I’m sitting here in my quiet office cleaning out ancient inboxes from long-forgotten email addresses. I came across a notice about an old post from an old blog. I’d completely forgotten about “Born Filter Free” so I was excited to re-read some very old stories. I never did spend much time on that old blog, but this story had me laughing out loud a couple of times so I’m pasting below. I hope it elicits a chuckle or two from you as well!

Here it is:

The Bowl

There it sat in the bottom of the sink. Was that a scratch? I hope not. That was my Grandma’s bowl! I picked it up to inspect the damage, and rubbed my finger over the discolouration. That was odd. It was so smooth, but this bowl had never been smooth. I brought it closer to my squinting eyes. There in the bottom of my Grandmother’s little blue bowl was a skinny green smudge.

I pressed my finger into it trying to remove it. It did not rub off. In fact, it got bigger! A flood of regret immediately washed over me. I should have left it alone. But wait a minute; this was NOT a blue bowl! I rubbed more vigorously and long strands of flat, blue paint slipped away beneath my finger.

“Grandma”, I thought to myself, “I bet you hated this green bowl.” I wondered who else knew this pretty little dish had been hiding under this dull disguise. I peeled away strip after strip of blue paint to reveal hundreds of precious, tiny cracks beneath the glaze. I wasn’t sure if it was a cringe or a grin that crept across my face as I imagined her watching me uncover this little gem. I had no doubt in my mind it would have made her furious.

She never liked me and I was terrified of her. I remember hiding in her front porch when we would visit. I always hoped no one would remember that I hadn’t made it through the rest of her smelly house. I hoped she was not going to force me to eat one of those awful cookies from the ice cream pail. I for sure hoped she was not going to have those little white cookies with the gooey yellow thumbprint. If I HAD to eat a cookie, I prayed it wasn’t one of those.

Grandma did not like my Dad. In fact, “not liking” Dad would have been an upgrade in their relationship. I suppose that was why she didn’t like me; I look just like him. Whenever we went to visit, I immediately asked to go to the park. Even if it was raining. When I was not allowed to go to the park, I sat in the addition to Grandma and Grandpa’s trailer. I don’t think there was ever any heat in that part of the house because it was always freezing. I didn’t care though. Grandma was the queen of knitting afghan blankets, so there was never a shortage to burrow into.

That room was also her sewing room. My Grandma loved to sew. She used to sew clothes for me and Mom always made me wear them on picture day. I used to get beat up on picture day.

My Grandmother was a talented seamstress, though. She sewed a Raggedy Andy doll for my little brother and a Raggedy Ann doll for my little sister. One Christmas when all of my cousins joined us at Grandma and Grandpa’s house, she presented all the kids with her latest creation; stuffed puppies.

She sewed one for my little brother that looked just like Snoopy. My baby sister’s was chocolate brown. She gave one to each of my cousins too. I watched as she ceremoniously brought out puppy after puppy. They were so big that the littlest kids struggled to carry them back to their chairs. We all sat so nicely waiting for our turn. My cousin Robert got a sandy coloured puppy. He was a year younger than I was. His little brother and sister were soon cuddling light coloured puppies too.

All the kids sat playing with their beloved new treasures. I waited quietly for mine. I was too shy to ask Grandma if there was one for me too. “No,” I imagined her stern reply, “You are too big for a stuffed toy.” I remember how much my heart ached to hold one of those great big puppies with the round, dark glass eyes, the soft red velvet collar, and the big floppy ears. Amidst the squeals of delight coming from six little mouths, I slipped into the icy cold sewing room.

I suppose I felt a little bit better after stealing over to Grandma’s chair while she stirred gravy to slide my whoopee cushion under her seat. I was promptly shooed out of the way and told to go and make myself useful somewhere else. All through supper, I could barely contain myself. I couldn’t share my secret with anyone or my ears would surely have been given a good sharp clip. The insufferable ants in my pants meant a great deal of squirming and my mother regularly shot daggers at me across the table. I didn’t care. I knew I was going to be in the sewing room for the rest of the night anyway, so it might as well be worth it.

At last the dishes were put away and everyone headed to the living room for the rest of the evening. I sat on the floor across from Grandma’s chair and waited for her to sit down. My face burned with anticipation. Grandma walked past me and I half imagined she was going to kick me on her way by. She neared her chair and I had to stifle a premature giggle. She glowered at me and walked back to the kitchen. “NOOOO!” I thought, “I’ve blown it!”

She returned with an ashtray, placing it between hers and Grandpa’s chair. “This is it,” I thought. “This is the last moment before I leave this earthly world”. I held my breath as Grandma lowered herself into her chair. The entire room exploded with horrified silence the moment she sat down.

It was too much for my little 9-year-old body to contain. I rolled on the floor, one hand clutching my straining abdomen, the other shoved into my mouth trying to stop the fits of laughter. I stole a look at my Grandma as she rushed out of the room and into the washroom. That was the last I’d seen of her that night. When I came out of the icy cold sewing room for breakfast the next morning, I couldn’t raise my eyes to meet Grandma’s. I knew I had embarrassed her.

I rinse my little green bowl and inspect it more closely now. It is a lovely bowl. It doesn’t have to hide behind that flat blue paint anymore. The light can bounce off its shiny glaze. The dark hues compliment the lighter ones in the most amazing way. The multitudes of tiny cracks intertwining themselves over the entire surface add so much depth and splendour to this bowl. With the heavy, flat, blue paint all washed away, my little green bowl can let its true beauty shine.