One Spoon at a Time

60: (February 2023)

I was in Washington, D.C. mall this month and spent time wandering in and out of museums and viewing the monuments that line the National Mall. One thing is for certain: as a people, the human race has mastered the art of inflicting pain and suffering on each other. We’re experts at the art of war. The National Museum of African American History and Culture and its moving treatment of slavery in our country likewise made me feel a deep sense of despair over what humans are capable of doing to each other. I took respite in the U.S. Botanic Garden along the way, looking to nature to soothe my dispirited heart.

I have to admit that these days I usually just skim the headlines about the war in Ukraine when I read the daily news. I feel guilty that I am not strong enough to simply read something about it, when so many people are dying or having their lives ripped apart in that country. But seeing gruesome photos and reading about the war day in and day out make me feel so helpless. Feelings of helplessness can lead to depression or even complacency, so I protect myself by just reading the headlines much of the time. That said, the war is just one example of the many horrors we hear about in our world today, horrors inflicted upon one human being by another.

I find myself frequently returning to an image in my mind of the The Allegory of the Long Spoons, a parable I heard quite some time ago in a church service. In this allegorical story of heaven and hell, there is a big vat of soup surrounded by a large circle of people holding very long spoons. In the picture of hell, everyone is starving; they are unable to reach their own mouths because the spoon handles are too long. The scene in heaven looks exactly the same, with the big vat of soup surrounded by people holding very long spoons, except that everyone looks well fed and is laughing. Why? Because in heaven, the people are using those same spoons to feed each other.

What if we, as a human race, finally learned to uplift each other? Feed, care for, and love each other. It is the not-so-secret answer to saving ourselves in the process. It’s time to turn a new page and usher in a new era, one spoon at a time. While there are many who only look out for themselves, I suspect there are many more who are sickened by witnessing history being rehashed again and again, as cruelties continue to play out in the world.

Do something nice for someone today. And the next day. And the next.

40: (February 2003)

I am an official middle-aged woman. I know this because I just bought myself my first pair of old-lady snow boots. You know the type—skid-proof soles, easy-access zipper, waterproof, toasty warm, absolutely no concept of style. Nobody in their right mind would buy a pair of old-lady snow boots unless she was so middle-aged that she felt like she truly had no choice but to walk into a store, grab hold of those unsightly beasts, ask for her size, and then pay for them. Not to mention actually wear them.

I came to terms with this a few weeks ago. It was a couple of days after my birthday, when the heavens dumped two feet of snow into my pasture. The children were not home, leaving the care and feeding of our two horses to me. My usual routine is to throw my winter jacket over my pajamas and bathrobe, slip on my ankle-high shoe boots, and head out the door minutes after leaving my bed. That way, I am not really awake anyway, and the cold, the muck, and the frozen water buckets can all sort of feel like they are part of a bad barn dream.

On that particular morning, it occurred to me that cleaning the stalls was to take on a whole new meaning because the manure pile had disappeared, including the path leading to the manure pile. What on earth was I going to do with the manure and shavings from the stalls? This is our first winter with the horses. I have no experience with horses, so the manure issue really posed quite a challenge to me.

After feeling accomplished at just opening the barn door with all that snow piled against it, I filled the wheelbarrow with its first load and decided the only thing to do was to get it as close to the hidden manure area as possible by sheer force of will, and then hoist the wheelbarrow as far as I could manage. The fact that I am not very muscular was not lost on me, yet I somehow managed to convince myself that my desire to get the job done and over with would overcome all physical obstacles. I got a few feet from the door by half-lifting, half-charging with the wheelbarrow. Then I fell. I landed on my rear end and sank deeply into the snow, looking up at my snow-drenched feet wagging in the air. It was then that I came to fully realize that attempting to do this job in my bathrobe was a bad plan. Even worse, the shoe boots I was wearing were simply not up to the task at hand; they were extremely feeble at best.

That’s when I knew I was truly middle-aged. I saw the specter of the old-lady snow boots looming on the horizon. I made a snow angel in the snow before I got up, just to prove that I was still young at heart. One might argue that ugly, functional, rubber-bottomed boots are not so much a symbol of old-lady boots as a necessary component of leading a semi-farm-like life. Nah. I know the truth. I am middle-aged.

The saleslady did not even need to stifle a laugh, as if it was perfectly normal for a woman my age to be buying those hideous boots. Oh, well. At least they were on sale.

60-40:

Twenty years ago, I guess the New York City part of me was closer to the surface! Now it seems ridiculous that I did not have proper barn boots and didn’t understand the need for them at any age. Though I don’t have horses out back anymore, I still live in my barn boots all spring, summer, and fall; they’re great for gardening. Country life at its finest!

Was I middle-aged 20 years ago? Does that mean that I’m old-aged now? ‘Old’ has so many negative connotations, but ages 65 to 85 may actually be the sweet spot—old enough to feel like you’ve accomplished something and maybe learned a few things, while hopefully still healthy enough to take on new challenges. Here’s one: How can everyday people like me become a force for good?

The photo of the Barack Obama quote at the top of this post was taken at the National Museum of African American History and Culture. “We are the change that we seek.” A tall order. A puzzle. Or maybe as simple as lifting our spoon to feed another.

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