or on clearance here and there. I decided spending big money on dishes was a stress I didn't want in my life. I wanted a colorful table set with real dishes. I wanted dishes that said dinner was important and the time together was to be valued.

I get a finite number of dinners with my family, and nobody is telling what that number is, so I want dinner time to matter. If I saved the good dishes back so that I would be able to enjoy them long into the future, who would I enjoy them with?

Snow

New Year' Eve dawned. Right, there's no way to actually finish that sentence because New Year's Eve never really did dawn; there was just a lessening of the dark by a bit. It was gray, wet, ugly and warm. Yes, warm, in Michigan on December 31st. It was so warm that I had to go out and buy ice for my cooler to keep all my New Year's Eve drinks cold. The mud, puddles and smell of damp put me in a foul mood. It was so ugly out that I felt like yelling at someone.

I won't say that all that warm rain ruined New Year's Eve; I am a woman who knows how to rise above her circumstances. I will say though, that on the evening of New Year's Day as we walked out into a gorgeous snow globe world in my friends' front yard, my girls and I were moved to break into song on the front porch. I hadn't even know that snow was predicted and it was a lovely surprise.

Now I'm sitting on the front edge of "the storm of the century," and I say, "Bring it!" I'm so excited that we might get a foot of snow. The only thing I like more than a foot of snow... is two feet of snow! I love how quiet it is when it's snowing. Cars go by and you don't even hear them. It's a kind of quiet that you don't get in modern times. When I'm out in the snow I don't hear that hum that is a constant part of modern life.

Snow is magical; it turns ugly lumps of old lawn furniture in my back yard into smooth, elegant statues. It covers my many landscaping sins in a blanket of diamonds. Snow and ice make the sad looking bare branches of the maples and oaks sparkle and shine with joy. Mountains appear where there once was flat, barren parking lot.

I used to hear people say, "At least you don't have to shovel it," whenever it rained in the winter, but if it weren't for the fact that we have to get out and shovel, I'd never see my neighbors all winter long. We may not stand out and chat as long as we do in the summer, but at least we check in a bit. I love how all the old guys with big snowblowers come out and try and outdo each other clearing sidewalks and old lady's mailboxes. I also love that shoveling snow is a good reason to let myself off the hook from having to work out!

So, I'm going to build a fire, pour a glass of wine, let my son stay up late and enjoy the forced slowdown to life that a good winger storm brings. Unless, of course, the power goes out, but I won't be able to post a blog about that so you'll never hear me whining.