I’ve never really paid any attention to what my “sign” is, but when Marilyn introduced me to the “Southern Silver Zodiac” I was intrigued. Not that I really think that Grande Baroque girls actually do have a sense of the dramatic or that Chantilly girls tend to be a bit prissy, but it sure is fun to ponder silver pattern choices.
Silver. Ahhhh, silver. I’ve revealed in this post that I’m a Wallace Rosepoint girl. I love my silver pattern. In fact, I chose it when I was about 12. It is what my mother chose so it was a natural choice for me, too. And once I’d decided that I was a Rosepoint girl, I began collecting it. So while many of my friends were getting Duran Duran casette tapes and Units outfits for Christmas, I was getting spoons and forks. I was thankful then and was even more thankful that my hope chest (which was actually a “hope shelf” at the bottom of my mom’s china cabinet) was already brimming with loveliness by the time Dr. Kyle and I walked down the aisle.
Here are two of my favorite serving pieces: the tomato server and its little cousin the bon bon server (because who wants to sit around watching their stories eating bon bons with their bare hands).
My Blondie hasn’t really shown an interest in silver patterns, and I’m ok with that (have you seen silver prices lately? Yeesh!) because we have found lots of other things to enjoy together. You see, the value of my silver service isn’t held in today’s market prices. It’s the memories associated with it. Going to the department store with my mom and pouring over all the different patterns, all of the special occasions on which I received it, laughing with mom about the “Silver Zodiac,” the special occasions my little family has celebrated with it on the table, and all of the special occasions to come. It could have just as easily been a set of tupperware or a set of embroidered pillowcases. I want to remember and to teach my children to hold on loosely to possessions. None of that makes us who we are. Stuff is just that. Stuff. I have to remind myself of that often, as I have two children that are “full of life” and lots of stuff gets broken around here. But if all I have, all we own were to get sucked down a giant hole, I have so much to be thankful for. So. Very. Much.
Do you own something that has powerful memories attached? How would you feel if it was gone tomorrow?