The Spoon

I've had this spoon for more than eight years, which may not seem like a lot to some people but is a long time to me. Some friends gave it to me as part of a whole basketful of kitchen stuff when I got engaged. I was still in college and didn't even have much in the way of the hodgepodge of hand-me-downs that college kids usually use in their first kitchens. Just some metal bowls (that are fantastic and I still use) that Todd inherited when a friend of his mom's moved into a nursing home along with a couple green-and-white plates and some mismatched plastic-handled forks and spoons.

Sometimes I just use the spoon, but more often than not when I use the spoon it makes me think about the women who gave it to me, how they surprised me with the party, the communal nature of college living, the way our lives melded into one another's for a while. The morning walks I used to take with a couple of them; the long talks late into the night; how my roommates changed who I am. The way I was berating Todd for being slow and late when we walked in on everyone yelling "surprise!" (That hasn't changed, to my shame.)

I have other kitchen equipment, from the wedding, that makes me think of the givers: a spice rack from my coworkers at the writing center, the set of pots and pans (not the ones we registered for but much better) from Todd's aunt and uncle, the coffeemaker from my aunt.

When we got all these things, I had no idea how they would become a day-to-day part of our lives, and how they would stay with me and remind me of the people who gave them to us. So I guess the wedding-gift anxiety I usually have is unnecessary: They'll use that blender or toaster, and maybe once in a while when they do they'll think of me.