“Yes,” I replied as I stirred my Christmas concoction and poured her a cup. “Oh Mimi!” my five-year-old granddaughter exclaimed. My grandchildren soon arrived to celebrate Christmas. Looking at the hoard, a relative exclaimed “Your mother was preparing for a party she never had.” I don’t know of a better description of her life. Art glass nestled among hand-cut crystal mugs. Inexpensive second-hand store finds stood next to antique wine goblets. My mother passed away this year and the crystal punch bowl set was only one among many treasures. It sat silently on top of the antique china cabinet stuffed to the gills with other unused glass items. It belonged to my mother, but in all the years I had known her, not once had it ever been used. ![]() Waiting for the guests to arrive, I looked at the bowl and thought of the long journey it had made. It was a time of celebration and the crystal punch bowl made my simple recipe special. Setting out eight matching punch cups, I mixed ginger ale with Hawaiian punch and stirred. I flicked it with my finger and listened to the high-pitched ding only real lead crystal can make. My hand lingered along the crystal punch bowl.
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