"Do not judge by appearances; a rich heart may be under a poor coat."
Scottish Proverb
The Life of a Bowl
I am so sorry that I frittered away all that time in high school worrying about my looks. It seemed the thing to do at the time, and even now I realize that young women do dream of having movie star looks. Come on, y’all, it’s high school. But for me it was almost a preoccupation, sometimes an obsession (especially on a bad hair day) and almost always a definite concern. But again, with hindsight I can see that for me in particular, looks made little difference. You remember back in my short bio when I mentioned that my father was a police officer? Well, I can assure you that very few boys approached me because of him. I know this, it is a certainty of my life. There’s just something about a guy almost as tall as John Wayne, and looking a little like the Duke, that’s enough to scare teenage suitors—but the bearing of arms is what did it. Who wanted to escort a young lady when her father, who was security for all the high school events, was sporting a 38 on his hip and was omnipresent? But still I did worry about my looks.
However, I was young and had not lived a lot of my life and had not thought about the life of a bowl. Yes, you read that right—a bowl.
It all started when I was headed to a neighborhood event. It was our fall cookout, usually a pot luck affair where everyone brings something. This particular fall I felt like being lazy and decided to not really prepare anything. (Not a bad plan, with COVID waning, but still hanging around in the wings.) So I opted to take individually wrapped candy and add to the looming dental bills that would follow Halloween. It was then I went to my kitchen cabinet where I keep dishes and reached for the bowl. Not the prettiest bowl I had, not some fine dish, not even my favorite Tupper Ware (therein lies another whole tale of mania for our special kitchen things.) No, I reached for a melamine bowl, that was decorated in a red and white plaid pattern with writing on a black field that read “Dig in!” It truly was a good choice as it just yelled “cookout” or “barbecue” or “let the good times roll.” You see, I was loathe to take my good stuff for fear of breakage or that I would forget it on my way out, etc. So I chose the 88¢ bowl I used for “going out“ kind of events. Now I am not a total cheapskate, for the bowl was originally $2.49, but that’s another thing about women. They just can’t pass up a good sale bargain.
So the very utilitarian bowl went with me to celebrate with my neighbors. And a good time was had by all. There was catered barbecue and the side dishes, desserts etc. were supplied by the group. There were lots of foil dishes, or paper plates and one or two brave women brought Tupper Ware containers. But basically the food was served in very pedestrian, not so pretty containers.
We still had the proverbial blast—we played Bingo, with my good friend and comedian, Don, calling the numbers and keeping us laughing. We ate barbecue, we chatted, kids ran and won Bingo prizes, and all this while we were nestled under some shade trees with the late afternoon sun sending down rays that made lovely patterns all around. I can’t remember having more fun at an event.
Then reluctantly the bowl and I headed home. It struck me as I washed it, readying it for the next foray out into the world, that I had chosen it for a very specific reason. It was not pretty, nor expensive or precious. It was simply a very plain, utilitarian bowl. That’s when it truly hit me. I thought of all the places my bowl and I had been. Always we were in the company of good friends, having a very good time. My bowl has traveled far and wide with me, always returning home to get washed and put away to await it’s next adventure. I'm sure the moral of the story is apparent to you too.
“Oh the places you'll go! There is fun to be done!”
Dr. Seuss
I thought of the fine china and the silver I had, the crystal that was pulled out for super special occasions. It was lovely and I adored it, but it had not been used nearly as much, and sat now on the shelf waiting for the next formal event. That event would be special and remembered, but such showings for the precious dishes were fewer and farther between.
The bowl, however, had lived it up, looking a little like Freddy the Freeloader, but truly living the life of a thing to be admired. It went places, served food, was useful to others, and did so time after time, never breaking, but holding up to life and living it to the hilt. So it wasn’t beautiful, but it served. And it was then that I hoped that I had been perceived in such a manner by my friends and loved ones. I hoped that long ago when I decided finally to quit worrying and just try to be a real person that I had made the right decision and had become like my very plain, useful bowl.