Sunday, December 22, 2013

A gift finds its life

During the holidays, I think about family maybe more than usual--the gift of family in general, but also those who have passed on. And I enjoy where my kids are in the moment: preschoolers with their fascination of boxes (not the gift you actually bought), school-age children who are learning to give and not just receive, or teenagers who are finding their own path. This year, those two sentimental moments collided.

My daughter, home from college, suggested to my high school senior that they have a party. It was delightful to me to watch them plan food and activities together, contact friends, and work through obstacles. In the two days leading up to it, the girls and I shopped and cooked, and furiously cleaned the house. Yes, they cleaned the house. It was like Christmas-come-early for me, as you might imagine.

The eldest was telling me the litany of drinks, which included coffee. (Side note: I'm so glad she's the type of college student who came home passionate about coffee instead of alcohol. Way to go, girl.) She was also planning to make punch and asked if I had a bowl.

In the last year of her life, my husband's grandmother lived with us. I have so many memories of her. She was opinionated and deeply loyal to her family. She always had "suggestions," which she usually sort of forced on you, and yet you still felt loved in all her bullying. (My husband didn't always react so well to her, which is probably the difference of living with her for one year vs. having a lifetime of bossiness.) One time, she showed me this punch bowl that she had and announced, "You're going to need this, with three girls. You'll have parties and weddings and all sorts of receptions. You'll need a punch bowl."

Right. Of course, she lived decades in Tennessee, raising her daughter in the 50's and 60's. Punch bowls were probably a requirement in her world, but I just didn't see it happening in mine. The punch bowl, filled with glasses, stayed at the top of my husband's closet.

But when my daughter said, "Do we have a bowl for the punch?" I suddenly remembered it. We dug it out. It was resting on a cut glass plate, and as we unloaded all the glasses, there was something like a candy dish inside. I realized it was a tier: the bowl rested on the odd little piece and then on the tray to make a chalice. She had included hooks for the sides of the bowl, from which you could hang the cups.

And all the cups were mismatched. The bowl was this amazing contraption, but the cups were some smooth, some with glass fruit patterns, some cut in all different styles. Two of one pattern, four of another, for a total of 24. I love mismatched things. It feels a bit modern somehow, the hodgepodge of styles, held together with the punch theme.

And the first time I cared about it was my daughters' first party as young adults. The punch bowl served my eldest's favorite recipe: Hawaiian punch and Sprite, not fancy at all. It was gobbled up by the dozen teenagers in my home (mostly boys, who I'm sure didn't really care about the beautiful little glass punch cups).

And there was the memory of Grandmother, standing in my kitchen: "I told you that you would need a punch bowl."

For parties.

For weddings.

For all kinds of receptions.

I guess when I go forward in this life, I will be equipped with the punch bowl I didn't know I needed. Heritage is like that--it gives you things you never knew you would want.

1 comment:

Eric Brooks said...

Thanks Angie...for all the memories your blog brings to my heart again and again. I like my "Reminders of Home" you continue to bring into my life.

Blessings...
In Christ Alone,
Eric