Knives and forks

It's just past 5 a.m. on an early-waking Sunday and when this happens, there's something on my mind. Actually about fifty things, if you count every piece of our old silverplated cutlery. After thirty-three years, it is looking not shabby chic, just shabby. 

Last week, I ordered a replacement, a similar design but in stainless steel, because I've tired of polishing forks after every salad. It has taken me at least three years to do it. For a while, I thought of replacing the rattiest pieces, but the pattern, Christofle's "Chinon" was discontinued in 2016, and vintage pieces are usually as worn as mine. Another option, re-plating, is never as durable as the original finish, and  I'd still be polishing.  

The flatware holds memories of family supper at six, weekend dinner parties at eight. I see Patrick sticking a leftover lobster in his  jacket pocket, sweet little Daniel politely saying, "I'm not very hungry" and then polishing off thirds. Our beloved cat dragged off a teaspoon we didn't find until we moved house twenty years later. 

Now the forks' tines are worn down to the brass; patina has degraded to worn-out.  

Couldn't be brassed?

The knives are dull, little better than cutting with a spoon.

I remember buying it, visiting the store one winter afternoon with a five-year-old son, his hand in mine. He was game for the outing, knowing it would conclude with hot chocolate under its whipped-cream dome. Children are not preferred visitors to china stores, but he stood with arms welded to his sides, surveying the glittering shelves with only big blue eyes. The saleswoman, normally aloof, melted and said, "Keep them like that as long as you can."

New set: Stainless steel, Made In 

As I placed the order for the stainless, I wondered, How long will we use this? It should, as my Dad would say, "see me out". The table on which it will lay is smaller, the menu lighter— dessert is not de rigeur. Moving to stainless seems a small default, but I still have my mother's elegant wedding silver, stored in flannel rolls. When the new stuff came, Le Duc said he liked it; I thought, Nice but too new.

What is more elemental to a home than cutlery, witnesses to the dual purpose of meals: sustenance and connection? When we touch it, we're touching those closest to us. 

One of our sons eagerly accepted the old silverplate (he's a deeply sentimental guy)—and I kept two place settings to use occasionally. The plating may have dimmed, but the memories remain bright.