2001-04-05 - 17:22 MDST

THE WONDERING JEW

Pretty Triggers

Heather said this morning, "I'm going to go see Elder-sis (her sis who is in Alzheimer's), go for coffee with a friend and do a little shopping. While I am gone, would you polish the light fixture and its glassware ? I also set the silverware out along with the Wright's so maybe you wouldn't mind polishing the silverware too." Hooo boy, miss out on shopping ? I have considered dropping an anvil on my foot to be able to beg off on shopping.

I like messing with the dining room light fixture, it is brass, pretty, with simple lines -- having eight panels of beveled glass hanging from it. It makes real good light, and is not too hard to clean -- flat glass and smooth brass.

I did that first in order to be able to spend some time with the silver service. It is one of the few things remaining with us from our wedding presents. A prize battled for during World War Two at a jewler's shop and successfully purchased.

So we have had this silver service going on 58 years. Moved with us many times, carefully packed it was. It represented what little class we had I guess and also created the atmosphere of Tea Time with pretty ladies, with the best of manners serving tea from lustrous tableware to refined ladies.

It is always brought out of hiding for any special occasion. Now it proudly occupies a place of honor in the front of our china cabinet, formerly it lived in whatever safe place it could. If it is on the table, it is for one of the special occasions that happens in our lives.

This occasion it is going to be on the main table at our grand daughter's baby shower.

As I polished and buffed it to a shine, slowly, carefully -- the memories of the times it showed the fact that, "This is sumpin special, to be celebrated with love. Have a cup of tea and give a toast." Or whatever is appropriate to the event.

If I would try to list every time the silver service has been used -- no one would have the patience to read all that.

As I polished, in my head the old song, "I dreamt that I dwelt in Marble Halls," reverberated in my empty head. A smile on my face as each memory flashed across the screen of my memory.

If it is to be a dress up dinner, then I polish the treasured silver given us as a wedding present. The beloved mis-matched set that could be obtained, with difficulty, piece by piece by our two Moms and my maternal Grandmother during war time. It also has been kept safe through all our moves.

Heather doesn't bug me to hurry, to get with it. She knows where I am in my head, pats my shoulder as she goes by, knowing that the silver will shine, polished with fond memories, an act of love.

Heather's pleasure comes later when the formalities are observed and all this memorable stuff is on the table and in use. She glows, much brighter than the silver, with a happiness that brings great joy to my heart.

Such a simple chore, this polishing silver, it is done with especial care and attention. Yet is a Ceremony to me -- one of love and brings to light almost forgotten memories.

There are no guns, but our memories are set off by the silver ware's Pretty Triggers . . . . .

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