“What do you mean there’s NO gravy? !!”
This is the remark that rings in my head, every time I look at this little ironstone gravy boat. We were newlyweds, living four hours from home in a different state, and were hosting our first Thanksgiving dinner as a couple, also a first family event in our “new 1903 home.”
This is the time to share, if you don’t know, that I am ALL ABOUT home restoration and the LOVE of old homes.
I had been spending my time staining 100-year-old floors of wide pine planks upstairs, and narrow strips of oak downstairs. Painting where needed, like every-inch-of-the house needed! I polished old brass door plates with crystal rosette doorknobs, I had stripped blackened varnish off of our staircase handrails, I hung wallpaper on 14′ high walls in our entry… I wasn’t concerned in the least about our “menu”, because Thanksgiving “is the same” every year, am I right?
Not this time!
Officially married for seven weeks, neither one of us were “kids”, yet we had much to learn still about the other.
I put very little thought into the menu, after all, I’ve made the same dinner the same way for 30 years or more. I concentrate on ” presentation”, on the “lovely”, on every. little. detail., my husband focuses on food.
Always.
Good food.
I was told that he had “mentioned” to his mother that I was NOT making gravy for our Thanksgiving dinner, and he was shocked by that. Frankly, my gravy, I told him, is always lumpy and not fit for guests.
AND, I continued, I always make my almost-famous Cheesy Potatoes, which is NOT the kind of potatoes you smother in lumpy gravy! I offered to make mashed potatoes instead, but he compromised and replied that he could put his gravy on the turkey, and that would work.
Good grief!
or should I say, ” Good gravy”!
All was well in the newlywed department on Thanksgiving morning as we waited for our home to fill with family.
We. were. ready.
The entire home had been scrubbed, the kitchen was emitting scents or cranberries, orange, and cinnamon, apple pie cooling and turkey basting. Through our freshly painted, multi-paned windows, we were enjoying the first snowfall of the year, it was all just picture perfect, however, the Tollroads and highways were backed up with holiday travelers creeping at a snail’s-pace in the snow.
Dinner was to be late.
Hours late.
Best laid plans, right?
When they arrived, we were grateful for their safe arrival. We hung their coats in our entrance’s armoire (very few closets in that house) and offered them coffee to warm up a bit. Excited conversations of great tales of risky highway adventures ensued.
Before dinner began, my new mother-in-law opened her purse, and presented me with this gravy boat of ironstone, the tiny chip was there, but it didn’t matter. Thanking her, I mentioned that “I’m not good with gravy, can I put store-bought gravy in this gravy boat?”
“Of course, you can, my son likes gravy”.
“Yes, I heard.”
Each year, when I pull this gravy boat from the hutch, I remember our first Thanksgiving. The little gravy boat was the first piece of ironstone presented to me from my mother-in-law, with other pieces to follow, for my birthday, Christmas, or when we came home to visit.
The best part is hearing the voice of my “brand new husband,” horrified and shocked that there would be no gravy at Thanksgiving, followed by the kindness of a generous, loving woman who seemed to know us both well.
Priceless.
Isn’t it wonderful that a single piece of ironstone, can bring back so many memories?
What treasures have you saved, for their ability to bring back your past?
Your fondest memories?
If you’d like to share below, I’d love to hear, and will answer when I get your comment.
Blessings to you,
xx,
What a ovely blog post this is dear Beth. Your mother-in-law blessed me just reading what she did for you! That’s really something special, and I’m touched. I never knew my mother-in-law, she had passed away from cancer 3 years before we met, she was only 45. Your story made me think of a wonderful family, it was two sisters and their mother. The two sisters were older than my own mother, and each had their own family. The mother lived with the one sister in a grand old mansion and they often collaborated together with the other sister to have fabulous Garden tea parties in the summer, and beautiful tea parties in the home during other parts of the year. I was 3 years old the first time my mother took me with her to the tea party. She told me not to touch anything, and to sit quietly and be good. I remember that distinctly. This family was jovial, encompassing and absolutely lovely. I’ll never forget when they handed me a real China tea cup and my mom immediately set out to scold them and said no, no, no I would do nothing but break it they insisted, and gave me mostly milk with a tiny touch of tea in it. I held it gingerly and oh so carefully in my three-year-old chubby hands. Not only did I not break the cup, I didn’t spill on myself either. Not because I was afraid of my mother’s scolding, but more because I was entrusted with faith in me and I wanted to live up to that. So of course over time not only did I collect TV cups, and a variety of teapots, but I held many tea parties in my own home and garden for my own sweet precious little girl and all her friends and their mothers too. Yes of course I gave them real tea cups to hold, that kindness was never forgotten. I also believe firmly in it having memories attached to things or they’ll be nothing but things. So my sweet girl has her own beautiful memories of our tea parties and now celebrates tea with her own two Littles. Thank you for letting me share this. 🩷
Dee, your “reply” goes far and beyond anything I’ve ever received. You have blessed me and touched me with your connection to my story. Yes, there’s another post coming, because we do indeed connect our past and our memories, our identities with objects that we treasure. I cannot use your words, that isn’t right, but I am certainly touched and motivated to keep sharing myself through stories.
Your presence here is so appreciated, thank you, sweet Dee.