“Flow Blue”
Ever since I outgrew my little girl pink phase, blue has been my
favorite color. My younger sister always felt and still feels she owns
permanent rights to blue, however despite her claim I typically choose blue
when shopping for clothes or the perfect paint color for my living room wall,
and it is the blue crayon I always reach for when coloring with my
granddaughters. Perhaps then, it is no surprise that my youngest daughter’s
favorite color is blue as is her daughter’s. I’ve never heard that family
genetics determine color preference, but I’m convinced our fondness for that
hue had to begin with my Great, Great Grandmother’s “Flow Blue” china.
Flow Blue is a type of porcelain that originated in the Victorian era in
England. The name is derived from the blue glaze designs or patterns that
blurred or "flowed" onto the bone white china of each dish during the firing
process. I’d never heard of Flow Blue until shortly after I was married, and
my mother presented me a covered bowl with cobalt blue designs upon a
white background. I immediately noticed that the designs, while beautiful,
appeared blurry. My mother told me the bowl once belonged to my Great,
Great Grandmother on my father’s side. She suggested I display the bowl in
my Great Grandmother’s round front glass china cabinet which was now
mine and was sitting proudly in the dining room of our newlywed home. I
remember admiring the bowl’s deep blues often that day as I’d pass through
the dining room going to the kitchen. I soon asked if there were other pieces
of the Flow Blue; unfortunately it appeared the bowl was the lone survivor.
Time passed and other items were added to Great Grandmother’s
round front cabinet which held place settings of the Lenox Moonspun china
we’d received as wedding gifts along with the little bride and groom
figurines that sat atop our wedding cake and the christening gowns of our
two little girls and while each of those had a special place in my heart, it was
Great, Great Grandmother’s Flow Blue that always caught my eye. I often
wondered if the bowl was the only piece she ever owned and imagined a
china cabinet full of the beautiful blue and white.
Perhaps the most colorful member of my family was my Great Uncle
Rex. He grew up in the early part of the twentieth century and played
trombone in Coon Sanders Band during the Roaring Twenties in Chicago at
a hotel that was Al Capone’s headquarters. He later served his country
during the war and eventually became county judge of Poinsett County. One
day while I was visiting him I described the Flow Blue bowl I had that
belonged to what would have been his grandmother. He scratched his head
and said, “You know, I think I have a dish that looks like that in my pump
house that I keep nails in.” I couldn’t believe it! We went to the pump
house, and sure enough –there was a covered gravy boat, and it was Flow
Blue! Needless to say, I suggested he use a fruit jar to hold the nails, and he
gladly gave me his pump house treasure –somewhere I was sure Great, Great
Grandmother smiled as a lost companion was added to the round front china
cabinet.
In the early 1980’s we built a new home that we live in to this day –a
home that first saw our small daughters playing with dolls and then
witnessed their teenage friends coming over and talking on the phone to
boyfriends. By this time I had acquired a lovely mahogany library table that
belonged to my maternal grandmother and gave it a place of honor in our
living room. Since I no longer had to worry about the inquisitive hands of
little children, the table was the perfect place to display my cherished Flow
Blue removing its need to compete for my attention with the even more
special things added to the round front cabinet.
During this time our oldest daughter’s best friend was frequently at
our home. Those two girls spent hours upstairs glamorizing themselves to
knock the guys dead, but occasionally they reverted to children --once they
spent an entire afternoon drawing and coloring fairies and then got ready for
their Saturday night dates. It was during one of these “children” times that it
happened.
Most people believe that an airplane is something that flies in the sky
and takes passengers to far away vacation spots; however, “Airplane” has
another meaning. I was upstairs dustmopping the hallway when I heard
laughter become a loud crash followed by cries from the living room –cries
which could only be interpreted as cries of anguish coming from my oldest
daughter and her best friend. I ran down the stairs expecting to see blood,
but when I looked at the faces of those two girls I saw unbelief and dilated
pupils. They had suddenly become mute and were staring at me without
blinking until my daughter glanced to her right taking my gaze with her.
There, pushed up against the window and lying on its side, was my
Grandmother’s library table and in front of it on the carpet lay my Flow Blue
in pieces. I couldn’t say anything, but I felt my eyes sting as they filled with
tears unable to take in the words of apologetic horror spilling from those two
girls –I seem to remember wondering if I saw tears in their eyes as well or if
I was only seeing them through the watery lens of my own.
My daughter had been lying on her back on the living room floor with
her legs extended straight up at a right angle. Her friend, the “Airplane,”
was balancing with her stomach positioned on the bottom of my daughter’s
feet and her body parallel to the floor and her arms and legs extended. My
daughter served as the engine providing the Airplane’s lift into the air by
moving her legs back and forth. It seems the “Airplane” encountered
turbulance as the flight took a wild turn which literally sent it airborn
straight into the table. I don’t remember what I said to them, but I do
remember getting the wastebasket and then seeing the pieces of cobalt and
white lying at the bottom.
I couldn’t believe my own stupidity for taking the Flow Blue out of its
safe haven china cabinet. That night I unsuccessfully tried to stop thinking
about how those two dishes had survived so very many years and how they
had been touched by my Great, Great Grandmother who passed them on to
her daughter, my Great Grandmother, who passed them on to her daughterin-law, my Grandmother, who passed them on to her daughter-in-law, my
Mother, who passed them on finally to me –end of the line, no more passing
on.
Several days went by, and with each day I managed to think a little
less about the loss of my Flow Blue. My daughter spent her time after
school upstairs in her bedroom probably anticipating a return lecture on
acting your age. Then one afternoon I came in from a teacher’s meeting,
and there on the dining room table sat the Flow Blue covered bowl and
gravy boat and next to them a letter. As I reached down to pick up the letter
I could easily see the cracks in the Flow Blue filled with glue and the holes
where a piece was too small to glue back in place. The letter read: “Dear
Mom, I am so sorry for breaking your dishes. I know how important they
were to you. I took the pieces out of the wastebasket and have been working
in my bedroom after school trying to put them back together. I know it
doesn’t look very good. I’d give anything if it had never happened. I love
you.”
Today I cherish my Flow Blue even more than I did before. When I
see it, I still imagine my Great Grandmother’s hands touching it as she sets it
out for a special dinner …and I see my daughter’s hands. The passing will
continue and with it a story of love.