Broken bowls and sacrificial rituals
December 2, 2023
I've thought a lot about sharing this particular story. Somehow keeping the memory private made it more special to me but at the same time it's such a wonderful depiction of the way Melissa and I could egg each other on in the goofiest escapades. Somehow we brought out each other's conspiratorial natures to create experiences that were both ridiculous and hilarious. Not that this was unique to our relationship, she had a way of doing this with everyone. So today, on Melissa's 32nd birthday, I am sharing the story.
It all started one afternoon when I was doing routine housework and bumped into a display shelf that held a pretty bowl. The bowl teetered and tumbled onto the floor shattering into many pieces. I was initially upset as this was a special bowl to me. I'd carried it all the way back from Bali and now I'd destroyed it. It was brown and cream colored, made of resin with embedded cross sections of cinnamon sticks. Best of all it smelled wonderful, like the cinnamon swirls it contained.
Melissa commiserated with me as we scooped up the jagged pieces but we couldn't bring ourselves to simply throw the remains into the trash barrel. We decided the bowl needed a more unique send off. We stood in front of the window next to the shelf discussing appropriate disposal techniques. At the same moment, looking out the window, we both exclaimed "THE DUMPSTER"!! There was a massive dumpster in front of the neighbor's house that we'd come to despise. It'd been there for months during ongoing demolition and had morphed into the focus and symbol of our disdain for the construction traffic, nosey contractors, entitled truck parkers and noise that had permeated our peaceful little enclave. The plan began to evolve.
We waited until dark. Despite the moonless, pitch black night we dressed in dark disguise for the event. We took a circuitous route to evade identification as neighbors. We whispered and panicked the whole walk, concerned that we'd be discovered. The subterfuge evaporated as we approached the dumpster. Holding the bowl pieces high over our heads we loudly marched and chanted what we imagined to be Mayan sacrificial rallying calls.
We pitched the bowl remains into that dumpster and rapidly turned to make our get away. We tried but couldn't run as we were laughing too hard, bending over clutching our stomachs. Shushing each other made it even worse. We believed we should speed directly back to our house but instead we limped and zigzagged back unable to control our obnoxiously loud peals of laughter hoping the noise would be mistaken for a pack of coyotes.
Good times.
Rest in peace my beautiful partner in crime.
It all started one afternoon when I was doing routine housework and bumped into a display shelf that held a pretty bowl. The bowl teetered and tumbled onto the floor shattering into many pieces. I was initially upset as this was a special bowl to me. I'd carried it all the way back from Bali and now I'd destroyed it. It was brown and cream colored, made of resin with embedded cross sections of cinnamon sticks. Best of all it smelled wonderful, like the cinnamon swirls it contained.
Melissa commiserated with me as we scooped up the jagged pieces but we couldn't bring ourselves to simply throw the remains into the trash barrel. We decided the bowl needed a more unique send off. We stood in front of the window next to the shelf discussing appropriate disposal techniques. At the same moment, looking out the window, we both exclaimed "THE DUMPSTER"!! There was a massive dumpster in front of the neighbor's house that we'd come to despise. It'd been there for months during ongoing demolition and had morphed into the focus and symbol of our disdain for the construction traffic, nosey contractors, entitled truck parkers and noise that had permeated our peaceful little enclave. The plan began to evolve.
We waited until dark. Despite the moonless, pitch black night we dressed in dark disguise for the event. We took a circuitous route to evade identification as neighbors. We whispered and panicked the whole walk, concerned that we'd be discovered. The subterfuge evaporated as we approached the dumpster. Holding the bowl pieces high over our heads we loudly marched and chanted what we imagined to be Mayan sacrificial rallying calls.
We pitched the bowl remains into that dumpster and rapidly turned to make our get away. We tried but couldn't run as we were laughing too hard, bending over clutching our stomachs. Shushing each other made it even worse. We believed we should speed directly back to our house but instead we limped and zigzagged back unable to control our obnoxiously loud peals of laughter hoping the noise would be mistaken for a pack of coyotes.
Good times.
Rest in peace my beautiful partner in crime.