The French pottery I’ve spent 30 years collecting

I grew up in the Baby Boom years. As my parents ascended from working class to middle class, I noticed (even as a child) that there were things they acquired that were often not meant to be used. They had “fancy” dishes that only saw the light of day at Thanksgiving, table linens too pristine to ever be served on, and rooms that were deemed suitable only when we had company (even though we rarely had any).

Years later, as I began to form my own household, I was determined that my home would be the kind of place where people could put their feet up and put a glass down — and that I wouldn’t buy anything if it seemed too delicate.


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