For some, it is an antique wash basin or an old dining room table- maybe thrifted or bought at a collectibles store and worth a “fortune”. For others it is old farm implements, propped up by the mailbox. And then there are those items that, to the naked eye, might mean nothing… but to you they mean the world.
To you they embody a bygone day. A childhood of memories. A love that spans generations.
For me, it is an old flat carpenters pencil sitting on a shelf in my bedroom. Because I don’t ever remember seeing my Grandpa without one behind his ear.
And for my guest blogger Debbie, it was a simple, 9×13 baking dish.
“Diamonds in My Kitchen”
My husband and I were camped out on the couch watching our nightly hour or so of television together when we heard an unexpected…
When I walked into the kitchen, there it was in thousands of little pieces. It looked like sparkly diamonds all over the floor. At first, I didn’t even know what it was, but then I saw the cupcake left over from my daughter’s birthday slumber party with small shards of glass stuck in the pink strawberry frosting. I immediately realized that all of the diamond-like little shards of glass now covering my kitchen floor used to be my Mammaw Hammons’ glass baking dish.
The dish that held her banana split cake, lemon delite, and pudding dessert.
The dish that was used at every holiday for as long as I could remember.
One of the only things that I received when she passed away just a week and a half short of 11 years ago.
The truth is that it was not an antique at all. Most people probably have a 9×13 glass baking dish in their kitchen that is nearly identical to the one whose pieces were splayed from one end of my kitchen to the other. But this one was HER dish, and that made it unlike any other in the world.
I grabbed the broom and the dustpan, and I cried. As a matter of fact, just thinking about it still brings tears to my eyes.
Immediately, I started replaying in my mind how I had placed the dish on my hutch, and how that might have led to it falling, as if that made any difference now. I thought of how my mom might react when I gave her the bad news. I used to love to use that dish at any opportunity when she and my daddy would drive down from Kentucky for their bi-monthly visit. It would make us both smile.
And now it was gone.
Crying turned to sobbing.
As if right on cue, I flashed back to being a kid at Mammaw Hammons’ house, and breaking one of her dishes. Yes, it happened more than once. Somewhere along the line, I was blessed with the “clumsy” gene.
I would immediately start apologizing, near tears, afraid that she was going to be mad at me. Every time she would say, “Are you alright?” I would say, “Yes.” And then she would say, “That’s all that matters to me. As long as you’re not hurt, it’s ok. This old dish don’t mean a thing to me.” Then she would make sure I was cleared of the broken glass so as not to get cut, clean up the mess, and I would go on to play as if nothing had happened.
It was me that meant something to her. Mammaw Hammons was always about sticking to the basics, and letting someone know that they matter more is just about as basic as it gets when it comes to building up a child.
I expected my mom to at least get a little upset when I told her what had happened, but to my surprise she said, “It was just a dish. That dish didn’t mean anything to her. Don’t worry about it.”
And then I cried again. (I got that gene, too.)
I may be clumsy, and I’m sure that I will break a lot more dishes before all is said and done, but I come from a legacy of grace-filled women who have understood what matters more. That’s the kind of thing that cannot be broken, but with any luck will be splayed from one end of my life to the other…little diamonds everywhere.
While some of my Blog-Sharing Love is for women with well-established blog followings, there is a large space in my heart for women who have not yet taken that plunge. There are some who need to be writing. Who need a little nudge to get their creativity out there to the world. And who need to be telling their stories. Debbie is one of them. While she’s dabbled in blogging off and on over the years, an active church, a busy social life, and two adorable kids have kept her at arms length from the computer… until now.
I invited Debbie to Share the Love because I wanted her to test out the waters of blogdom and see if it was something she needed to get back into. That, and I just think she is a fabulous storyteller.
So now that you’ve read her sweet post (and maybe cried a tear or two) go to her blog Herding Turtles… in a White Rabbit World and Share the Love. Give her some feedback, encourage her, and let her know that this is indeed an avenue she should be walking… no… running down!
Because anyone who cries over a broken dish (and can make me cry reading about it) should be sharing their story with the world!