Cereal bowls, novelty glasses, bent forks, and burnt spatulas
Some things enter our lives and become a part of us - babies, pets, husbands, wives, and once there, you can’t imagine a world without them. Yet, no matter how tightly you hold onto them, there is no guarantee they will stay. Children grow up, pets die, and sometimes love fades. People are constantly drifting in and out of our lives. Is there anything we can count on to be there for us when we need it - reliable and unquestioning? I never really thought about it until this morning, as I leaned against the counter enjoying some Frosted Flakes and noticed I was eating it out of a Blue’s Clues bowl. I mean, how old is this bowl? It must be going on twenty years old. Why do we still have this? Scanning the shelves, it appears almost every kitchen item we have ever bought or received as a gift has become a permanent addition to our home.
Some of these items are still as cool as the day they came into our lives, so why get rid of them? And even though I don’t love every kitchenware choice, how nice does our daily cereal bowl have to be, after all? Do we need a constant supply of newer and hipper bowls? As long as it doesn’t leak, any old bowl will do. It appears that most of these were bought on a whim or were part of a promotion, which must be how we came to own a set of Kellogg’s bowls featuring their best-selling cereal mascots. They are cute, but the rim is weird and causes the milk to run down your chin as you tip it to drink. Although this is annoying, I will keep using it for the rest of my life.
We have a few salad bowls that I’m not crazy about, but they are part of a set, and if it is part of a set, then they will never depart. For instance, we have a spoon that flipped out of a cereal bowl and into the garbage disposal as it was being turned on, rescued with just a few nicks and scratches sustained. Did we throw it out? Of course not. It is part of a set and you cannot break it up. Eventually, we will lose or bend enough silverware to justify buying an entirely new set. That first year with the new spoons feels so decadent. During this honeymoon period, I feel like royalty while slowly eating my breakfast, even if it is out of the Tony the Tiger bowl.
If a story or memory is tied to one of these objects, it isn't easy to part with. For example, my parents had a small baby bowl with an image of a bunny in a cabbage patch. It was bought in the seventies and is probably composed entirely of lead, but it is still there in the cupboard, ready for the next great-grandchild to come along. All these years later, I now understand why they held onto that bowl. I can still picture our kids’ tiny hands smashing Cheerios and goldfish crackers on their little plates. There is no way I am going to get rid of those things. The sippy cups they used were gnawed into obsolescence decades ago, leaving us no choice but to throw them away, but those tiny little spoons and forks will remain and be repurposed as pickle stabbers or mustard scoopers. A chipped plate or crack in a glass is the only thing that will send these items into the trash bin. All the rest live in the cupboards as always - waiting to become useful once again.
Could it be that the impermanence of life paralyzes us when it comes to clearing the shelves of dependable Pokemon glasses and Land Before Time bowls? The world outside is impossible to control. Maybe this is how we cling to the past. As the kids grow up and leave us, I feel like I am desperately trying to hold onto something - anything, that I possibly can to maintain that connection to the past. The plates, bowls, and cups we chose without much thought have become sacred family objects. Letting go is not an area of strength for me if you haven’t already guessed.
PS
Whenever we have people over and start setting the table, my wife and I will carefully, covertly, and unconsciously select the best plates and glasses for the guests. Sometimes we have to lift each glass to the light to see if it has faint scratches. This is all done while holding up our end of the conversation. My wife might reply to a question as I turn my back and inspect the flatware. It is a delicate ballet that was never discussed or rehearsed, yet perfected over time. Eventually, I’ll end up using that scratched glass, scarred spoon, or chipped plate myself, saving the best pieces for our guests to use. I’ll find myself sitting down, filling my glass, dishing up some food, and eating off the shittiest place setting anyone has ever seen.
