There is always a section in our utensils drawer that is more empty than others. The spoons are useful for many things, and seem to have a natural concern. They jump from the confines of the kitchen. They jump to cars and carriers. Sometimes the places to which they go are Even strange. All they need is that some piece of China whisper “Hello, Diddle Diddle”, and there they go, slipping with the dish again.
In their absence, I have learned more about them. The spoons have, depending on who asked, between four and seven parts. There is bowl and mango: the two parts that I know better, because I hold one part and the other has the food. But there is also The neckthe shoulders, the drop, the tip of the bowl and The tip of the mango.
The different types of spoons are combined with different purposes. A ranking spoon can strain beans and lentils, a ramen spoon helps you drink the broth and get your noodles. When you need a break to eat ramen, the bent tip of the spoon handle is like the pastor thief who used to lean against the lifeguard tower, a tool to prevent your spoon from drowning. The name of a ramen spoon is QuirirengaA fallen lotus petal.
My grandfather ate a grapefruit every morning with a serrated spoon that helped see a sweet pulp portion. I did not know my other grandfather, but for a while we had the roofs of his family, which would go on the holidays and then move away again, all the spoons are located with each other.
The spoons in our house are now constantly using, which can be part of why they like to escape the exhaustion. Sometimes, they can be found again. A recent expedition in a backpack found a group of fugitives grouped at the bottom, placing each other for warmth. I am seeing them more closely now, wondering if they relieve that they are used once again for their planned purpose, or if they prefer to be traveling spoons, see the world, or at least, a lot of mathematics tasks and packages of spices.
One of my deeply shameful pandemic purchases was a huge steel egg spoon, which is used to cook eggs on a fire. He had visions of a life lived almost completely out of the doors, a garden large enough to feed ourselves and our neighbors, egg chickens, sea fish. We would never have to go to the store again.
The spoon is so long that it reminds me of A parable that describes heaven and hell. In hell, people feel around a table with a pot of soup in the middle. The spoons they have are so long that, although each person can reach soup, they can never feed themselves, and these people always starve, the food they need out of reach.
In the sky, there is the same soup, the same spoons. But here, each person takes a spoonful of soup and uses their long spoon to feed the person in front of them. The people of this party are happy, laughing, full of warm soup and the company of others. Their destination is not determined by the spoons they have, but how they use them and how they share what they have with others.
Five years later, we go to the grocery store more than ever. I use my long handling spoon approximately twice a year. You will not want to eat directly from him, it’s too hot, but the eggs they make are delicious. And if you can turn your bubbling egg and frey in the air, satisfaction is like a golden dawn, that the plate and the spoon could be observing while they are held, where those aunt’s aunt can be.
I understand what caused the dish to escape with the spoon. It is something about the shape, the roundness of the bowl, the sweetness of the handle in hand. I know someone who bought a small and perfect old salt spoon with the first money he earned on his own. The bowl was the size of his miniature. Since then it has been wondered if it was something wrong to buy, the wrong thing about loving.
I don’t think it is. I do not think there is wrong to love something beautiful and useful, with appreciating the hands that do.
I know the power that the spoons has, because I have escaped with one myself. Once there was a perfectly rounded soup spoon that had left behind in the open -air cuisine in a camp, once we stayed close to Joshua Tree. I could not stop using it, and the last day, I took it, leaving behind one of our motoned camp spoons in return. I have often thought that I will return one day to return it, but when I looked recently, the camp had closed, the tents and the typis and the kitchen packed and moved away.
Now I am here with my stolen spoon. Every time I use it, I feel a little guilt, but above all the pleasure for how well what it does. The mango is not long, but I tell myself that the beauty of this spoon can fill places that are empty, and that, when these places are full, I can also fill the emptiness of another person better. I tell myself that if one day it goes out with a plate or makes its way in a pocket, I will want them to be safe trips and a mouth to feed at the end of the day.
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“Hello Diddle Diddle“Via the Wikimedia Commons/Creative Commons license.
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