My Grandmother Said Goodbye to Her China When She Was 79-Years-Old, and Lived Another 13 Years Without It

I’m a contemplator, and on any given day I am likely to have something rolling around in my mind, for one reason or another.

Today, for several reasons, I began thinking about my Grandmother, Orpha Mae Grimm Slifer, and her china. And the story of how I came to own her china, and the personal crossroads that I am currently considering, out of necessity.

My grandfather, Luther Beard Slifer, passed away on May 11, 1972. There is a piece I wrote in 2022 called HE WAS PROBABLY CHECKING ON HIS TOMATOES (AND) GETTING FIREWOOD which mentions various things about that day, from a conversation I had with my cousin, Laura.

Since I write about family stories here–things that should perhaps be known for posterity–I want to talk today about my paternal grandmother’s china.

After my paternal grandfather passed away in 1972, my grandmother, who was 79 at the time, understandably was not able to sustainably stay in the small family homestead all alone. The log house that had been built by (or at least first owned by) my great-grandfather, Joshua Slifer, that became the Slifer homeplace where Luther and Orpha raised their eight children (my father Rodney being the oldest) had no indoor plumbing in 1972.

At some point, the house did get electricity (I am not sure when…I’m thinking sometime between the 1930’s-1940’s most likely) but never did get running indoor water/plumbing, nor a telephone. In fact, neither of my grandparents ever owned a motor vehicle or had a driver’s license, to my understanding. My cousin, Dennis, wrote a guest writing here on my blog called GUEST WRITING: LOSING THE LAND, BY DENNIS SLIFER.

When I was a child, I remember the outhouse back near my grandfather’s apple orchard, and I remember the chamber pot/toilet upstairs. And, I remember my grandmother and others bringing water in from the spring/pump just outside the back of the small home to wash dishes, and basins of cold, fresh water with a pitcher to pour from, and the colorful tin cups that felt ice cold as a child, when I was given a drink.

When my grandfather died, he collapsed between the root cellar building (on the left in this photo) and the small house/back door to the kitchen, so I’ve been told. My grandmother ran up to Poffenberger’s Store which was off to the right, past the Mt. Zion Lutheran Church, that was in the storefront of that family’s home, in order to get help and use a telephone. In the photo below, my grandmother, Orpha, is hanging laundry. My Aunt Doris once told me, from her nursing home room, of a dream she had about her mother and her sister, Ruth, during her last years, that involved my grandmother and a white sheet/laundry.

My Aunt Doris said she dreamed she was upstairs with her mother and sister, Ruth, and they were ironing a dress, as I recall. And then, she was outside in the area shown in the photo above where my grandmother is hanging laundry, and in the dream she was facing toward the apple orchards. In the dream, her mother, my grandmother, Orpha, had a large white sheet she was holding, to be precise. Aunt Doris told me that her mother was holding up the white sheet and it blocked my aunt’s view of her mother’s face, and that Orpha was slowly walking backward out toward the apple grove, and my aunt was following her.

This is my best recollection of the dream. When Christian people, especially, (and oh, how dear of a sweet, Christian soul was my father’s baby sister, Doris, who was the last sibling of the eight to pass away the fall of 2020) tell me of dreams that seem to hold some type of spiritual symbol, I pay attention.

As I typed that memory of what she told me, I kind of had goose bumps. I remember that visit, and sitting with my aunt in her little room. That may have also been the time she pulled out the Rohrersville, MD church bulletin brought to her, and we spoke of the song selections from that service and other news items, and even sang some bars of something together. I can recall wondering how many more times I might get to see my aunt, and I think it wasn’t but once or twice more after that, that I was able to visit her during another year or maybe two, or possibly three…

But back to my grandmother in 1972. Given the fact of many things, though my grandmother wasn’t in poor health per se, other factors understandably made it unsustainable for her to survive there, alone. And so, there was an auction of their belongings and the property itself, sometime in 1972.

What some family may not know is that my mother’s brother, Uncle Roderick, who was seemingly the most normal (that I recall) and the rational, Linger family “functional glue” that seemingly held those Linger siblings together, at times, had the foresight and especially the means and kindness, to drive there to the public auction from Martinsburg, WVA, where he purchased my grandmother’s china for me, specifically. My father, due to “circumstances,” was unable to attend the auction and certainly would not have had the financially means at that point to purchase any of his parent’s possessions.

And it was before my father’s death in 1979, that his brother-in-law, Roderick, somehow handed off the boxes of wrapped china to my father, which he stored in our Delaware basement and told me on several occasions what it was, and that if he died I was to have this china, that belonged to Orpha and Luther. I was young, and lacked full understanding of the value of passing china to a young woman. But I remember many things my father told me and emphasized to me, prior to his death (and burial the day before my sixteenth birthday).

My father valued family and tradition, and the carrying of that mantle of sorts has been something I have taken to heart over the years. But I am increasingly realizing that my sons do not share these values and quite honestly, that, along with many other things involved in this situation, hurts quite deeply. But it is not something I can fix or change. I am fighting many personal battles, and keeping my home and business afloat is currently at the forefront.

To repeat, for very obvious reasons, things like this have meant quite a lot to me over the years. They have become a powerful symbol of not only my father and my heritage, but of a family life I never quite was a part of, and sought to emulate during my married, adult years, and even into my aloneness here–the aloneness magnified by a number of things in this dreadful situation.

Over the years, I have had the privilege of hosting many a holiday meal on my grandmother’s china.

