Anything but ordinary

I have a favorite spoon. I admit it. I could have a favorite painting by Monet, or Manet, or Rembrandt, and I guess I do. But I love this spoon. When I get it from the drawer, just the feel of it in my hand makes me happy.

My spoon is old. It’s from my mom’s kitchen, and there’s the pertinent data, I suppose. If a recipe called for beating a batter 300 strokes by hand, this is the spoon she used. I can hear it ringing along the inside curve of her yellow Pyrex mixing bowl.

But my connection to those days of baking with my mom, though heartfelt, is not the only reason this spoon is my favorite. It’s a good spoon. It has a deeper curve to its neck and a deeper bowl than most spoons, making it perfect for putting pancake batter on a skillet or whipping any other batter by hand. It’s strong, made of better material than spoons today, not shiny, but satin-finished.

It ladles flour into a measuring cup faster than other spoons, with no muss or fuss. And it’s well weighted, which is to say it feels good in your hand. Yes, it’s a spoon. But it’s a good spoon, and who can ask more of a spoon than that?

Do you know the satisfaction of the right tool for the right task? If you just thought of something specific in response to that question, I’ll wager that you know where that object is right now, because it’s a trusty and useful item that’s never failed you.

I like simple things that work well for their intended purpose. Like stuff-sack blankets for camping that compress into a carrying case one-eighth their full size, to save space. And stuff-sack tote bags made on the same design, to hide away in my purse until I need them.

I like backpacks with the right amount of pockets in the right proportions. I like magnetic screwdrivers with good handles, rugs that don’t slip, and doors that close tightly.

I’m especially fond of those functional bits of repurposed nonsense we collect, because they’re perfect for some specific task. Like the extra-narrow toothbrush that gets the ick off the grout in the back corner of the shower. Or the broken broom handle that’s just the right height to wedge behind the pass-through door to the garage, so it won’t blow shut when you’re bringing in the groceries.

If you share this affinity for useful objects, you probably like a good set of bungee cords, a heavy stapler that works every time, packing cubes with strong zippers to organize your suitcase, a snug hitch, a ballpoint pen that dispenses ink correctly, a lumbar support in your vehicle that hits your actual lumbar area, a pair of broken-in slippers, a dishwasher with logical loading racks, shoelaces that don’t untie themselves, pillows that hold their shape, an electric lawn trimmer that stays charged, wire cutters sharp enough to cut wire, a weighted tape dispenser, a soft pair of coveralls, rubber boots that don’t leak, and a good spoon.

I’m certain Monet and the rest had favorite brushes, favorite paints, and even favorite palette knives when they were called for. A useful tool, the right tool, makes artists of us all.

My favorite spoon sits in the right-hand compartment of my silverware drawer. My favorite stapler rests on a shelf in the office. My best ballpoint pens are hidden in a location I will not disclose, lest they disappear. And I am happy.

Simple blessings are the best. I don’t need new everything. I just need a few suitable tools that work the way they’re supposed to. In this regard, I could jump on the “rich because” trend. Rich because I live in a comfortable home, surrounded by the needful things I’ve chosen or made, that serve their intended purpose. Monet and my mom couldn’t do better than that.