I bought the dishes while still in college. Ivory with a gold trim. Flat with a slight curve at the end. Lenox bone china plates, bowls, cups and saucers. Bowls and dessert trays.
These were to be the dishes that would set the table in elegant simplicity for my many future celebrations. If they were good enough for the White House, they were good enough for me. For most of the 20th century, Lenox Corporation was the most prestigious American maker of tableware. These were part of my schoolgirl dream of what my life would be: the foundation that would set the table for big family parties. Candles, laughter and pressed linen napkins.
Just like the party’s mom had. Mom’s dishes were accumulated by collecting S & H green stamps when grocery shopping. The china set was not necessarily the one she would have chosen. But she had to buy groceries for the family. And back in the ‘60’s if you bought enough groceries at the same store all the time, you could collect these green stamps. And if you kept track of all of those stamps, licked them and pasted them into a book, you could redeem for all kinds of merchandise. Vacuum cleaners, board games such as chess and Monopoly, sofas, coffee tables, fishing rods and menthol cigarettes. Even a trip to Disneyland. Sherry and Hutchinson were the S and H behind what was one of the first consumer loyalty campaigns that started in 1896 and ran through the 1980’s. It was in the 1960’s however when they were in their heyday. They issued three times more stamps than the U.S. Postal Service, and their rewards catalog was the largest circulation of any catalog in the country.
So, with three kids three and a half years apart, she managed to keep track of those stamp books so she could set the table at our holiday parties. Redeeming those stamps felt like you were getting the dishes for free. Free dishes for years of family suppers. Most of the time, they sat on a high shelf in the cupboard. Carefully placing them there without a chip or a scratch. Waiting. They were white with a cornucopia in the middle.
Our house became the family gathering place for my dad’s side of the family where eight cousins, six aunts and uncles, and my grandmother and grandfather and a collection of neighborhood friends dressed up in their best for Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve. Turkey for Thanksgiving, along with Puerto Rican holiday fare: pastelas made of mashed green plantain mixed with spices and meats then wrapped in a banana leaf — the Caribbean version of a tamale. Arroz con gondulas, empanadas, grilled plantains, and my grandmothers perfected rice and beans. Other than the turkey, these foods were foreign to my mom who was raised in the Tetons in Wyoming. But she wasn’t much of a foodie anyway. She was the second to youngest of six children. The little town where she was from – Smoot, Wyoming – wasn’t known for its food innovation like the Bay Area. Simple things plucked from the ground earlier in the year, and then jarred for the days of winter snow.
For the holiday dinners on Shotwell Street in San Francisco, she made the turkey, and set the house up for the loud, music and dance-filled evening ahead. Another carryover from the island.
The early sixties in San Francisco were a magical time and for a young girl in San Francisco’s Mission District. The colors, music and psychedelic vibe in the city at that time was like living in a dream.
And so, I so wanted my Lenox china to be ready for the day that it would be my walls that would absorb all of that color and laughter. All of those moments of joy and dancing. Little kids running wild down the halls all dressed in brand-new outfits and shoes, screaming at the top of their lungs.
However, my young dream of marriage, kids and hosting the family celebrations unraveled early. Married at 20, and divorced at 24, I packed our bags and the Lenox, and set off to build a home for me and my young son.
Now forty years later, when packing to move, I purged through the shelves of dishes, and found the Lenox China on the top shelf. A set for twelve people, untouched for many years. Their first cupboard was on Lyon Street in San Francisco’s Presidio, then Buena Vista Park, and then to Marin. They made their debut on Lyon Street, and at a few Thanksgiving dinners. The everyday dishes in our house were from Annie Glass, a glass artist in Santa Cruz who created dishes that look like sea foam, the daily wear adding to the color of the ocean. However, the Lenox are pristine, no chips or worn-off gold trim.
And I think now, that they should be. Decades later, saving them for some special celebration is not what should be done with our best dishes, or anything for that matter. For every day should include a celebration and the objects of that ritual. And why not bring out the best to enjoy…everyday. Chips, cracks, imperfections and all that may come.
A good friend of ours died of mouth cancer years ago. He was an avid wine collector, saving the most precious bottles for those special dinners to be had in the future. In his last days, he could not drink any of that wine. When asked, “when looking back what advice comes to mind,” he replied, “Don’t save your best bottle for last.”
And that is the mantra to carry and live now. Bring out the fine china. Surround yourself with the best of your life’s collections. Set your table and celebrate your every day.
-Rhonda
Rhonda Diaz Caldewey is a writer, dancer, practicing yogi, adventurer, and endlessly curious Modern Elder. She is a leader in the male-dominated retail and restaurant commercial real estate industry, active in bringing music education to youth, and a board member of Madre.org. She is an alum of both betas: MEA Online and MEA Baja workshops.