 Desert Rose
by Vicki Rackner MD
You never know what you'll find on a treasure hunt. That's the phrase my son and I repeat as we begin our weekly outings to the thrift store. It's our equivalent of "Runners on your mark…get set…GO." We go to the thrift shop to find buried treasures. And to have fun. We know that sometimes we will come out empty-handed. We know sometimes it will take some digging. And we know that sometimes we will strike it rich.
One Thurs afternoon, as I was repeating this mantra to myself while walking through the door of the thrift store I saw a something that took my breath away. There in the glass display case, several yards on the right as you enter the door, was a collection of my grandmother's china! I was instantly transported to my childhood. I was at Nanny Leah's lake home, awakened by the smell of freshly-cooked buttermilk pancakes. Before I got out of bed I noticed the sunshine poking through the sheer curtains that fluttered in the gentle breeze, warming my face. I didn't dawdle. I knew that there in the kitchen would be a plate of pancakes with butter melting and real maple syrup and fresh fruit from the farmer's market sliced over the top. Served on chipped dishes with fluted green edges and pink roses. The tile of the hall floor was gritty with the dirt all of us would track in from our trips to the garden or down to the lake to see the whiskers on the catfish. Nanny Leah would take a second from the stove to give me a hug. There wasn't much time for affection, because there was always so much work to do. Planting sweet potatoes in the cut-off cream cartons. Sewing clothes for my Barbie Dolls. Or rushing off because she heard Aunt Beverly, an epileptic, begin one of her "fits." The entire childhood scene, played out in five-sense Technicolor, was triggered by the site of those plates with the green fluted edges and the pink roses.
I had just struck the motherload of thrift store treasures. The sign on top of the dinner plate said
Desert Rose
94 pieces!!
some vintage
some newer
3 different labels
$450
As my childhood scene was being replayed in my head, the adult took over. In thrift store dollars, this was a fortune. This is the place where you can find an Armani jacket for $10. Never mind that the retail value of these 94 pieces of Nanny Leah's china was at least double the thrift store price. In thrift store currency, this was the equivalent of a car purchase. It warranted careful thought and consideration.
Plus I already had 5 sets of dishes. My organizational consultant and I were clearing clutter. I told myself to exercise discipline and pass it up. I had enjoyed the brief travel to a delightful childhood memory.
The next week Nanny Leah's china was still there. I was surprised. The china was even advertised on E-bay. Why hadn't someone else snatched up this treasure? My resolve to decrease clutter was weakened, but I still resisted.
The next week as I walked though the parking lot I told myself the set was sure to be gone. There it was in the glass display case. I asked the clerk if the set had been sold and just not wrapped. She said no. I made a bargain with myself. When I got the advance for the book proposal in the agent's hands I would treat myself to the china.
Two more weeks passed. No word from the agent. The dishes remained.
A Fri afternoon in mid-June I went to the thrift store. It wasn't the standard treasure hunt. The night before, my house had burned. The only clothes that I had were the ones on my back when I left my burning house: a wrap-around skirt with the elephants dancing on the hem the I picked up in Thailand and a beige sweater set which had been a treasure mined at the thrift store. For all I knew those were my only possessions that survived the fire. On that day I walked into the thrift store creating a list in my mind: a couple of pair of pants, a few shirts, a purse, a dog bed. I was so caught up in my list that I had not even asked myself what I would find in that case on the right hand side of the thrift store just beyond the door. I stopped in my tracks. Nanny Leah's china set was still there!
I knew in that moment I was going to buy it. Right then and there. It made no sense. I didn't even have a place to store the dishes much less cook a meal or set a table. I asked the thrift store clerk if I could get a discount on the dishes. I needed to buy a real new car, as mine had melted in the fire. Plus I could quiet the "responsible-adult-within" who was mystified by this impulse purchase. I got a $25 discount. I bought the 94 pieces of Desert Rose china, along with 2 pair of pants, a blouse and an Eddie Bower satchel which would serve as my mobile desk to store my collection of forms and notes. I asked the thrift store clerk to wrap the dishes and told her I would pick them up later.
The next week is a blur of meetings with new people, non-stop phone calls, visits to the charred remains of the house and forms. And shopping. Lots of shopping. Shoes, underwear, books on helping children through loss. In general I walked through those days with a deep knowing that everything was going to be OK. At unexpected moments I was jarred into my new logistic reality. Four days after the fire it rained and the realization that I didn't even have an umbrella reduced me to tears. A voice said, "Don't worry. You're not made of sugar and you're not going to melt." It was Nanny Leah's voice.
My top priority was finding a place to call home. I like to send down long, deep roots. My insurance company would rent me a place until my own house was built. I looked at several houses, none of which fit. One smelled of cigarette smoke. Another was dark. A third was too far away. My agent gave me the address of another to look at. I pulled into the driveway and peaked through the windows of the house. I walked into the potting shed. It was perfect! After some negotiation, the place was mine.
Less than two weeks after the fire, I was settled into my new home, complete with rented furniture and dishes and towels. I had a bed, a shower. It was time to pick up Nanny Leah's china. I invited my son's dad and his fiancé to dinner. We used the dishes from the rental agency. That night, I took Nanny Leah's china out of the car and showed my son. He loves fancy things. We keep kosher, so we needed to decide if Nanny Leah's china be used for milk or meat. Milk, we decided. That way we could use the china more often.
As I unwrapped the dishes I told my son Nanny Leah stories. She was an extraordinary matriarch. She was the rock-solid foundation of the family with a lifetime of amazing feats. She wasn't showy. She had a quiet wisdom. Some of her expressions were woven into the fabric of my being. "Get an education. Money is round and it can roll away, but you'll always have an education." "You catch more flies with sugar than vinegar" although I never understood why you would want to catch flies in the first place. What I most remember about Nanny Leah was her steadfast resiliency. No matter how desperate the situation, she always held out hope for a better tomorrow.
The next morning we decided to have breakfast on the new china. I didn't have much in the house. Bread, milk, eggs, fruit, coffee, salt , pepper, bread. Meir asked for French toast which I gladly made. I put milk in the china creamer with the green fluted edges and pink roses and filled the sugar bowl. I set out all five pieces of the place settings. French toast on the dinner plates, blueberries and yogurt in the bowls, sliced cantaloupe on the bread plates and coffee in the cups set on the saucers. As I looked around I realized why I felt so at home in this house. It was just like Nanny Leah's lake home! My son was having the same childhood experience as I did, eating off the same china.
Maybe it's Nanny Leah's spirit that gives me the certainty that it will all be OK. Nanny Leah certainly instilled a love of a treasure hunt in me. She could dig though human shortcomings and see the best of people. She could wade through tragedy and find the blessings. The Desert Rose china is a real treasure. A treasure that brought me back to the wisdom and courage of my Nanny Leah. And just like Nanny Leah, it's there when I most need it.
Copyright © Vicki Rackner MD, 2005
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