They have moved from domicile to domicile, each relocation requiring me to find a suitable wall large enough to display them without looking garish or pretentious. They even accompanied me to Hawaii, where they remained in packing boxes because I had not researched the housing market well enough before I moved. Even though I did eventually find a minuscule apartment I could afford, the cement block walls did not lend themselves to hanging plates. With that exception, I have displayed them -- regardless of nuisance, regardless of the necessity for precise measuring, regardless of having to envision and re-envision a pattern that works -- no matter where I have gone. I have hung them so many times that I have memorized the dimensions. Each plate hanger must go 10 inches from another.
These are not just any blue plates. These are Royal Copenhagen Christmas plates. The Danish company has a remarkable history dating from the mid-1700s. It prides itself on superior craftsmanship in its trademark blue and white porcelain. The Christmas plates gain their value as collector's items based on a variety of factors, but their value to me is primarily sentimental.
My mother began gifting me with a plate each year, starting in 1962, for 25 years. I'm guessing the starting date must have had something to do with the first Christmas after I graduated from high school. Apparently she thought this rite of passage marked a new level a maturity, probably her wish more than a reality. Nonetheless, I have guarded them carefully through the decades. I have lived, at least with regard to the plates, up to her expectations.
This may account for her oft-repeated question during the process of my most recent move.
"Have you hung the plates yet?" she would ask each time I spoke to her on the phone.
"Not yet," I would reply, somewhat dreading the prospect while at the same time appreciating tradition.
I called her the moment I finished. I've made her proud.
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