We visited the sculpture garden in Minneapolis. Again. For the first time. The spoon and the cherry. Always beautiful. “But you’ve seen it before. A million times…” Sure. But each time it’s brand new in the most familiar way. The spoon told me it was all possible. Told me that people made art for a living. People created lives that were “extra” out of the “ordinary” – art out of spoons. Big lives from little towns. Standing in the shadow of its handle, the slight spray of the fountain whispered, “yes!”

It’s a long way from Minnesota to France. I didn’t bring much. Shipping is expensive. So when it arrived in the mail. Postmarked from my mom, I opened it slowly. This would be important. I gently tore the envelope to reveal a spoon. My favorite spoon. The spoon I used long before I saw the giant one with cherry. The spoon that my mother always took out of the drawer because she knew it was my favorite. The spoon that told me I was special. I was home. She sent me a piece of my forever home. My forever heart. Told me it was possible to carry it all with me. And it is. I do! I keep it by my desk. Each morning, it whispers, she whispers, yes!

Nothing is ordinary. Everything is extra. It’s never just a spoon.