Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Blue spoon, red spoon.

I have two sets of what you'd maybe call "Asian-style" soup bowls. They are very round and fairly small, but not as small as the bowls in which miso soup is usually served at a Japanese restaurant. They fit nicely in the palms of the hand, and each has a little circled rim of a foot. The bowls came with the soup spoons - you know the ones - wide and flat with a short handle, that will stand up on their own of you set them down on a table. If memory serves - and I believe it does - they also came with chopsticks. Those, however, are long gone to parts unknown. I have had these bowls for many years. One set is red. One set is blue.

The red set is for breakfast. Each and every morning, I eat my cereal from a red bowl, with a red spoon. My habit is, when I am finished with my breakfast, to immediately wash my bowl and spoon, so that each morning a red set is waiting there for me in the drying rack. (Rare is the morning when we've actually put something away - dishes are something we're kind of bad at.)

This morning when I went to prepare my breakfast, I found my Queens Museum mug for chai-making (another ceremony not discussed here) in place, and proceeded on that front without incident. But when I reached for my bowl, I found that its accompanying spoon had gone missing.

The mystery did not take long to unfurl; last night Jonathan made a lovely Thai soup, which he served to us in larger bowls of a similar style that we bought in Chinatown a few years ago; rather than solid coloring they are covered in "Chinese" patterning. These, too, have matching spoons. But for some reason he opted to use the small bowl spoons for our dinner - his blue, mine red. I did not notice at the time; I did not feel well.

As I mentioned, we're not very good at getting dishes done here. So the red bowl and spoon set that I had eaten from and washed yesterday morning was the only pair (of the four in the set) not languishing in an overtopping sink. And so, this morning for my breakfast, my choices were to either wash another red spoon, or to eat out of a red bowl with a blue spoon. I opted for a blue spoon.

It was a mistake. For reasons beyond my comprehension I find it physically repulsive, even nauseating, to mix the colors of the bowls and spoons.

How serious an emotional disturbance do you think that indicates?

Perhaps it's just because I'm so affected by color?

This morning, after washing my red bowl and blue spoon, I washed a red one too.

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