Bowls. Let's just chalk it up to madness. A sweet, detached sort of madness, a shopping therapy sort of madness. But whatever the cause or the influence of it just know that I ended up an absolute crazy mess of bowls.
And not just bowls. Tons of heavy duty kitchenware, crockery, plates and mugs and utensils. More pans and pots and strainers than I'll ever use in this lifetime. An incredible amount of crystal and wine glasses and beer mugs than I'll ever hope to drink out of.
Last night they came into their own when I needed to find nice matching bowls and plates for a small dinner party. When I needed to have some interesting flutes and such for sparkling and wine for guests. When I had a pressing need for serving platters and such to help make my entrees shine. But really, what was the point of having so much when my needs for the longest time were so few? How many family members did I think I was feeding at that time, anyway? Why did I feel I needed so much?
I know that when I look at that amassed collection of cookware and stemware and such that I'll be looking around in the not too distant future for second hand footlockers so I can start to parcel it out. I don't want my kids going off into the world without a nicely appointed kitchen. Instead of mucking about in second hands guessing about what they need or gathering up cheap Chinese utensils in dollar stores I will sent them up with commercial gear and pretty plates and somewhat hearty restaurant ware coffee cups instead. I feel real good about that.
But it didn't start out that way. I gathered to protect myself. I think it was more a override device at first. I left the big house for the little house and took a few things along with me. I thought at the time that there would be an immediate splitting of the sheets and that all those pretty things I had pulled together were going to be divided. I figured the more I had the less chance I would lose out on my share of pretty things. More was certainly better at the time.
But more than that I was buying to set up house with you, M. I know it sounds crazy, because it was, but I was in serious denial. Our craft was already splinters on the rocks of the shore. The wild wind driven waves of reality wrecked us well before the family came back and I was shipwrecked on that island of doubt and fantasy and whimsy without a shred of hope, but decided, at that point in my life, to spell out SOS on the shore with cooking apparatus. It was a big fucking SOS. I was my own form of salvaging hapless hope out of a bad situation and it felt okay to do at the time.
I'm sure it was a spillover from those days of eating in the kitchen of the big house. We shared meals and food talk and cookbooks and recipes as if we were old householders. We talked as if we could pull off some day those big meals and lavish parties and grand get togethers we talked about. Me, with my overactive imagination, started on setting up those dream dinners and casual after work suppers and nicely appointed cocktail parties. I still remember the thrill of coming across a pretty, but not expensive, place setting for eight at St Vinnies. Nothing fancy, but for all intents and purposes it was "ours". It just went from there.
I had visions and fantasies in abundance, and treated those dreams to copious amounts of stuff to go with them. I am always amazed when I look at that collection how much time and money and thought and love I poured into that gathering of goods. I pulled together enough stemware to fuel many a New Years, found enough bowls to give all our kids and relations soup and noodles and ice cream, too, without ever having to wash up once. I managed to find some pretty incredible kitchen devices, and with those tools planned kitchen campaigns with you that would taken us into old age.
Whatever.
I still have them. The dreams, well, let's just say that they were shelved along with those bowls. I dust them off once in a while but I'm not stupid. They're pretty and all, those dreams, but as fragile as any piece of crockery I own. Hell, let's just say that I know I'm holding onto shards and that trying to figure out what to do with them other than just tossing them into the trash.
But last night was a throw back to better times. I found some beautiful soup bowls that were still taped together with masking tape, and a taped stack of dessert plates that were still hand priced. I was able to find, deep in the mess, a lovely glass serving platter that I found on one my California trips in '06. I would love to go back down to Woodland someday and do that Goodwill again. I always had good "luck" there. I know that when store employess saw me coming in that door that they knew their coffers would soon be jingling. My coffers are certainly not jingling these days, but due to that mad spending I am not afraid to entertain or get in that kitchen. I have the goods to pull off meals in a very nice way, and it's all thanks to you and those last minute dreams of ours.
Some day, when my children are older and they've set up their first apartments or homes and we're sitting at their kitchen tables sipping wine or coffee out of stuff I've passed along to them, I'll be sure to tell them who's coffee cup and wine glass they are drinking from. I had such high hopes for us, buddy, but know I'll share those dreams with my children someday and they'll be thankful to be sharing in the bounty of what we hoped for for ourselves.
