The Antique Vase

Joyce and I took the train - this time, a much better one than the one in Italy, to London.

Joyce had an aunt who lived in London. I was to stay there for a week before going up to Edinburgh. It was very nice of her to put me up. She had never met me.

Joyce's aunt lived in a very pleasant and airy flat in the City, in what was once a Terrace home, three stories high, with a basement. Those homes were owned by individual families at one time and now they were converted into flats - apartments. The building was probably about a hundred years old, but it would likely to last another hundred years or two. Solid and sturdy, like the British lady's walking shoes. She had furnished it with nice little watercolors and Oriental vases and such, possibly souvenirs that she gathered from her travels.

I believe she was a teacher.

London! Another new city to explore. New sights. New sounds. I was excited.

Then, I got word that there was a dock strike and it may last for weeks, or months. Our trunks! We would not get our clothing and other stuff for a while. The weather was turning cold. Scotland would be even colder. I did have a coat with me, and a couple of sweaters. But my cotton skirt would not do much good for me once I got to Edinburgh. Even in London, I could feel the chillness in the evenings.
So I decided that I had to buy me something. A skirt! I bought a light gray colored wool skirt. Little did I know that I was to wear that one skirt for the next month or so. Because the dock strike did not end until then. My trunk did not reach me in Edinburgh until sometime in October. I did find out that one can really live with a lot less clothing than we think we needed. No-one commented on the fact that I was in that same skirt day after day. I did have different tops on though.

We explored London some on foot and some by bus. We were learning about London. So much to see and to explore in this great historic city.

After being in the apartment for a few days, Joyce and I decided to make ourselves useful. Her aunt had gone out. We decided to clean the apartment. So we did.
We swept. 
We dusted. 
We washed. 
We thought the little vase on the side table could use a good cleaning, so I washed it. The years of dirt came off.

It turned out that the vase was an antique. And antiques are not supposed to be washed, only to be dusted! Good Grief, what was I thinking?
How am I ever going to remedy this?
Joyce's aunt was the ever-gracious lady. She did not lose her cool.

I was mortified! 
 
I needed a lesson on antiques and how to care for them!