I was Grace’s age when Santa Claus brought me a cherished porcelain tea set. It came packed in a green-striped cardboard box, with a place for each piece. I have kept it in that box for the last 72 years, secure in the cedar chest my grandmother Damery gave me for 8th-grade graduation. I knew someday I would give it to a granddaughter.
When my sister Judy came to visit last week, I knew it was time to give Grace the tea set. Judy immediately recognized the rose-decorated set, exclaiming that it had always been a source of envy for her because, she said, my set was nicer than hers. Grace was mesmerized, carefully unpacking the cups and saucers, the tiny plates and teapot, the platter, and the salt and pepper shakers. She immediately asked to have a tea party.
Lisa, her mother, helped her wash the miniature dishes, slice apples, and cut cookies into tea-sized pieces. We made hibiscus tea and filled the child-sized teapot. The sugar bowl with the missing lid held sugar again, and the cream pitcher held milk. Our dear departed friend Norma had given me a set of tiny espresso spoons called the Twelve Disciples, which she had acquired in Spain, and I gave these to Grace too. She used one of the disciple spoons to dump spoonfuls of sugar into her hibiscus tea with milk. We laughed and told stories about the years Judy and I gave tea parties, a tradition in our family.
When it was done, Grace wanted me to show her how to put it all back into the box. I tried to remember, finally making it all fit.
“What if I forget?” she asked.
“Don’t worry,” I told her. “It’s yours now. You decide how you want to keep them.” She seemed okay with that. A passing on. Her mother told me Grace has had several tea parties since.