Spoonful (wip)

  I found a spoon near the wheel of the dumpster outside of our local Target store. It was a broad-mouthed table spoon of a style I've admired for years as I shop at the local Target store. Presently, I'm on a very tight budget and looking for items I might one day afford. I've admired this style of spoon for some time. They are sturdy, handsome, and reasonably priced, particularly when purchased with a full place setting to include spoons and knives.

I've yearned for a complement of eating utensils with spoons like this, accented with Royal Blue plastic stems. I would also be pleased to own a complement of red-stemmed tableware matching the style of the spoon I'd found by the trash bin. Sadly, the spoon I happened to just find was a black stem spoon. Still, I determined that this color, black, would provide for the time beings. I could always imagine it as red stemmed and as the start of some day, collecting an entire complement of the silverware.

For the moment, I imagined the drawers of my future kitchen full of spoons, forks, knives, cutlery of every kind, service for family and friends, parties of people I have yet to even know. But for now, this single black plafill the current specific and practical need I intended it for. That I needed it for.stic handled tablespoon I'd found by Target's bin wheel would do. I knew it would ful

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Most know the story of how I left my wife, rather briskly, in November. How I seemed to vanish, taking little of anything from our house, just what I could fit into my work-worn F-150 pick-up.  I had a list, but only time to gather basics: Tools, work things, clothes from my side of the closet, socks, underwear, T-shirts, from the dresser personal objects from dresser drawers. then basic items from the kitchen and bathroom. Even though I had prepared for this "life choice" for over a month, it soon became clear that my 'things to grab' list would be incomplete. Due to time constraints, a single truck load of things was delivered. I anticipated three 

Two weeks prior I'd made arrangements with a friend to rent a small room for a least a few months. He had a garage with space to store my few boxes. Living there gave me time to find a cheap studio apartment near the freeway. True it was located in a more desperate part of town than I'd ever lived before, and loud cars with loud music constantly sped along the street. Gunfire was heard nearly nightly, sometimes sounding much too close by, but at least it was a place where the neighbors seemed settled and friendly.

It was the place where I began my new life, free and alone, no longer harried or tormented by that woman with whom I had wasted so much time trying to please. Now I was in a place where I could collect myself while searching for and purchasing the basic items necessary to start this new life: a mattress, a TV, some basic IKEA furniture, sheets, and towels. You get the picture.

As mentioned before, I was unable, nor did I want, to take much from our, now her house, which wasn't mine before we met. I found myself buying many sundries as soon as I could afford them. Towels and linens, and such, I bought new. In a short time, I found a pot, a wok, a frying pan, and a coffee maker at Goodwill. I admit to minor dumpster diving. I found a perfectly good Royal vacuum cleaner in need of only a belt, and of course, the spoon of this story.  END HERE?

I would long regret leaving things, personal mementos, treasures, other precious and important items behind in that house with her. Things like yearbooks, my passport, LPs, records, my recording equipment, and guitars, all of those sorts of things, I believed I could retrieve before or after the divorce. I was stunned to find out, from a friend serving me papers, that all of those items, including my birth certificate, poetry, and personal papers, had been shredded or trashed.

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This might give you some clue as to why I desired the spoon found by the wheel of a trash bin. I was still working, filling out the last few years before retirement. I wasn't involved with or dating anyone. I was pretty much entirely done with women altogether. I most wanted to recover enough from memory to return to writing the perpetually great American novel, and attempt to begin fresh with my lost poetry. I had managed to smuggle my Smith-Corona electric with me on the front seat when I left. A folding table and a ream of paper were priority purchases. I never required much and drank a lot of instant coffee to stay awake and filled a pair of stainless steel thermoses to haul to work.

At that time, I worked as a semi-independent home inspector who called in for daily assignments to a nationally recognized home inspection company. My days and hours were flexible. When I was on call, I carried a pager. It was back in those days. Paperwork was managed with paper. Cut and paste was done with scissors and tape. My inspiration, motivation, and imagination were aided by a six or twelve-pack of Coors Banquet beer at night, accelerated by bad coffee and two or three packs of smokes at any or all the time. I wanted to live my dream, but maybe not quite yet.

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Past experience has taught me that every can of coffee should come with a small yellow plastic scoop designed to precisely measure the quantity of ground roast coffee required to brew a pot of coffee. Four full scoops measured just so make my Folgers Dark Roast ground coffee into the perfect brew for cups of coffee. Not having such a scoop was half of the reason I'd been drinking instant coffee. Then, finally, I found a Mr. Coffee maker on sale at Target for only twenty-three dollars. It was a blowout sale. A newer model was already filling shelves in the stock room, which featured a digital clock with a timer. Lucky me!

