My inner horticulturist was developed at an early age, through time spent with my grandmother in her tiny backyard. It thrived on an indulgent diet of The Secret Garden, all of the Anne of Green Gables series, and a few other Victorian-era books for good measure. Continue reading
A few weeks ago, in anticipation of The Bookclub Tea Party, I polished the entire inventory of the family silver—what I had inherited, and bought, as well as my youngest sister’s silver. The “middle sister” is moving, and in need of storage space, so this weekend I added in a few more pieces.
Polishing the silver was another one of those things I hadn’t done since before my mom died. Putting the hosting of parties on hold sounds dramatic and forgivable when associated with grieving…cleaning and maintaining items in your house does not. Well, not after a certain point in time. So with an old bed sheet to cover the living room floor, and quick trip to the local Ace Hardware for a new jar of polish, I was ready to go. Oh, and TV. Lots of TV hours. This weekend I finished off the jar, and with quite a bit of satisfaction, too. There’s something about making something tarnished shiny again.
I’m just old-fashioned enough that I love using “the good silver.” Not just the nostalgia of it, but the look of elegance and attitude of celebration it lends to a table. It’s a special-occassion item that often goes unused because of the amount of maintenance it requires. (Though not terribly much, when polishing should only happen 1-2 times a year, max.) I have so many memories of its use during family holidays and celebrations. Always the “good silverware” for a family birthday party. The silver candy dishes filled with nuts and ribbon candy at Christmas. Even realizing, years later, that our childhood “play teapot,” among all the “play dishes” (real china!) and the dress-up clothes was really my great-grandmother’s little teapot. It had long since lost its look of respectability, but after some very determined effort and lots of polish, those flaws simply add to its charm.
I found my own (gorgeous) tea service at an estate sale, marked down to less than $75 because it had been left to tarnish for quite a while. I could say that no one wanted to take the time to bring it all back, but I’d prefer to think that it just in hiding, waiting just for me! (Teapot, coffee pot, hot chocolate pot with warmer, sugar, creamer, waste pot AND serving tray…really!)
It’s easy to always save something “for good,” or for a special occasion that somehow never quite seems to happen. The dining room that never gets used because of the kitchen table, the good china still packed away. My grandmother was one who saw so many moments as that special occasion, worth celebrating, no matter how small. Birthdays, anniversaries, even a good day at work. And when I see the cabinet of time-invested pieces, I’m reminded to make a few more moments special.
Its a beautiful spring day again here in Texas, and with the sun shining this morning I find myself quite inspired—or at least motivated—to write and accomplish a long list of things.
This past weekend was also beautiful, and filled with accomplishments. I went to a nursery, I bought a fancy hat, and I hosted my bookclub’s tea party. I planted and transplanted, and I cleaned out boxes in the garage. I even cleaned up after the tea! (There were lots of hand-wash-only dishes.)
I started to blog all about the lovely tea this weekend, one of those “favorite things” I hadn’t done since before my mom died. It was…cathartic (the tea party, not the blogging). I was reminded of all the reasons why I love a tea party—particularly one themed around books! And really, there’s something about a girl never quite growing out of playing dress-up for a fancy tea. It was nice to spoil guests and make them use the “fancy dishes” we otherwise can’t justify for everyday use. It was fun to watch people enjoy lemon curd for the first time. For me, these little parties (with “little” bites of food) is a way I can tell my friends, “You’re worth feeling special.”
The bookclub girls are lovely and offered all kinds of help, but it was an important marker for me. I had to do this “on my own.” But of course I couldn’t do it all on my own, and these girls are so full of grace that when they arrived they went right to work finishing up the sandwiches. I didn’t have to be perfect, because when I “failed” at being the perfect hostess, no one paid any attention. They enjoyed each other, the food, and the fancy hats! (We did a good job with those hats, too.)
Sometimes life, like losing one’s car keys and working 10-hour days, gets in the way of blogging about these treasured times with friends. But they’re still worth the recalling, and the digital memorializing. I had to “borrow” photos of the event, but again I resolve to do better. Maybe a take-more-pictures accountability partner? Ha! But I did enjoy this shot (I took) of the decorations, complete with moss and miniature ferns set in demitasse cups. I have a strong feeling a terrarium is in my future…
Proverbs tells us “Let another man praise thee, and not thine own mouth.” (And by the way, I love the cadence and the language of the King James Version.)
Today I was honored to find that my dear friend Sally Lynn Hall mentioned my little blog in a Facebook post. This blog to which (up till now) I have not made consistent posts. This blog of which I felt did not deserve much fanfare. “You can start talking about blogging when you do it consistently enough.” Or, “…when you follow through.” Or, “…when you’ve had enough interesting things to say.” But (in what I also suspect might have been a ploy to get me to keep writing) Sally took my small offerings and with sweet praise said, “This is worth reading.”
I realize it’s probably a bit cliché to talk about my concerns about blogging. If I had anything worth saying. If I had anything worth offering. And I am enough of a perfectionist to wonder if, after all the good blogs I had read for years, I would do it right.
But as I fussed about it, I was given the answer in a not-so-old hymn:
Because He lives, I can face tomorrow
Because He lives, all fear is gone
Because I know He holds my future
My life is worth the living just because He lives
It was during the second round, while singing “My life is worth,” that God seemed to shake me with the emphasis of this reminder: You’re worth it. You’re worth the living, worth the writing, worth the doing.
And so I will keep at it.