Just the Right Kind of Bowl

This is my new bowl. It came to me from a dear friend, not for any particular reason . . . no birthday, no special occasion . . . but just because she found it in a store and she thought of me and she bought it and brought it to me . . . to show her friendship, to bring a smile, to have something tangible to hold in my hand that says, "My friend thinks of me, cares for me, loves me."

Don't you just love friends like that?

This bowl has turned into my perfect bowl.

In the morning it can hold my granola and milk. When the cereal is gone, I can glance around furtively and then, if no one's looking, forget I'm a mom who has to be a good example and tilt up its curved sides and drink down the last drop of sweet milk from its smooth rim.



It's the perfect size for a salad lunch. I know if I fill it up, it's going to be just the right amount. And today I'm filling it up with romaine, chunks of fresh young zucchini from My Mom's garden, tomatoes, feta, chicken, and a heavy sprinkling of toasted pumpkin seeds.

This bowl is a yellow the color of a creamy lemon pudding, with bright pops of tomato-red and a shocking purple. It is glossy and cool to the touch and just the right size to be cupped in the hands.




In this imperfect world, I must say it is nice to have just the perfect bowl . . . that's mine.

And now, if I can just keep it in one piece. I wonder which dear child is emptying the dishwasher tonight!