I've been working really hard lately. Working really hard at my day job at the law office (big Federal trial coming up at the end of the month), and working hard on the MIP. I already put down 1000 words this morning, which is really good these days as I have been coming home in the evenings, throwing a less-than-stellar meal on the table, and heading off to bed at 8:00 pm.
Exhaustion, plain and simple. I have been too tired to blog, too tired to take photographs, too tired to do much but the essentials.
In any case, when my friend, Lorie, called and wanted to go shopping yesterday, I was estatic. I love shopping with Lorie because, for one thing, we seem to spend quite a bit of time laughing and, because we seem to see things the other one would like. Great time. Off we went, Target, Pier 1, Marshalls, TJ Maxx....well, it was at Pier 1 that she informed me that I seem to have a little problem.
Bowls. I love bowls. Can't get enough bowls. I wonder how many bowls Lorie's seen me buy over the years, since she quite calmly informed me, "you're a bowl whore." She said it with affection, I know because should the truth be told, she is one too but, we weren't talking about her at that point. I didn't find a bowl I really wanted at Pier 1. It was later, at Marshall's, as I pondered my intrigue with the ribbing on the inside of that bowl and the low rim of that other bowl, that I realized...this might be out of control. And, quite frankly, it's not like I have room in my cabinets for another bowl. The bowl with ribbing on the inside (bottom corner of the photo) won that battle, by the way.
Bowls signify generosity and abundance to me. I don't believe you can have one without the other, can you? And since I enjoy being and having both, well, let's get a bowl and think about it. Bowls are beautiful in their simple roundedness, heavy, capable clay porcelain. Maybe they are like hearts, they can hold a lot of joy or pain. Maybe I love bowls because I have seen so many wonderful things come out of them all these years; thinking of my mother many, many years ago with a bowl on her hip, one hand holding it tight, the other hand stirring with a big wooden spoon. Maybe it is the memory of her setting a steaming bowl of oatmeal sprinkled with brown sugar and cinnamon down in front of me because she knew the walk to the bus stop was going to be cold. A bowl full of something nourishing symbolizes a warmth not found so easily anymore. Maybe that is why I like them so much.
Bowls give me joy.
What gives you joy?
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