The Sugar Keep

My sister got the sugar keep. Each time I saw it in her kitchen, I wanted it. I was young and unmarried when such things were divvied up after my grandparents’ passing. I didn’t have much regard for sentimental things while I was chasing what I thought was my dream. After all, who needs an old glass jar? Yet each time I would visit my sister’s kitchen, there it was.  Its intricate edged glass, its tapered shape, its worn metal flip top lid…the old sugar resting at the bottom.

I wanted it – and she wouldn’t give it. It did fit in with her kitchen - at home with her antique spice tins and miniature tea cups. Why did I yearn for it so?

And then on a special visit last year, the sugar keep became mine in an instant. No begging, no teasing about it “going missing” after my visit….just a cheerful “sure you can have it”! Yeeesssssss, the coveted memento would finally be mine!   

I insured it was packed well. Layers of bubble wrap cradled it on the journey to my home 1200 miles away. When the box arrived – I hurriedly examined the contents. All was well.

“Where would I display it?”,  I pondered. The perfect spot beckoned from a small shelf in the living room. I stood back admiring the arrangement.  A gentle peace washed over my heart….and I remembered.

The table in my grandparents’ kitchen. The sugar keep, the salt and pepper shakers, the butter dish hiding creamy, soft butter beneath its metal cover - all grouped neatly atop the vinyl tablecloth. 

I thought of my Grandmother’s hands as she worked in that tiny kitchen.  She prepared scratch meals for my Grandpa every day. He would come home for lunch to that waiting table. Real meat, real potatoes, real vegetables from their garden.  

He would take his place at the head of that waiting table, my grandmother seated beside him, and they prayed. My grandfather was not a man of many words. And she didn’t expect many. They sat and they ate. Together.  I don’t remember much conversation. Maybe a “good dinner, dear” followed by a quiet “thank you”. It wasn’t necessary. They had commitment…covenant. They were walking through life together – every day. They worked together, prayed together, stayed together. That’s why the sugar keep from their table stirred so much within me. It wasn’t what they said….it was how they lived. That tapered glass jar - a witness now sitting quietly on my shelf. A reminder of lives well lived and a legacy that lives on.