Suzy Says

The other day, I spent hours polishing my grandmother’s silver.

It belonged to my father’s mother, and I imagine it was one of her most treasured possessions, as it is one of mine. Above you can see it, along with a couple of other treasures from Dad’s family: a Wedgwood salad bowl and servers and a biscuit barrel, dating from the early-mid 1800s.

There is a big wooden chest with service for twelve, and a small one with a fish set serving a more modest six. The fish set may be more modest on the outside, but the knife blades are ornately chased and lovely, and there’s a special surprise: a note my grandfather wrote my grandmother. The fish set was a gift from him to her the Christmas before they were married, and it is signed “from your loving husband-to-be, Ernest*”. The note has been in that box for about 85 years, but you can still feel the pride and joy with which he wrote those words.

I read the note every time I open the box, and it always makes me happy, especially since they were devoted to each other for the half century of their marriage. They really did live happily ever after.

The silver all has politically incorrect ivory handles, but after so many years, it’s hard to feel guilty about it.

My views on housework are well-known, and polishing silver is messy and manicure-damaging, but there’s also something really satisfying about it. I feel the same way about ironing, which I do about as often as I polish silver. In fact my ironing board is leaning against the house under the side deck.

My father’s mother taught me how to iron, and Dad used to save up his shirts for me when I was away at college. When I came home, I’d iron them, and the motions were kind of zen. It was satisfying to see the wrinkled pile diminish and the army of ironed shirts on hangers grow. Clearly this is some kind of control thing for me, even though I generally seem to live in some degree of chaos these days.

As I polished, I wondered if I would ever actually require service for twelve. Our Christmas guest list seems to be diminishing. One friend may not come because of pressure from his family; another because of his complicated love life; and it looks like Jonathan may well have to work that day. But it will still be fun, and I’ll still use the silver, and think of Christmases past, present, and future. May they all be merry and bright.

And polished.

*Coincidentally, both of my grandfathers were named Ernest. And they both fought at some of the same battles during WWI.