Polish The Silver

Polish the silver. From time to time, a thin layer of tarnish can appear on the metal’s surface. This natural oxidation process is prompted by a variety of external substances.  Don’t worry, the precious metal’s luster remains below the dark film. With a little effort, the coating can be removed, and the silver will be restored to its natural beauty.

I have three sisters. I am the second in the Burgess line-up. One by one, we entered the world in a five-year span, 1951-1955.  We grew up in Ames, the smallest incorporated village in New York State. Then, after high school graduation, each of us flew out of the nest.  Currently we reside in 4 different states.

The 4 of us enjoyed varied careers. We expressed different opinions and have evolved over the years. Just because we share a common river of blood does not mean we have to be identical. But deep down, we were forged from the same precious metal. So, to keep our unique shine, we must polish the silver. It is an ongoing effort.

At the end of January 2026, I hosted a sisterly gathering at my home in in Lancaster, PA. Before the gathering, I charged each one of my siblings to bring a special memento. I was not specific. Whatever meaningful item that could be found was welcome.  And what showed up was beyond my wildest expectation.

Perched on stools at my kitchen counter—which my older sister, Chris, fondly calls the magic kitchen—we started the evening with wine and some brie and crackers. We had decided to take turns revealing our treasures. No order. Well, that simple activity transported us back to our childhood Ames days. Giggles and laughter fueled the time machine.

First, my youngest sister, Vanessa, appeared from around the corner wearing one of our mother’s short wigs. Vanessa had tucked her longer blond hair under the platinum crown and struck a pose. The three of us practically fell off our stools in laughter at the sight of her. Gone was Vanessa. There was Mom! I am not sure why my sister kept one of mom’s treasured wigs. Mom died in 2014 and in her later years she had amassed quite a collection of expensive, real hair headpieces. Next, too tempting to stop with just one model, Chris tried the wig on. The laughter intensified as we huddled around her. There was Mom again! Man!  Genes are forever.

Sister number 3, Jill, stepped up next.  She read from her mid-1960’s journal about one of our family’s European trips. Now, I am known as the keeper of the past, but, I do not even have such diaries! Reading the entry, written in beautiful penmanship, Jill narrated in detail her young observations of a particular adventure in the city of Nuremberg, Germany. Jill’s diary jogged my memory. During that European springtime afternoon, a moment of drama burst out like a flare in the sky. My older sister, Chris, went missing from the family… for over an hour.

Pause.

We confronted Chris. What happened? Where did you go and why? Chris could not recall any details. She could not offer any explanation of her teenage behavior.

Resume.

Jill read on. She noticed that as our parents processed the situation, there was no evidence of panic about their eldest child’s absence. In fact, Jill wrote, “…and we all had a Coke”. Can you imagine? No cell phones, a foreign country, no sign of the teen and we turned to a carbonated beverage to tamp down the potential looming danger! Wow!

Jill continued the story. Fortunately, Chris reappeared after almost ninety minutes, out of breath, and from the opposite side of the square. She ran towards the café area where we were calmly still sipping on our sodas.

And this is the part that I remembered, the soles of Chris’s shoes were missing!  According to Jill’s remarks, mom and dad did not seem too alarmed. After all, the cobblestone streets were quite rough.

Pause. We pressed Chris again for an explanation. What the heck happened? Don’t you remember anything? Weren’t you scared? Chris threw her hands up in the air in defeat. Her blank expression did not provide any insight.

Jill read on. Once we were together again, our parents decided that not only did Chris need new shoes, but that we ALL would get new shoes. Nothing like new shoes and a Coke to make it all good.

And the Nuremberg mystery remains.

Chris, now known as the Nuremberg wanderer, presented her memento next. She put 3 photographs on the counter. One was of her young family when they lived in Eureka, CA. It was fun to peer into her past. And then she showed 2 pictures of me. In each one, I was next to a former paramour.  There was a 70’s picture of me with my college boyfriend and an 80’s one with my new husband. I felt my heart expand with the young love memories. Both men are now gone.

Now, it was my turn.  I first offered up a “promise ring” given to me in 1968 from my then high school steady.  He said that there was a diamond chip between the two hearts which added value. My sisters had never seen the ring before and strained to find the diamond piece. I insisted it was there. I also presented my high school graduation ring. Class of 1970 Canajoharie HS. The ring triggered a host of funny high school stories as we refilled our glasses, reminisced, and laughed some more.

I had one more item to share. Being the theatrical one in the group—a future story will be forthcoming that tells of my memorable Fulton Theatre experience during that same visit—I disappeared and returned modeling my grandmother’s fur piece.  Sewn together are two flattened mink pelts, complete with glass eyes, sharp claws, and skinny tails. Back in the day, well-dressed women proudly draped these innocent rodents over a more modest cloth coat to fancy it up. My grandmother, Ethel, even had her initials stitched on the silk lining of the garment. The mink stole is mine, but I have yet to wear it in public.

Four sisters.  A collection of two hundred ninety-two years this year. Nine children among us spawning collectively fifteen grandchildren. Four days of memories and adventures. Four morning coffees at the kitchen counter as we greeted a new day together. Three homemade dinners from the magic kitchen. Now that’s a lot of silver to polish.

So, I will continue to polish the silver and find other opportunities to bring us together. May there be many more years and many more laughs as we all continue to polish the silver.

       Kim