Sterling patterns were a silver-plated significant deal back in the day

In my day, upperclassmen, in this case upperclasswomen, considered picking our silver patterns an important part of growing up, becoming senior class, looking forward to joining sororities, picking our majors and our life's work. Yes, picking a Sterling pattern was on a par with deciding on a husband or a life's work. I'm exaggerating only the tiniest little bit.

We (I) never walked by a jewelry store without stopping to peruse the silver flatware displayed in the case. "Grand Baroque" or "Louie V" patterns were popular with girls from wealthy families, being as how those patterns were more expensive and elaborate and obviously belonged in a mansion. They figured that's where they'd live someday. This was before the little real estate bobble in which we now live.

My mother and her sister, Aunt Doll, bought silverplate flatware after they were married and had homes; it was a sign of gentility, that being a very desirable thing.

Silverplate flatware was still very upscale. Mother's pattern was "Eternally Yours." I still have some pieces. They were made by Oneida Community silverplate. You wouldn't believe how much I know about the Oneida Community, having written a term paper on the subject at UNLV.

The late 1860s had a spat of communes, just as the 1960s did in our generation. The Oneida Community was on land in upstate New York that had belonged to the Oneida Indians, then was bought by John Knowles and his "family" commune. They pooled their money, built a mansion and lived in it together. They considered that they were all married to each other and chose partners for the night over pre-dinner wine in the drawing room.

The older women had the responsibility to OK the nightly pair-ups. They were careful to place younger men with older women and older men with younger women and to remember the set-ups in case of future developments such as pregnancy. Talk about your Yentas!

They had an animal-trap mail-order business that they later turned into a silverplating business. The community developed some innovative manufacturing processes. For instance, when the community members received a large order, they rang a bell as a signal for everybody to drop whatever they were doing and assemble for a work party, so they could get the order out in good time. They made these "work parties" fun events with singing and joking.

My uncle Sterling spent time in Japan at the end of World War II and went to the trouble of buying and sending sets of China to his sisters. Setting a fine table was the mark of the upper class in the '40s and '50s, so it naturally became the mark of the pretentious as well, and that's me, folks. I submit that it isn't pretentious if you know it's pretentious.

My Sterling flatware is "Rose" by Stieff, an old-time Connecticut silver company. It took 30 years and two husbands to complete the service for eight with all the extra serving pieces. I even have the strawberry spoon, baby spoons and a toddler set.

So I mentioned to my daughter-in-law, mother of my new and first grandchild, the world's most perfect baby boy, that the silver is going to be hers someday. She said, "Oh, don't bother. I'm not about to take care of that stuff. I'll just have it melted down and put the money in the bank. We all use stainless now."

I said, "Don't you dare! I'll come back and haunt you!" My darling son said, "Don't worry, Mother. I won't let her do that."

But now I'm bummed out. If she doesn't want to take care of it, she might not rinse salad dressing off the salad forks and they'll pit! Oh, the horror.

I guess it goes without saying that she won't want my cut crystal celery dish, so what do I do with that? I have enough cut crystal serving ware to start a store. Eureka! That's it. A store! Or maybe if I pack it really well, she'll save it for my grandson's wife, in case we ever find anyone good enough for him.

Meanwhile, all is not lost. There are still kind people in the world. And there are such things as art, poetry and music. And I have always relied on the kindness of strangers. Belle Rive, here I come.

I guess I have to credit Tennessee Williams here. That's not Blanche DuBois' curtain speech verbatim from "A Streetcar Named Desire," but it's close enough for newspaper work.

Betty Bunch is a former dancer. Today, she works with the national Elderhostel Association. Contact her at bettybunch100@gmail.com.