On summer evenings, before the sun sets, long shafts of light move across the shelf. A warm glow illuminates the roses and forget me nots on the cups and saucers. Past generations of brides set their tables with these flowery ceramics. Who were those women? Did they set them out for special luncheons, accompanied by birthday cake or rounds of bridge? Or did their first owners optimistically use them every day, until children and years of hand washing led to chipped plates and broken-off handles? My shelf holds a collection of survivors. They may be mismatched, but they are ready for tea. Or birthday cake.