I often say friendships are like paper plates because they are disposable. Let me be clear right off the bat because I’ve been yelled at before for this. Friendships are disposable. Not people. Not every friendship is meant to last a lifetime. Friendships serve a purpose and when that purpose is over the friendship ends. Like paper plates.
Some friendships are like stoneware. Strong, durable, chip-resistant, reusable, dishwasher safe and decorative. I was hanging with a piece of my stoneware recently and was reminded how grateful I am for her.
My stoneware doesn’t judge me and I don’t judge it. It helps that I picked it out, but some stoneware isn’t made as well and breaks fooling me into thinking it was better quality. (It’s best to read the labels first.) The lifetime stoneware, the unbreakable, lets me vent when I need to, sit quietly if I have to, reminds me to laugh and offers sage advice.
Stoneware is there when you need it for the parties and the lonely dinners for one. Stoneware doesn’t leak through when you’re sick. It’s probably grateful for the cycle in the dishwasher, but it won’t ditch you.
Having stoneware doesn’t mean you won’t argue with it, disagree with it or even misplace it for a while. Believe me, I lost a very important piece to the set and it took me years to locate it, but when I did that dish slid right back into rotation like it never left. That is what stoneware does. A paper plate would’ve been mush by then.
You know, I chose a plate way back when I was ten. I thought for sure it was stoneware. We walked to school together, rode bikes together, laughed, kept secrets, double dated. We understood each other. The connection lasted a long time. But, I misplaced it and it took nearly twenty years to locate it. When I did, I was sad to find out my dish wasn’t stoneware at all. It was a paper plate without any coating. Unsalvageable. How could I have been so wrong about my choice?
I have very few pieces of stoneware. I’m okay with that. If you get two good dishes in your life, you’re lucky. I’m grateful for my stoneware and I probably don’t tell them enough. So, thank you, stoneware for our years together. For the laughter. And the tears. Thank you for letting me be me, chipped, dented, less vibrant than I once was, my design not so much decorative, but loud.
What do you like best about your stoneware?