A few days ago, I came across this crocheted tablecloth and spread it out on my table. Every time I catch a glimpse of it, I feel an interesting pair of conflicting emotions.
On one hand, I'm happily reminded of my maternal grandmother, Clara Minnie Marie Belz. She was a master of the domestic arts and turned out many a beautiful handmade item, including this tablecloth, in her ninety-seven years. Though she led a simple and frugal life, she had an eye for beautiful things, and often made with her own two hands what she could not afford to buy. I admire her very much for that trait, and I'm grateful to have such a delicate and pristine piece of her work with me now.
At the same time, I'm sad to look upon the fragile perfection of this tablecloth because it reminds me that my grandmother never used it. Nope, she created this lovely item only to deem it "too good" to be used, even on holidays. She stored it away in her buffet, and to the best of my knowledge, never used it at all.
When I married, my grandmother passed her beloved tablecloth on to me, and I'm sorry to say that I followed her lead. I tucked it away at the bottom of my tablecloth drawer, where it has remained for quite some time. Many more practical tablecloths have come and gone over the years, but I've never dared to use this one for fear of soiling or damaging my grandmother's prize possession.
But the other day, when I crossed paths with this lacy creation once again, something changed in my heart. Rather than keeping my tablecloth in the dark until who knows when, I suddenly knew it was high time to pull this gem out into the light of day and celebrate its beauty. What was I waiting for? Life is too short for hidden treasures.
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