I am the kind of person who owns a collection of random glassware. In fact, if I tried hard enough, I could trace the eras of my various kitchens via the contents of my cabinets. At some point, the solo orphans and abandoned twins were part of a set, but over the years their siblings succumbed to misadventure of some kind or other. A tumbler skidded off the counter and smashed on the ceramic tile, shards of glass skittering under the stove to remain there for all eternity. An overly enthusiastic New Year’s Eve toast resulted in a guillotined champagne flute, the stem rolling across the carpet to attempt to impale the baseboard. In the rush to wrap and pack the glasses for some move or other, there were inevitable casualties.
A sample of the insides of my cupboard:
- Two pink-stemmed wine glasses that are similar (but not identical) in height and size to the single black-stemmed one.
- A thick green Mexican margarita glass with a navy-blue rim and a thick green Mexican margarita glass with a dark green rim. Close enough for a pair in my book.
- Several tumblers etched with a “C” monogram, none of which I bought myself. Some are plain, a few are slightly rounded on the bottom and have glass ‘legs,’ and others have a thick base with a bubble in the centre. Sadly, I never took advantage of the broken ones to find out whether there really was air in the middle of the bubble. The mystery will endure.
- Five pink antique goblets that actually do match, but come up one short of being able to call themselves a set. Regardless, I am quite proud of the fact they have survived intact since 1928 when my grandmother got them as a wedding present. I have now officially jinxed them.
- Far too many mason jars of various capacities, which believe they are entitled to live with the glassware because they are composed of glass.
And that was pretty much the state of my glassware situation until a package showed up on my doorstep a few years ago. At the time, I lived in a duplex apartment with a shared front step. I had not ordered anything, so the box stayed there for several days, until I decided to be neighbourly and bring it into the vestibule. And there it sat for another two weeks, while my fellow tenants came and went, went and came. Ignoring it.
Eventually, I looked more closely at the delivery item. It had a barely discernible destination sticker and no return address. At this point, and I’m sure you will concur, I had no choice but to open the box.
What I found was a set of twelve wine glasses. Not just wine glasses, but crystal wine glasses. Not just crystal wine glasses, but “designer” crystal wine glasses. Vera Wang. I had no idea designer wine glasses were a thing, nor had I any idea how you “design” a wine glass. I immediately went online to find out what they had cost: $160 per glass, said Mr. Google. In my own defence, I had no way to return them.
When I examined the contents more closely, I discovered that two of the glasses had broken in transit. I was extremely dejected over being deprived of an ill-gotten even dozen, but I gave my head a shake. Ten expensive wine glasses! A bona fide set! And I kept them intact until today. I’m not sure why, but when I put one into the dishwasher, it shattered. I won’t bore you with the intricacies of how you clean glass shards from the bottom of a dishwasher. I’ll just say don’t try this at home.
But perhaps it’s just the circle of life. Glasses, like every carbon-based lifeform, can’t live forever. Especially not in my house.