esrosedotblog

BOWLED OVER

I was ready to mix up some tuna fish and reached for my smallest stainless bowl. The tunafish salad bowl.

It wasn't there.

Shit.

Where is it?

We looked and looked.

Fucking everywhere.

Even out in the garage in Mari's cleaning supplies. In the tool closet. I mean everywhere.

No luck.

I made the tuna salad in the next bigger bowl. Not so good.

It is hard to do the reduction of the mass with the fork. I need the small bowl.

Goddamit.

We look again.

I even go out and look in the trash and the recycling bin.

I did throw out some plastic bowls the other day. Maybe.

No.

I have had those metal bowls for half my life and all of my cooking life.

They are even better than the ones in the picture. They have metal loops dangling on the side to get a grip.

They have seen me through it all. Souffles. Whipped cream. Tuna salad.

They are always there.

Now not.

How do you replace such a thing?

I gave in. Surrendered.

The first step is denial, then bargaining, after that anger, then depression.

Denial when we were running all over and looking in the same place three times.

Bargaining when I started thinking how I could get a new bowl set and throw out the bigger bowls.

Not a lot of anger. Too much bargaining.

Depression. Mourning seeping in.

Then bang!

Right before acceptance, John said 'ice'.

When that ice maker guy was here the first time we saved some of the ice cubes out for the few minutes (yeah, five days) that we would be out of making ice.

I went in the freezer, pulled out the frozen yogurt, and there was my bowl.

The long moments of pain were over.

The ice cubes were also all melted together.

I went and had lunch.

Tuna salad. Not as well mixed as usual but quite tasty. Especially knowing that next time it would be made the right way in that perfect sized metal mixing bowl.

Happiness is really based on some trivial shit isn't it?

Labels: cooking, nostalgia