The Blue Vase

By Jamie Seitz

When I was a child, my family and I would take weekly trips down to my grandparents’ house. They live down in Escondido, a small little city that takes you back to that old small-town feeling. Back in the 50’s, that area was mostly just oranges, and their house to this day is still hidden behind its very own grove. 

Once the car was parked my sisters and I would race to the front door to greet our grandparents. One of us would knock on the door and our grandparents would open two little windows on the doors so we could see their faces, and then they’d open the door, welcoming in their young grandchildren. We’d hurry to take off our shoes, then spend time with our grandmother—she always had stories to tell. My favorite story was about the blue vase. It sits in my grandparents’ room, always filled with fresh flowers that my grandpa buys for my grandma. When the sun hits the vase, it sparkles with different shades of blue, dancing around the room, the light hitting any observer’s face to make sure its beauty is seen. We’d always ask our grandma to tell us the story of how she came into possession of it.  

She sat us on the bed and began, “My grandfather, your great-great grandfather, was from Russia. During the time he lived in Russia, there was a civil war against the royals and the Bolsheviks. My grandfather was on the side of the royals. Unfortunately, they lost, and the Bolsheviks were coming after everyone that sided with the royals. He could only take very few items with him, and he chose to bring a vase. Everyone always thought it was strange to keep something so delicate in a time of war, but he did anyway. He knew he would never see his mother or brothers again once he left, and this vase was his mother’s. He escaped by going through Mongolia, where he met my grandmother. They took a boat that brought them to Washington. He didn’t have a ring to propose with, so he used the vase, and she said yes. Secretly I’ve always thought I was my grandfather’s favorite family member, always telling me stories and getting my favorite cookies when I’d visit him. Years later, your grandpa and I got married and that’s when my grandfather gifted me the vase. He was private about the gift because he knew how jealous my brother and mother would be if they knew I had received it as a gift. He told me to keep it safe, and to always remember him when I looked at the vase.” 

After finishing the story, my grandma would look at the vase with a nostalgic smile, remembering the time when she was our age, doing the same exact thing with her grandpa: watching the blue light dance on our faces, with the memory of our family before us.