Spoons - A Human Experiment

       

      Recently we left our teenage daughters at home for the weekend.  They were invited to join us for the little get-away, but as the semester had just finished and they were exhausted from finals week, they chose to sleep-in at home and laze around watching Netflix all weekend.  Before departing I took their grocery list and stocked them up with their favorite goodies to assuage my Mommy Guilt.  Then I put the dog in charge and left.

         My only request was for them not to go brain-dead on screens and to keep the kitchen reasonably sanitary by rinsing and putting dishes into the washer I had just emptied.  They pretty much pulled that off – at least to their own slovenly standards.

         What stuck with me upon our return, though, was not how they have become independent human beings and were able to cook and clean up after themselves.  Not the thought of how close they are to leaving our nest and becoming real adults out on their own.  What struck me was how many spoons they used! 

Not so many forks or knives, but every single spoon from the drawer was now soiled and in the dishwasher waiting for a steamy spa treatment.  The long-handled, delicate dessert spoons, the regular meal spoons and even the fat soup spoons were all used up.

If this had been just my junk-food daughter, I would get it.  She would just go from ice-cream container to yogurt cup to cereal bowl – I could totally see her subsisting on scooping food from container to mouth.  But this weekend included my health-conscious daughter who enjoys eating whole foods and creating healthy dishes.

Could it be that spoons are the only necessary instrument for eating and everything else is finger-food?  Are forks only required when eating with others and we need to appear to be civilized by gingerly piercing food rather than scooping it – in other words, when parents insist?  I do remember that my own childhood job was to set the table – eight complete settings that included forks, knives, spoons and napkins for 8 people.  On nights when we had chili or some other definite spoon-shoveling food, my mom would demand that I lay out the other utensils, even though there was nothing to cut, spread or stab on the table.

Let’s all try an experiment.  For the next week we will only put spoons on the table at meal time.  We will watch and see.  Will our families be able to eat all foods by scooping?  Will they even notice the lack of other tools?  Will we all decide to clear out our utensil drawers to make more room for scooping devices?  I’m beginning to understand that nursery rhyme a little better.  It is now obvious why the Dish ran away with the Spoon!

                

Grown-Up Playdates

Some days I just want to go back to preschool.  Life is good when your day is filled with plates of food arranged into happy faces, strictly enforced afternoon nap times and your most stressful responsibility is to put your toy trucks and stuffed animals into their proper containers.  While those reasons alone are enticing enough for me to put a time machine on my wish-list, there is a more compelling aspect of the preschooler’s life that I wish we had as adults.

Picture yourself at the preschool Lego table, minding your own business, building a most awesome atomic space rocket, when another short person walks up and starts assembling a stunning launch pad complete with count-down clock.  BAM!  You suddenly have a very-best-friend.  You spend the morning running around hand-in-hand, giggling at nothing.  Then at your request your Mom sets up a play-date complete with fishy crackers, juice-filled sippy-cups and piles of brightly colored interlocking rectangular blocks.  No political arguments, social faux-pas or religious toe-stepping to worry about.  Sure, there may be a squabble over who gets to smash the block tower or be the police officer at the pretend toy robbery, but as soon as the cookies and milk are served, all ill-feelings are forgotten and a new game begins.

Sometime along the path of growing up, maybe during the years of becoming “cool” in later elementary school or among the awkward growth spurts of the lanky and lost middle schooler, making new friends becomes less natural and highly over-thought.  “Will she think I'm stupid?” they worry.  “He’ll laugh at me.”  The invitation to 'hang out' may never be made.  Opportunity lost.  No new friend.

We adults have our stand-by friends and our co-workers with which to share a beer or coffee and some small talk, but wouldn’t it be nice to just see someone who looks interesting and say, “Hey!  Come on over and we can finger paint, race some hot wheels and eat mac and cheese!” without the fear of being judged?

In recent years I have found a way to do this without a time machine – become a volunteer.  I know that many of you figured this out decades ago, but I couldn’t find the right volunteer spot – I hate committees and I’m really bad at selling things or begging for cash.

 I feel extra fortunate to have a gregarious group of gals that I call my pals, and they have a habit of volunteering me to join them in all kinds of endeavors that help the community.  Since we run, we end up passing out water or awards at fundraising runs for awesome causes like Girls on the Run or organizations that support homeless mothers and children.  We have used our elbow grease to help other trail-loving groups build paths through our beloved hills.  One season I even became a door-beller to raise funds for the Healthy Kids Campaign at the Y – I was terrible at it and they didn’t ask me back, but it felt good to try and I did raise a few dollars for the cause.  Whatever the job, it can be a great excuse to just hang out with like-minded people and giggle at nothing.

At each and every one of these events at which I have volunteered, I end up feeling like the beneficiary rather than the helper.  My social group grows with the new friends I meet, these playmates stretch my comfort zone and teach me something fresh and I always leave with that glow in my gut that tells me “I done good.”  It certainly doesn’t feel like ‘work’ in the adult sense of the word.  I like to think of these commitments as Grown-Up Play Dates. And afterwards I

celebrate by arranging my lunch into a big smiley face and taking a good ol' afternoon nap.

One Moment Can Last Forever

I’m angry.  At nobody in particular, just mad that life can be so cruel.  And I’m frustrated that there is nobody to blame, nobody who can fix this and make it go away.   Furious that one split second in time can cause such devastation.

Now, for no good reason, our community has lost a young life, one so well-loved and full of potential.  A high school has lost a leader and a friend to all.  The hospital has lost a cancer-care volunteer. A college has lost an honors scholarship recipient and the world has lost a future doctor who had the potential to find many cures for many things.

A family has lost their heart.

When a child is born, that tiny baby fills a hole in their parents’ hearts that they never knew existed.  Although this family will now be painfully aware of that missing piece for the rest of their lives, that hole is not vacant as before, it is lined with years of laughter and tears, memories and beauty and smiles…plenty of smiles.

This young soul had touched so many in the most positive ways that her legacy will bring comfort the very ones that are hurting so badly today.  The awful, dark haze may last a long time, but at some point the clouds will part, just a little, and memories of her brilliant smile and young accomplishments will peek through to sprinkle bits of hope back into the lives of those who loved her.

As much as we desperately want to, we can’t fix this tragedy.  But we can reach out to folks in need.  Lend an ear or a hug, offer a meal, and be sure to keep the good memories flowing.  As one tragic moment can last forever, so will every beautiful moment and smile that she shared with those left behind.