“It’s Mirano” my mother insisted,
pointing to a new vase sitting on a low table across the living room.
The vase was a tall, cylindrical ceramic one filled with bright orange
alstroemeria flowers. “ Your Dad and I bought two vases the other day
and that one is Italian Mirano”. I looked at her and said “you mean
Murano? It would be glass if it were a Murano vase. This looks like
ceramic”.
She insisted it was indeed an
Italian ‘Mirano’ vase. My Father, overhearing this conversation, brought
the other vase they had bought from the kitchen to show me. This one was
a brightly swirled pattern of glass, which I recognized as ‘Murano’.
Dad agreed with this identification saying the other one (the one in
question) was English and Mom was mistaken.
My Father is fond of gently pulling
your tail when it’s within reach, and he wasn’t going to let this
opportunity slide by. He’s a natural pundit, punster, and a bit of a
prankster. Dad occasionally proclaims that when he travels without Mom
he’s Ruthless (that’s Moms name), I know this routine but I still laugh.
When Dad, Carl (my husband) and I
go out on hunting expeditions to the local shops I would often notice a
shift in their conversation. Knowing I was listening, Dad would start
sprinkling politically incorrect male chauvinist rhetoric into their
conversation. I knew this for the bait it was, and let him go on for a
while, then I’d say “I’m not biting”. I would hear Dad chuckle. Once
Carl informed Dad that I had my goat hoisted up particularly high that
day so he wouldn’t be able to get it.
Back to my story ….
Dad insisted the vase we were
talking about wasn’t Murano, Mom argued that it was “Mirano”. He picked
up the vase of flowers to look at the brand on the bottom. I could see
the flowers , I could see the ceiling fan, I could see what was about to
hit the fan.
Dad raised vase and as the ceiling
fan began clipping the flower heads and strewing them across the living
room floor he announced that this vase was English and made by a company
called _____ . I started laughing and he lowered the vase somewhat. Mom
questioned this information so Dad once again raised the vase up into
the fan blades and WHAP WHAP …. More bright orange petals hit the floor
as he looked at the brand name scratched on the bottom again to be sure.
He was sure now, and he picked up
the petals, shoved them into the vase, and set it back on the table.
Fluffing the remaining flowers to cover the bare spots he said “ I get
these flowers at Sam’s Warehouse. They last a long time, at least a
week”. Carl looked at him and said, “ they would last a lot longer if
you’d turn the fan off”.
carol mcleod
