Morning kitchen ruminations.
It is true that there are two types of people in this world: those that believe that there are two types of people, and those that do not.
Having said that, it occurred to me that there are two types of households that people grow up in: those that have a nice, orderly set of cutlery, and those who have a mishmashed set of random forks and knives assembled from multiple generations of hand-me-downs, along with various cohabitations. I was raised in a household of the second type, and currently am in one now.
Now, within this lifestyle, it is completely natural to develop preferences towards one’s cutlery. One develops attachments. One has, for example, a favorite spoon. This preference is informed by ergonomics as much as aesthetic.
While this may seen strange to those organized folk of cutlery uniformity, it really is no different than how one develops notions of one’s favorite mug. Indeed, a person might have different favorite spoons for different applications. The spoon I use for dinner is not that which I prefer for breakfast.
There is a further wrinkle to this. Because I have a favorite spoon for everything except breakfast, my cohabitants are aware of this idiosyncrasy, and they leave that spoon alone. It is, in essence, my spoon. However, I am not quite so particular about my breakfast spoons (although I do have opinions). This means I just grab one from the mix and the variation this provides gives me a little jolt of unpredictability to start my day.
All this is to say that this morning’s spoon was not a usual one, but it served me well in shoveling my oatmeal. The different feel of it was, in a ridiculous way, a nice change.
Getting a bit of strange spoon in the morning never hurts.
Muse Vassal 