In the back of our Ford Explorer (taking up every bit of the storage area!) now sits a grand collection, every Gourmet magazine printed from 1975 to the last issue, a lovely gift from Fran, a great broad who is downsizing.
It makes me reflect on “stuff.” “It’s not the money, it's the STUFF!” is my favorite line from the movie, THE JERK. For me, “stuff” is all about culinaria: bowls, copper, linens. You know how some women are into shoes? Well for me it's dishes: old, new, chipped, mismatched, Limoges - it's all good. Ironically, I am a klutz. (No, really - in the middle of a room with no rug or even furniture, I’ll trip.) I go through more glassware in a year than Walmart. Mostly I’ll shrug and say (as the Buddhists do) that “the glass (bowl, vase, you name it) is already broken” even as I am paying for it at Macy’s.
But sometimes, when it is something of sentimental value, I’ll grieve anyway. Recently I broke a large decorative platter I had schlepped back from Italy. We were so broke on that trip, and this was my one souvenir. I’ve cheered myself with the thoughts of how much good use I really had from that platter, and how happy it made me to see it filled with something tasty that my family dined on.
My mother and her mom kept the good dishes captive, shut away, to be used “someday” “for company” - but they seldom were. I wonder how much ends up at resale stores, still packed carefully in yellowed newspaper, never even having been at the family table. My grandmother’s Waterford stood waiting, never to be used. If the Buddhists are right and my Italian platter was already broken at the moment I first laid eyes on it, then, dammit, let's USE it and make some memories with the stuff!
This past November as I set the table I felt a twinge for the loss of ten charming Thanksgiving country-style plates I had broken several years ago by walking into an open cabinet door. I sigh more deeply, however, when I remember that I broke them on the very last Thanksgiving I shared with my old best friend, Danny. That was a loss no piece of pottery can compare to.
In the long run - it's not the money OR the stuff. It's the memories, and the laughs, isn't it? And boy, how I am going to remember Fran’s generosity for the gift of all those Gourmet magazines. Right after we find a place to put them.
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