This weekend, I lost some of my closest friends. The kind of friends that you can depend on to help you through the worst of times, bringing you joy simply by being in their presence. This weekend? These friends plummeted to a horrifying death that ended on my kitchen floor.
These friends cooked with me, like trusty sous chefs.
They were dependable, helpful, and perfect.
These friends? Were my measuring spoons, and not just any measuring spoons. Spoons I had searched at least a year for and found at the one and only Anthropologie. These spoons were me. They were my soul in spoon form. Delicate, colorful, cheery, and positive. They were all that and more. One even measured a “pinch”. I mean? Come. On. How precious is that?
But now? Now they have a new life. A life broken, lying on my kitchen counter, because I can’t bear to part with them just yet, and a life of unspoken dreams, helping me make Boeuf Bourguignon and Coq au Vin.
Parting is such sweet sorrow.