Brown Study and Wool-Gathering

   

 If I close my eyes I can still smell the aroma of Italian sausage and marinara sauce simmering in my grandmothers 50’s styled-kitchen. With its white Tappan-O’Keefe range, chrome and Formica kitchen table with matching yellow vinyl chairs, and pull-down table lamp, grandmother’s kitchen is where all of the family action happened. The one stand out recollection I have of grandmother’s kitchen is morning breakfast with my grandfather and his blue cereal bowl, when I was 5 years old.

             “Good morning princess”, Grandpa said in his deep morning voice as I stumbled into the kitchen rubbing the sand from eyes.

             “Did you have sweet dreams?”, he asked.

 I shook my head yes, up and down with my eyes only partially opened, still half asleep and probably still dreaming of Puff the Magic Dragon and his magical flute.                                                                                               

Grandpa pointed with his well-beaten hand to the bright yellow chair with the shiny silver legs that sat against the wall, above it hung a clock with the moving eyes on it. That clock was always scary because it watched every move I made. If I closed my eyes and peaked out of my fingers it would always be looking back at me.

        Patting the seat cushion with his hand, Grandpa directed me to sit.

        “What’ll it be today Princess?”, he asked

        “Rice Krispies, or Corn Flakes?”

It was either or, the only two choices I had, unless it was winter, then I could choose to have oatmeal with cinnamon.

        “Rice Kripie”, I said.

It would take me another two years before I was able to say my S’s right.

Grandpa would set out two bowls, a small green one for me, and his favorite blue bowl. Grandpa only ate breakfast out of one bowl, never another. I knew I would never be allowed to eat my cereal out of his bowl and I think that is what made that bowl seem so magical and special to me. It was Grandpa’s bowl, it had to be special, just like him.

Breakfast was our time, just Grandpa and I. Grandpa worked for the New York City Subway as a plumber and woke each day at 5 AM so he could make the 6 AM train into the city. I woke up and shared the first meal of the day with him almost daily. My breakfast routine is pretty much the same now as it was when I was five, except grandfather is no longer here with me and I now own the blue cereal bowl that he used to start each day.

Grandfather owned many valuable items but it was the blue cereal bowl that everyone in family wanted when he died in March 1974. My grandmother, a small woman with the most beautiful white hair, refused to surrender the bowl to anyone, choosing instead to keep it for her own use. When grandmother passed in 2000 I inherited the bowl. Grandfather’s blue bowl is not just a bowl, it’s a bowl with a life, and possesses the same endearing qualities that my graced my grandfather’s life

The qualities that made my grandfather so endearing can be found in this small weathered piece of glass. This beautiful blue bowl is sturdy, it has fallen to the floor many times, and has been violated by the clashing of other dishes but yet it survives. My blue bowl has integrity and holds up well under pressure. It has character as well, this magnificent bowl doesn’t try to be anything except a bowl, and it never leaves you wondering about its purpose.

 The lines that graced the corners of my grandfather’s Clark Gable-like weathered eyes can be seen in the reflection that bounces from the sides of the bowls smooth outer surface, a reminder that he is always watching over me. The bowl’s kiln-fired soft blue color has faded over the years from loving use but its age has made it no less useful. The scratches that are engrained into the surface of the bowl are the same marks of character that were etched into my grandfather’s life.

My blue bowl is a concrete reminder of the love and warmth I once received for a great man. The human love that once graced my life in the flesh now revisits me each morning as hot oatmeal warms my fingers and heart. My ordinary blue bowl is more than a vessel that holds physical nourishment, it also holds an unending supply of emotional nourishment that feeds my spirit. This small, tattered, bowl comforts me like no person can.

 My grandfather has been gone from this world 34 years, yet his life lives on through the life of his cereal bowl. In the quite still of the morning I can still hear Grandpa talking to me like he did when I was five.

         “Patty Ann, if you listen carefully the cereal will tell you a secret”, he would say.

        “Get you ear real close and listen”.

        “Do you hear it?” he would asked. “ The secret?”

        “Snap, crackle………POP!”, he would shout loudly and I would giggle.

It has crossed my mind that perhaps one day tragedy might befall my beloved bowl and on that day I most certainly will mourn the loss of my grandfather, but I find comfort in knowing that in the meantime my grandfather lives on through the secrets that are told to me through the Snap! Crackle! and Pop that speak out from the shallow of this small tattered blue glass bowl each morning.           

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