Since living on my own, I've become dismayed to discover that, even after purchasing three cans of Folgers Dark Roast coffee and 2 cans of Kroger Deep Roast coffee, I can only conclude, with fathomable distress, that yellow coffee scoops are no longer provided within consumer coffee. Maybe this is due to the recession, or maybe the oil embargo, or perhaps there has been an unannounced wholesale shortage of coffee beans due to some unannounced blight. I may never know for sure, but most likely, the absence of scoops is due to typical cutbacks surreptitiously imposed to provide coffee executives with huge year-end bonuses. I can only speculate at this point because I'm aggravated by the personal inconvenience it has caused me.

Whatever the reason, yellow scoops are no longer available in any coffee I've purchased since moving to my friend's place. There, I could just borrow a standard measuring spoon from his utensil drawer. But as I unpacked into my own place, I realized that the three spoons I'd taken from my one-day-to-be ex-wife's drawer were dreadfully inadequate: a long, thin stirring spoon, two teaspoons, and a ladle. These were serviceable enough to mix and stir chai, sip dal, and even scoop and mix instant mashed potatoes. Yet not one was suitable to scoop coffee from a Folgers coffee can. There is simply no replacement for the classic plastic yellow scoop we've become accustomed to.

Scooping coffee with a straight-shanked spoon is awkward, whether drawing it from a full can that rests on the counter or when tilting a depleted can over the sink. The only difference is the quantity of coffee spilled from the spoon or lost from the can before landing any grounds in the coffee pot, basket, or filter. In my situation, the challenge is compounded by a condition called benign tremor. It causes my hands and fingers to tremble and quiver at different rates during the day. Trying to manage any quantity of coffee without spilling into the sink, onto the floor, or across the counter is a much greater challenge now than in my youth. A proper plastic scoop would reduce the chance of such accidents and be greatly appreciated.

I stooped and picked up the spoon near the trash bin wheel, tossed it to the floor of my Ford Ranger pickup truck, and brought it home. After a week or two, I remembered it there and brought it into my apartment. I washed it extra super good, even rubbing it thoroughly and properly with Rubbing Alcohol. Once satisfied, I bent the spoon's neck by about ninety degrees, right where it meets the cup. 

