Household Happiness: Etched Butter Dish

 I've had this glass butter dish for nearly 15 years.  It came from my grandmother's home.  One day, as a surprise, she boxed up  some old bowls that she knew I admired and sent them my way.   When I opened that box in my apartment in Nebraska, I found this butter dish among the treasures.  It's small but lovely and makes an appearance on my table for holiday meals and other special occasions.

It reminds me of my grandmother, of course.  And it also reminds me of a story my family tells about bread getting to the table a bit late in the supper, after the eating had begun.  My parents were in college and my mother had brought her boyfriend to meet her family for the first time.  Everyone was on their best behavior until the realization that the rolls had been left in the oven.  My grandmother rushed to bring the rolls to the table and when my father asked for a roll, my grandfather picked one up and made a pass down the table.  As my grandmother and mother looked on in horror, my dad caught the roll.  The eating resumed and my dad's ability to roll with the punches was noted.

I have memories of many suppers at my grandmother's home and those memories are of a laughing family, often engaged in loud political discussions.  Across generations, in places far and wide, this butter dish has been present. 

Oh, the stories it could tell.