more than plates…

There was a time I collected vintage Corelle plates like small treasures.

Not all at once.

Not in any kind of plan - I LOVED having that stack of mismatch plates that fit together beautifully in the cupboard.

Just one here, one there… found between chipped mugs and forgotten casserole dishes at thrift stores and yard sales wherever I went. Patterns that felt like something. Gold florals, soft greens, deep blues.

I didn’t realize it then, but I was building something for myself. Those plates became a big part of Sweet Stuff Sunday. A small ritual. A reason to make something, plate it, pause, and appreciate it before it was gone.

Just a real moment that I captured. 

Half-eaten slices of cake.

Cookies still warm.

Fork marks. Crumbs.

Dogs waiting patiently just out of frame.

And then one day, I came home from work and they were gone.

Every single one.

Thrown away by my [now] ex. On trash pickup day. I couldn’t even dig them out to save them.

I was devastated.

I was also convinced this had to be done “for my safety.” That they might be leaking lead. So they weren’t thrown out in anger.

Or at least… not in a way I was allowed to question.

And somehow that made it worse.

Because I didn’t feel like I had the right to be upset.

I felt like I should be grateful.

Like something being taken from me was acceptable, as long as it was framed as care. And the intent was not to hurt me, but still…

They disappeared without a conversation.

Without a moment to say, wait.

So I was forced to let them go.

What other choice did I have?

But, gah those plates stayed with me. I always think about them. Collecting them spanned years. 

But it wasn’t all about the plates. 

I had chosen them slowly.

They were tied to a version of my life where I was quietly trying to create something of my own.

I’d catch myself looking in thrift stores, hoping to find even one again.

I never did.

It’s strange what lingers.

Ten years later, I can still see those plates in the photos above from my old posts.

Still see the way they held something I made with love. The way they made ordinary moments feel like they mattered.

And every time, there’s this quiet pull to build it again.

I’ve browsed eBay. Hovered. Considered.

But never quite pulled the trigger.

And then today…

I saw them.

Three patterns I used to have. Reissued. At Target.

My heart started fluttering.

So easy this time. No hunting. No wondering if I’d ever find them again. Just sitting there like nothing had happened, waiting for me to ‘add to cart’.

It felt absurd.

And also a little like grace.

I have been working very hard to release the past. Release hurt associated with it. And I know these may seem like just plates to most people. But no. This is deeper. Like I was being handed a second chance to reach back into something I thought was gone.

I almost cried.

Actually… I did. Just a little.

So I bought them.

Three patterns I used to have. Not all of them - but three. 

Not replacements. Something more… a return.

They’re on their way now. Somewhere between a warehouse and this old farmhouse.

And I can’t wait to hold them.

To plate something on them again.

To maybe bring back Sweet Stuff Sunday.

The plates are coming back.

This time, they stay as long as I want them to.