The Spoon Rest

Milano. Italia. A long glorious weekend spent with my family.

It’s part of what makes my life so enchanting. I, yes me, I get to experience what many people only dream about, live and breathe life in Italy as a local. It’s my born heritage. In fact, it’s even my birth certificate. I am an Italian citizen.

So, what and why does this even remotely have to do with a “spoon rest”?

It’s a Saturday. My mom, zia, cugini, and I go to the market in Milano. Not just any market but this is the market Arts, food, crafts. The market followed the river for a mile or two and then back again crossing the bridge. So many vendors. So much to see.

It was difficult and enchanting going from artists to farmers. Chefs to winemaker. Difficult, because I wanted to sample, buy, collect ideas. Enchanting to hold each moment in a memory. Hear a story, taste a cheese. Breathe in a market so far away from home. Wanting each moment to stand perfectly still.

But I always wait for the piece that speaks to me. It’s a connection. It’s the passion. It’s so simplistic. It’s a spoon rest for my kitchen.

It’s this small symbol each and every day that bonds me to my family that is an ocean away. Each and every stir in the pot, sauté in the pan and delicate hand wash after the meal is done connects me to me. Yes me. The person who is part of a life far away. To a place where others romance and dream. For me it’s part of who I am.

So every day. Breakfast, lunch or dinner I create a meal, simple or complex and connect myself with my family using my simple spoon rest.

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