In fact, it was the idea and belief that I might actually make it back north in early 2020 with what I considered my life somewhat intact—poised to rebuild from the ruins, so-to-speak–that kept me going. The thought that I might own a property again after all that had transpired and the relinquishing over of my and my sons’ Delaware home in 2012, and to host Thanksgiving here in 2020 with my sons, was one thing that kept me hopeful through what I can only name the most difficult ordeal of my lifetime.

I’ve said this before. When my father passed and I was sixteen, no one in the family or my circle of friends questioned my culpability in the matter or whether or not, or to what degree, I should receive emotional, spiritual or other forms of presence and support. Not so with this second divorce. It was messy, ugly…and the ramifications of my dreadful decision in 2012 have unending consequences/impact upon me and upon my sons, and my view/dreams/hopes for any meaningful recovery here.

My sons do not seem to care any longer about a number of things, and I find that quite disturbing. How can I rebuild my life and home, without active, meaningful and especially kind, responsible adult understanding and relationship with my two grown sons?

Sometimes, and I feel at this point I will go on the record saying it: My father and uncle would turn over in their graves if they knew of some of the distresses that have gone on in my life, and especially, in the situations with both of my sons. This is not how I worked diligently to raise either of them, though certainly, with my own human flaws and weaknesses. I don’t see that I’ve done anything worse that other imperfect people and most families.

I am different from my grandmother, Orpha. But, I am like her, too, in some ways. I’ve sometimes said, “I am my dad, on steroids.” Meaning, I have my dad’s heart and my father’s eyes (and those who remember him recall he was quiet, passive and very shy) and many things about his nature, his handy skills, his gardens…tradition, faith and more…yet…God definitely gifted me with more of my mother’s DNA which has allowed me to flourish in a number of ways through intelligence, creativity, ambition, resourcefulness, and so much more. Actually, when it comes to resourcefulness, I get a good bit of that from my father, too. As for my mother, I do recall her cutting buttons, snaps and hooks off old clothing and sewing and mending many things.

Actually, anyone who grew up around those who lived through the Great Depression likely, if they were open to observation, forms of frugality and learning, could acquire the skill of making do, when and if occasion called for that, in small or larger ways. I have not bought cat litter now for 4-5 months, and have been making my own out of junk mail and various unneeded paper scraps. Amazing…my cats do not object…I run stuff through my office paper shredder as additional household chores these days! Ha…for a momentary tangent, I think of Meg Ryan in one of my favorite rom-coms…when she is told to “go to the mattresses…and fight, fight, fight!”

But back to Orpha and her china. My grandmother let go of that china thirteen years before her death, along with many other familiar things that might have brought her comfort. Had my grandfather not passed away when he did at 80, they would have continued hosting family get-togethers in their small home, on this china, for more years.

Because, that’s what normal families do.

But, what family is entirely normal? None, that I know of.

I recently suggested to one of my sons that I host a get together here, a barbeque or something, for their birthday. I was asked why they would want to come to my home for their birthday. I answered…”because that’s what normal families do.” And then, I was told, “Well, we aren’t a normal family.”

I’ve had it, really. With all of this nonsense. I’m about to plan an auction here of some things; it is what is necessary at this point. While I have enjoyed and valued the many years I have had some family heirlooms in my possession, I need to start making some tough decisions about how I can continue paying my bills here.

If my sons won’t show up (my youngest has never set foot on my property) to visit me regularly in a relaxed way, and offer themselves to me at my age with things they could do, and I could gift them money, produce and other things in return, I really don’t see why I should keep these items when their sale might make a difference at this point.

I can always get more plates for holidays, but it means nothing to not have my life back, which for most people my age, includes grown children and grandchildren freely coming and going and interacting in normal fashion.

_____

Speaking of family things, I was in a recent conversation with another relative and mentioned that many may not clearly know what I know (thanks especially to overhearing my mother’s detailing this a few times and warning me it was a hushed secret!).

Family secrets. All families have their various hushed stories. That’s fairly normal…as it goes…

And some secrets (especially in our day and age) aren’t necessarily so secret or so hidden of a mystery…or for that matter, worth concealing.

People have been having sex before marriage–yea even Christian-ish oldtimers–since the beginning of humankind. And, accidents happen. But in God’s overall plan, I believe no life is conceived apart from God’s ultimate plan and purposes! If that were the case, most everyone on the planet would exist due to “illegitimacy” at some point in their family lineage…surely! I think that what matters is that two people are faithful only to one another and make a marital covenant, choosing to allow the life that is formed to not only be born, but to be part of a family system that has made lifelong promise to one another.

And as a woman that has now twice divorced, to my dismay and heartbreak, I honor my paternal grandparents for their lives well-lived, to the best that they could.

But, the secret…

This cousin was surprised to learn that my grandmother, Orpha, was four months pregnant when she married Luther.

Yes, they were married July 5, 1913 and my father was born December 20, 1913.

So there!

So, in conclusion, yes, I am thinking a lot today about my grandmother’s china for various reasons, and about some other heirlooms that were essentially, “my dowry“ of sorts. In fact, last August I started a blog piece I never finished. Whatever prompted that partially finished draft may be long past now in my ruminations, or, perhaps, at some time in the future, I will finish it.

The title was: I Didn’t Come With a Dowry; I Came With a Dead Father and a Psychotic Mother.

The Laura pattern on Harmony House Fine China, made in Japan, according to this link, dates circa 1959. I’m thinking it was given to my grandparents, perhaps, for their 50th wedding anniversary in 1963.