Break Your Dish!

Genius is more often found in a cracked pot than in a whole one.

 ~ E. B. White

Last year, I moved into my first "only mine" apartment.  Boxes of stored dishes, handed down from family members and friends over the years were unloaded and put into my shelves.  Having collected (and, gasp! hoarded) them over the years, I had many more so-called "useless" dishes than important dishes.  When I threw my first party, I quickly realized that perhaps I should have more glasses than mugs, forks than spoons, and small plates than serving platters.  Alas, it was a collection of dishes from people - mostly my two grandmothers and my parents - who loved me and wanted me to succeed.  Every dish from them reminded me of the home it came from, and how I'd come from that home, too...

The first night in my new apartment, I broke a plate.  At first, I was upset.  That dish had come from somebody from my past - some one I'd never get to see again - and having broken that dish somehow translated into having broken some memory of them.

Then, I went to my cupboard and found ten more dishes from them that gave me that memory!

Those who know me, know I'm not a very cautious person.  Many things in my possession are scratched or well soiled within the first three months...and so, after four months of using my old passed-down dishes that were packed with more memories than their original paint, I had broken 11 dishes...

I still have a cupboard overflowing with dishes, don't worry!  But I also have a box full of broken shards of dishes that all meant something (I've only kept the pieces from seven of the eleven dishes broken in those first four months).  The goal is one day to make a mosaic of it. I'll be able to stare at that mosaic and think of the great cooks who passed their dishes on to me, and eat off of a matching set one day, that will be made from sturdier material.

It may seem like I've learned very little from this process of breaking dishes and saving the remains...but it's actually been a great exercise for the hoarder that lives inside of me.  Yes, dishes are precious.  But not as precious as memories.  And, although the dishes remind me of the people, I'll never forget that Grandma Carlson taught me how to eat your cake and get your greens as well.  And Grandma Shier showed me how to take stale bread and turn it into the most amazing pudding I'll ever devour.  While I enjoy those two (modified) recipes on the plates passed down from my family, it's the act of eating the dishes they used to make rather than eating off the dishes they used to use that keeps their memory alive.  And, breaking eleven dishes in four months taught me to let go of those objects and cherish the memories instead...

Is that genius?  I'm not sure.  It was a great lesson for myself, though....

And this Prairie Lily plate is going to go in the middle of that mosaic....to be hung in my kitchen, wherever I go...so that I never forget where I've come from...