BORROWED MAGIC

So—I brought a spoon from my house.

Or rather, the house that I’m renting a room in.

It’s my favorite spoon in the house. It’s not mine—just a spoon that was in the drawer, one of those that’s been collected over time. Who knows who bought it?

But I think it’s interesting—how, over time, when you're in a house that isn’t initially your own home, and that you're renting, you start creating connections with objects. Objects that make you feel more at home. That create a sense of: Right—this feels familiar. This feels comfortable and homely.

And then it reminded me of a spoon I had as a kid—probably when I was around three.

It was one of those spoons you’d get in a cereal box. You know, like a toy? This one was a Rice Krispies spoon. It had Snap, Crackle, and Pop on the handle. Just a plain green plastic thing, and the spoon itself—the ladle of it—would change colour. When you put it in milk, it changed from white to a sort of blue-ish shade.

That was my favorite spoon. I remember the feeling of eating with it—the way it felt in my mouth. There’s something really comforting and tactile about that. I just loved it.

My cousin also had a Rice Krispies spoon. It was the kind of object that made a lot of us jealous. And I was quite prone to stealing stuff back then…

I stole this spoon from my cousin Barry.

There was a big drama about it—“Who took my spoon? Who took my spoon?”

And I never admitted to it.

And then, not only could I not admit I took it—I couldn’t admit to losing it, either.

At the time, it seemed like magic. When you're a kid and you don’t understand how science works—this thing that changed colour when you dunked it into your Coco Pops—it was a pretty magical object at my granny Florrie’s house.