A sentimental stroll through an antique china cabinet

CLEVELAND, Ohio — I wish I could write a song about my china cabinet. I have, I believe, the most beautiful china cabinet in the world.

The cabinet itself is at least 100 years old. My husband and I purchased the dining room set, along with cabinet, in 1985 from a Dutch woman in Youngstown who had used it for 15 years. She had inherited it in a house where the set was in use for 35 years before that.

There are no documents about the set, nor is the furniture marked by a manufacturer. It is made of grained mahogany, and each piece features inlays of beautifully carved diamond designs.

The patina is deep — a rich combination of reddish dark browns — adding to the inherent charm.

Where I stand to look through the glass of the china cabinet is beside the large, matching dining table. Perhaps this is a magical space, because my shoes always pause there when passing through the dining room.

Somehow, after all these years, the blend of colors within the wavy glass of the cabinet creates a glowing harmony. China green, porcelain blue, flesh pink.

Across this room on the fireplace mantle is a handcrafted 1938 clock with a whirring, steady second hand.

To the hearth’s left is the dining set’s smaller buffet cabinet, which holds my mother’s Haviland china, and to the room’s right is the long sideboard, in which I keep linens and candles and miscellaneous treasures.

In the china cabinet, each treasure bursts with history as though lit from within, like a star. I don’t want the figures to be still, but they are.

Would that the ceramic snowman, with his straw broom, on the upper shelf to the left, could sing. He was a gift from one of our daughters, and I placed him next to a snowman greeting card from my best friend, Laura.

There are two intricately painted teapots and cups, which have been handed down for three generations. Maybe more.

My mother labeled the source of a rose-painted plate made in Germany, stamped ‘E & R’, as a gift from her Aunt Mae.

Many might say I am sentimental about trinkets. They may not see what I see in this constellation.

I see my Great-Aunt Edna’s spoons, the cut-glass bowl from Darlene (a wedding gift), my father’s wooden car models made in the 1940s, salt shakers, a snow globe and some gifts from our girls.

On the lower shelf is the old man with a basket — a figurine that would not be of much value, except that my mother took our daughters to a garage sale when they were young and they paid $3 for the old character, chosen as my birthday present that year.

The peasant wears a brown hat and earthy shoes, is carrying a spade and basket, and you can see that he is telling a wonderful story.

When we purchased the dining set from Mrs. Jansen as newlyweds those years ago, she left one of her treasures in the cabinet for us to enjoy — a set of three hand-painted porcelain houses from Holland.

The 4-inch-tall blue and white houses still anchor the cabinet’s middle shelf. I hope Mrs. Jansen is reading this.

Framing the works of art on each of the three shelves are a few dried flowers and leaves, which make a sort of calendar of life.

The other day, my husband, in passing the cabinet, remarked: “The next generation won’t be keeping china cabinets like this. They just don’t have the sentiment, I think. Everything now is more immediate.”

I hope he’s wrong.

Our daughters each have already asked for the bud vase, salt shakers, snow globe … and the old man figurine.

And they will need a cabinet to put them in.