Who’s good enough for the good china?

When I was growing up, I was crazy about horses, an animal that a rare commodity on the southside of Chicago. I read every book about horses I could find in my library: Misty of Chincoteague, King of the Wind, Wild Horse Annie. All I talked about was horses. I did eventually take riding lessons, which I paid for by mucking out stalls. What I learned was that I loved the beauty of horses, not the animals themselves. I was too clumsy to ride well and never felt like I was in control of my mount.

Nevertheless, my reputation as a horse-loving girl lingered. For my wedding, I received a set of cocktail glasses from one of my favorite relatives, Aunt Dorothy. The glasses had beautiful depictions of horse breeds etched on them: Arabian, Thoroughbred, Standardbred, Tennessee Walking Horse, Quarter Horse, and Morgan. I kept them packed up until I owned a china cabinet where I could proudly display them. And there they sat. Day after day, year after year, decade after decade. Waiting for an occasion worthy of their special status.

One day during Covid, I removed the contents of the china cabinet to dust the inside. My hand was automatically putting the horse glasses back in their place when I thought, “What am I saving these for? Do I expect the Queen of England to show up one day and ask for an Old Fashioned?”

I moved the glasses to the bar where I use them almost every day. They’re perfect for my Mai Tais.

You would think that after breaking the seal on the china cabinet, I would start to enjoy the dishes and serving pieces it held. But no. They remained in their elegant isolation.

Until yesterday, when the sun glinting off one of my so-good-I’ve-never-used-it objects (a glass pitcher) made me rethink the benefits of delayed gratification.

I inherited the pitcher from my in-laws. Its elegant shape would make a charming addition to any table­­–if it ever made it out of my china cabinet.

Jeff and I may be special enough for the good cocktail glasses, but we aren’t special enough for the pitcher or the other items that are still imprisoned in the china cabinet. The good china, the good stemware, my mother’s silver? Waiting for the holidays. The cut-glass serving pieces, the decorative bowls, the set of Tom Collins glasses with the frosted etchings that I got for five bucks at a flea market? Only can come out to play when the right people show up.

Which is apparently never.

It’s not that the good china is stored in a remote area, like the Christmas dishes are. (That’s a story for another day.) The cabinet is right next to the dining room table. The everyday china is in the kitchen. Same with the glassware. It takes extra steps to use the everyday dishes and glasses as opposed to the good ones.

It’s not even that the items are expensive. The good china came from a set I ordered from a door-to-door salesman before I was married. Part of my trousseau. The silver has immense sentimental value, but minimal cash value. The vases, jam jar, salt cellar and cheese plates are nice but not irreplaceable.

Am I afraid that my fancy dishes will suddenly become non-special if they get dirty? Does familiarity breed contempt? If I see them too often, will they become ordinary?

Or is it that I was taught that delayed gratification rules the day? Save it for a special occasion. When do I become special? And when is it time to stop delaying gratification?

My beautiful pitcher with the sun glinting off its facets says the time is now to kick delayed gratification to the curb. I’m not getting any younger, and the special event I am waiting for has fewer days to arrive. There is no reason to save the good china for a special occasion or special guests.

At this age, every day is special.

I am special.

Jeff is special.

The children are special.

Sunday dinner is going to feature the good china, my mother’s silverware and that stunning glass pitcher from my mother-in-law.

Even if it is just the two of us eating hamburgers off the grill.