Sunday, June 10, 2012
Among the oldest items in our home when I was growing up, the odd pottery used to strike me as undeniably adult. Only adults would create, sell, purchase and display items that were clearly devoid of day-to-day utility.
We never touched them.
There were no stories told of them either. They remained in the succession of my parents' homes without a history that any of us knew. They were like the young adulthood of my parents before any of us children were born to make them -- finally -- Ma and Pop.
I was able to venture safely from vendor to vendor and know that there was little I would purchase with the thirty dollars in my wallet.
What I had come for, it became apparent, was not a purchase, though. Even more valuable, I got a glimpse of that Roseville blue again. This time it was a jardiniere and matching pedestal.
So there really could have been a world in which my parents had been young adults. And it had been a beautiful world.