Warning: This tidbit is quite the whimsical venture away from what I typically write. Please do not hold any of the ridiculosity that comes out of this against me. I will write something a little more… uhh… intellectual soon, promise. ;] But please do read– I would be glad to hear what you think, as I am always looking to expand my horizons and sharpen my skills as a writer.
There is something special to be said for the spoon. As with the wheel, the spoon, though it is simple, has a marvelously genius quality to it.
A spoon fits smoothly into your mouth, sitting comfortably right along your tongue.
Flip the spoon upside down and it will match that curve in the roof of your mouth almost perfectly.
Once you’ve licked the wide end of the spoon, the handle end of the utensil becomes the perfect uncontaminated instrument for dipping into that jar of Nutella or peanut butter just once more.
You know those recipes stashed in a file in a box under the kitchen sink? The ones for grandmother’s sugar cookies and dad’s tomato bisque? They involve ingredients measured out, you guessed it, in spoons. These spoons, though, represent something far more powerful than lumps of cinnamon and salt. They represent grandmother’s and dad’s legacy of love for us that keep reappearing time after time, a recipe that never runs dry.
The spoon, I am happy to inform you, is useful not just for food-related activities. This day in age, just about everyone has a smartphone camera to show them their reflection. But, when in dire need, the concave side of a spoon provides a humorous but not altogether terrible upside-down mirror.
Have you ever breathed hot air onto the convex side of a spoon, which you then stuck on your nose? If you were lucky, it stuck for a few moments and then fell off with a plink and a rise or raucous laughter from around the dining room table.
“Spoons” is even the name of a card game that is addictive for children and adults alike. Put the spoons in a pile and play your cards until everyone in the game has quickly snatched up their spoon except for that one sad loser. But let’s not call him a loser: he gets honorary mention because at his next meal he is still allowed to eat with a full set of utensils.
The spoon is also the preferred metaphorical measurement for explaining how those with chronic illness must cautiously divvy out their time. This metaphor, plain as it may be, has been the difference for many between understanding a friend’s suffering and remaining completely yet unintentionally ignorant.
Can we all just take a moment to appreciate the spoon? I think we do not give the shiny ol’ character his deserved credit.
What “simple” items are you particularly grateful for because they hold memories and meaning beyond their modest every-day use?
With a whimsical grin,
P.S. Again, please don’t hold this post in contempt. I cannot tell if I am actually writing anything worth reading or if I have completely gone mad and am at a total loss for inspiration! But this was fun to write, either way. Teeheehee