I know that my guests were last night without having a clue about our tale.
Love.
Your WHMB
And not just bowls. Tons of heavy duty kitchenware, crockery, plates and mugs and utensils. More pans and pots and strainers than I'll ever use in this lifetime. An incredible amount of crystal and wine glasses and beer mugs than I'll ever hope to drink out of.
Last night they came into their own when I needed to find nice matching bowls and plates for a small dinner party. When I needed to have some interesting flutes and such for sparkling and wine for guests. When I had a pressing need for serving platters and such to help make my entrees shine. But really, what was the point of having so much when my needs for the longest time were so few? How many family members did I think I was feeding at that time, anyway? Why did I feel I needed so much?
I know that when I look at that amassed collection of cookware and stemware and such that I'll be looking around in the not too distant future for second hand footlockers so I can start to parcel it out. I don't want my kids going off into the world without a nicely appointed kitchen. Instead of mucking about in second hands guessing about what they need or gathering up cheap Chinese utensils in dollar stores I will sent them up with commercial gear and pretty plates and somewhat hearty restaurant ware coffee cups instead. I feel real good about that.
But it didn't start out that way. I gathered to protect myself. I think it was more a override device at first. I left the big house for the little house and took a few things along with me. I thought at the time that there would be an immediate splitting of the sheets and that all those pretty things I had pulled together were going to be divided. I figured the more I had the less chance I would lose out on my share of pretty things. More was certainly better at the time.
But more than that I was buying to set up house with you, M. I know it sounds crazy, because it was, but I was in serious denial. Our craft was already splinters on the rocks of the shore. The wild wind driven waves of reality wrecked us well before the family came back and I was shipwrecked on that island of doubt and fantasy and whimsy without a shred of hope, but decided, at that point in my life, to spell out SOS on the shore with cooking apparatus. It was a big fucking SOS. I was my own form of salvaging hapless hope out of a bad situation and it felt okay to do at the time.
I'm sure it was a spillover from those days of eating in the kitchen of the big house. We shared meals and food talk and cookbooks and recipes as if we were old householders. We talked as if we could pull off some day those big meals and lavish parties and grand get togethers we talked about. Me, with my overactive imagination, started on setting up those dream dinners and casual after work suppers and nicely appointed cocktail parties. I still remember the thrill of coming across a pretty, but not expensive, place setting for eight at St Vinnies. Nothing fancy, but for all intents and purposes it was "ours". It just went from there.
I had visions and fantasies in abundance, and treated those dreams to copious amounts of stuff to go with them. I am always amazed when I look at that collection how much time and money and thought and love I poured into that gathering of goods. I pulled together enough stemware to fuel many a New Years, found enough bowls to give all our kids and relations soup and noodles and ice cream, too, without ever having to wash up once. I managed to find some pretty incredible kitchen devices, and with those tools planned kitchen campaigns with you that would taken us into old age.
Whatever.
I still have them. The dreams, well, let's just say that they were shelved along with those bowls. I dust them off once in a while but I'm not stupid. They're pretty and all, those dreams, but as fragile as any piece of crockery I own. Hell, let's just say that I know I'm holding onto shards and that trying to figure out what to do with them other than just tossing them into the trash.
But last night was a throw back to better times. I found some beautiful soup bowls that were still taped together with masking tape, and a taped stack of dessert plates that were still hand priced. I was able to find, deep in the mess, a lovely glass serving platter that I found on one my California trips in '06. I would love to go back down to Woodland someday and do that Goodwill again. I always had good "luck" there. I know that when store employess saw me coming in that door that they knew their coffers would soon be jingling. My coffers are certainly not jingling these days, but due to that mad spending I am not afraid to entertain or get in that kitchen. I have the goods to pull off meals in a very nice way, and it's all thanks to you and those last minute dreams of ours.
Some day, when my children are older and they've set up their first apartments or homes and we're sitting at their kitchen tables sipping wine or coffee out of stuff I've passed along to them, I'll be sure to tell them who's coffee cup and wine glass they are drinking from. I had such high hopes for us, buddy, but know I'll share those dreams with my children someday and they'll be thankful to be sharing in the bounty of what we hoped for for ourselves.
I know that my guests were last night without having a clue about our tale.
Love.
Your WHMB
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