Over the weekend I finally unpacked my Grandmother’s china that has been sitting next to my washer and dryer for five years prior to moving. I never had the ample space at the old place and when we moved into our new home I knew that a nice buffet was needed to finally unpack the delicate pieces. We purchased our buffet but the boxes just sat in the garage, a constant reminder that they needed to be unpacked. But I couldn’t. One of my resolutions this year is to get organized and the garage was one promise I made to Jim so he could add a bowflex to the third car garage. We spent a weekend sorting through high school and dating memories. Finally tossing away the crap that had accumulated throughout our first twelve years. The next area to organize was the china. I truly could not bring myself to open the three plastic tubs and two cardboard boxes, that was until Jim left for his business trip on Sunday. When we got home from the airport I took a look at the boxes and said screw it, let’s get it over with. You’re probably wondering why such a long drawn out story over some old plates. But it’s just that. Old = memories and memories = dealing with emotions I have been avoiding. I cracked the first blue lid, gently picking up the first slightly melted bubble wrapped Bavaria Tirschenreuth 647 plate and it was like I was transported to 2003. I had packed my Grandmother’s china cabinet when we rapidly packed her house after the Turk family decided her and my Grandfather should no longer be. The packing was done at such a fast rate to ensure certain people did not get their hands on cherished family heirlooms and the china that I had been promised early on. I remember my Grandma watching over me like a hawk ensuring I was wrapping them correctly, that they weren’t too tightly packed and when the twenty rolls of bubble wrap weren’t enough I ran back out to purchase more. It was hard for me wrapping up her house, many items she would never see again, and in her eyes I knew she knew the same. Taking the china out piece-by-piece Payton would ask about the pieces, bringing me back to the last time we dined on gorgeously pink plates and the happy times of my childhood. And when the small apple dishes were discovered I immediately thought of her pill dish that still remains in her room at my parents. As I unwrapped and unwrapped I kept thinking to myself that my Grandma is probably watching over me thinking I am not being as careful as she would like for me to be. I confronted the emotions, I feel better (slightly) and now I look forward to throwing a fab tea party for my daughter one day. I can see gorgeously plated food for guests and photo shoots. Now, here goes to praying that the kids never crack the doors open and break a single piece!