Chandeliers in Schoolyards

In Texas we call them playgrounds, in Manhattan they're called yards, but should more appropriately be called "a large concrete area with a few basketball goals, and four-square courts surrounded by 15 foot chain-length fencing." This is where children spend their recess in the city- the yard.

On Sunday Chris and I meandered through an antique fair held in a school yard on the west side. There were plenty of true antiques: clothes, jewelery, odd foreign objects and furniture. It was actually one of the better markets I've been to. So many street fairs in NYC are just full of junk and may only have a handful of real art designed by real artists. This was a good market- if you like antiques.

Me personally, I like the glassware and breakable serving pieces. Little trays, oddly painted serving bowls, cream and sugar sets and stemware. (This is why I LOVE Anthropologie- things LOOK old, antique-like, unique unto themselves, but they really aren't. I do love that store though!) Rarely do I actually BUY anything at these antique markets, especially since moving to NY, but I like to look at it all. The pieces remind me of my Nana and the windowsill above the breakfast table in the kitchen she and my Grandaddy shared for so many years.

Above their kitchen table, which was pushed against the wall, was a large window with about 6 shelves. She had lined the shelves with various glass pieces in shades of amber and blue and yellow which appeared so magnificently when the sun shone on them each morning. I assumed they were quite special since they were just for looking at and things that we never actually ate or drank out of. And for some reason I still think those things hold more value than the Pier One/ Target decor that sits atop my bookcases and inset shelving, but perhaps it's just sentimental value. Perhaps those were just "pretties to look at" and "nick-knacks." I don't know.

I remember those glass pieces like I recall the cross stitched tapestry my mother made that hung above my parents bed, "To love and be loved is the greatest joy on Earth." Just like the other framed pieces that my mom created that hung in the house I grew up in, "Thankful I will ever be for the one who fathered me," and "A mother holds her children's hands for awhile, their hearts forever." I just remember. I've read them a million times and even wrote songs, that I still hear in my head, with these lyrics when I was very small.

My Grandparent's kitchen table was where we actual ate in their home. The carpeted dining room with the massive record player, Steinway piano and chandelier was for formal meals: Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve dinner and the occasional family get-together.

At the kitchen table, however, my Grandaddy sat at one end, my Nana the other and the seat with the view was left for me. I looked out that window and at those glass pieces with every bowl of Rice Crispies or Corn Flakes. (My grandparents never bought sweet cereals for us, or treats. Only when my older cousins, who were in high school or college, would come to town would there be an occasional box of Fruity Pebbles.) Grapenuts, Chex, and Wheaties were also in the rotation. I'll never forget when my younger sister discovered that three of the 10-12 boxes lined up on the shelf were used as safe-keeping for fine silver.

Occasionally, breakfast was a frozen Lender's bagel straight out of the convection oven with orange marmalade- what a treat! But it was usually cereal and orange juice with a cloth napkin. I never liked the cloth napkin thing. But my Nana was a lady. And formal. And a host. So we ate our bran flakes without slurping, without elbows on the table, and talked about the day ahead: shopping at Marshall's and Town East Mall, going to Penny Whistle Park and maybe dinner at Wyatt's Cafeteria followed by a walk around the neighborhood and The Parent Trap or 101 Dalmatians.

I can still smell the motor oil in the garage and Wrigley's spearmint smell of the brown Oldsmobile as we'd head out onto Jim Miller Road: Dallas, Texas here I come!