Page 16 - February 2021
P. 16

STORY OF A PLATE
                                       STORY OF A PLATE
                                       STORY OF A PLATE
                   place  you  don’t  live  in  and  which  you  can’t  let  go  of  for  purely
                   sentimental reasons. Finally, when someone practical talked me into
                   letting go of that apartment, I packed my parents’ things into boxes,

                   and when movers' truck arrived, we carried some twenty boxes out
                   of what I still call “my parents’ building”, and loaded them onto the
                   truck.  When  I  unpacked  the  boxes  at  home,  I  found  my  parents’
                   books, papers, and other things, but only one plate from our “special
                   Moscow serviz". It is the plate you see here. I keep it in my kitchen
                   cupboard,  on  top  of  a  small  stack  of  regular  American  plates,  not
                   because I’ve forgotten its significance in my past, but simply because
                   I  have  no  other  place  for  it.  I  use  it  only  on  New  Year’s,  and  every
                   time I take it out, I tell my American-born daughter, “Do you know
                   where  this  plate  is  from?”  She  is  not  very  interested  in  hearing  its
                   story - she heard it many times before, yet this doesn’t stop me from
                   telling  it  to  her  yet  again  every  December  31st,  like  a  kind  of  New
                   Year’s Haggadah.

















































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        litterateur                                                                February 2021
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