At long last, the spoon, with its easy-to-grasp sturdy black handle, became a nearly ideal coffee scoop. No longer did I need to dig deep and vainly into each fresh coffee can, hoping to discover a plastic scoop that seemingly would never ever be found.

~~~~~~~~~~>>>

Some twelve years had passed since liberating that black handled spoon when I discovered an actual, authentic yellow plastic Folgers coffee scoop.  It was on display in a glass cabinet at a thrift store in Quartzite, Arizona, an odd desert settlement near where the Colorado River borders California. Quartzite is famous for its gem, rock, and precious stone trade, as well as the home of Joanne's Famous Gum Museum (a story from another chapter of this tale: The Famous Gum Museum Robbery).

The thrift store's scoop was in mint condition! Not stained, nicked, bent, or scratched. Having casually searched for so many years, I knew this to be a remarkable find.  I desired it, if not to use, then for sheer nostalgia. The price had even reduced from fifteen to twelve dollars. I tried to haggle the shopkeeper down to ten or less. It was, after all, a vintage barista and culinary tool and obviously very collectible. Nostalgia nearly drew me into purchasing it, but the trader would not budge.

In the end, I decided that the thrift store was asking too much, and since my modified spoon was still performing as well as ever, I passed on the yellow coffee scoop. It seems now that every old piece of absently thrown away trash tossed five or ten years ago is suddenly a vintage treasure. Speaking of vintage, I did find and buy an authentic pre-owned 1968 Corgi Batmobile toy while I was there. It was in 'stunning' condition and made a wonderful addition to my Gotham City-themed shadowbox I maintain, now in a part of the garage of our Santa Fe ranch house.

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My life has changed since this story was first published by Tacklebarn Press as a poem of the same name. Since then I've married and live mostly on our farm in Jaipur, India. I drink much more Chai than coffee. We tend to escape to our Llamma ranch in Santa Fe, New Mexico, during the notorious Southwestern monsoons there. The old bent black handled spoon is still there, resting in a drawer, maybe with the garlic press, potato peeler, possibly some chopsticks, and maybe an old IKEA knife sharpener.

Does it matter? We do make coffee on those occasions when folks come to visit, for after dinner, or after a few drinks. The spoon is there for that, and as a minor nod to traditions and ingenuity. Its existence somehow soothes me in a context of life's continuity. Still, to be honest, when the urge for coffee strikes me, I will often fold my laptop and make a run to Barnes&Noble for a cup or two and one of those chocolate chip cookies, or something.

-dp-

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Life has changed so much since this story was first published by Tacklebarn Press as a poem of the same name. Since then, I'vesince married. We live mostly at our farm in Jaipur, India, where I drink much more Chai than coffee. When the South-west monsoons arrive, my wife will escape the farm for our llama and alpaca ranch in Santa Fe, New Mexico. We could retire, but between here and there, east or west, there's always something fun worth doing.

The spoon? We've relegated it to our motorhome. Its purpose remains the same. And, yes, there are maybe six complete place settings matching Blue Daulton matching tableware there too. We welcome fellow travellers.

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Footnote: To those who have been following my opinions of writing techniques and complaints, this story is the first for me to write entirely on WorstPress as well as by using the keyboard on my laptop. My conclusion is that the results for both tests are positive, but just adequately so. Mobility is a great factor and motivator. Depending on how I set up my wrist may hurt after a time.

The WP program offers a lot more than I think I will avail myself of. I find the control systems and features rather alien and difficult to utilize; some are downright mysterious. I don't mind composing work up to about 300 words on the platform, beyond that, I will continue to copy things from blogger, Evernote, or Word. Composing poetry here is a waste of time.

Benefits WP offers that might keep me attending class here: it allows me to present my work neatly and distribute it as I wish. The other perk is the potential for subscribers with more depth and more localized and specialized than Facebook and Instascam friends.

-dp- ADD FOOTNOTE AND PREFACE

6-27-25

(30)

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I found this spoon near the wheel of the large dumpster outside of 0ur local Target store. It was a broad mouthed table spoon of a style I've admired for years whenever I shop at the local Target store. Being on a very tight budget, I just look for items I might one day be able to afford. I've admired this particular type of spoon for some time. They are sturdy, handsome, yet reasonably priced, particularly when purchased as full place settings with spoons and knives.

I've yearned for a full complement of spoons like this one, accented with Royal Daulton Blue plastic stems. I would be happy to own a set of red-stemmed flatware just like this, but the one by the trash bin wheel happened to be black stemmed. This seemed okay for now, as I imagined it might one day complement the color scheme of my imagined future kitchen and still fill a current practical need.

Last November, I left my wife rather briskly with little to claim but what I could fit in my very late model Ford Ranger pick-up. Just the basics, clothes from my side of the closet, socks, and underwear from those drawers. Though I had prepared for over a month for this "life choice," my list of 'things to grab' that afternoon was curtailed by time, space, and perceived opportunity to fill that truck and leave.

For a couple of months I rented a small room from a friend where I could keep a few boxes in his garage. This gave me time to find a decent, cheap studio apartment near the freeway. Not the best part of town to begin purchasing the belongings to live comfortably, a mattress, a TV, some basic IKEA furniture, sheets, towels. You get the picture.

A pot, a wok, a frying pan, and a coffee maker from Goodwill. More sundries as I could afford them, as I really didn't take that much from our house that wasn't mine before college. I would regret leaving behind things like yearbooks, my passport, old LPs, CDs, and my recording equipment believing those things could be worked out before or after the divorce.

This may give you some idea why I desired this spoon found by the wheel of a trash bin. At this time I was still working out my last few years before retirement. I wasn't dating, but still writing the perpetual great American novel. I didn't require much. I drank a lot of coffee from a pair of stainless steel thermoses I filled at home and brought to work.

I was a semi-independent home inspector calling in for assignments from a nationally recognized home inspection company. I carried a pager. It was those days. Typing out a novel with an electric Smith-Corona at night. Cut and pasting with scissors and tape. Motivating my imagination with a six or twelve-pack of Coors Banquet beer. I wanted to begin living my dream.

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Past experience has taught me that every can of coffee should come with a small yellow plastic scoop specifically designed to precisely scoop a measured quantity of ground roast coffee. This is how I always measured my Dark Roast Folgers ground coffee to brew the perfect cup of coffee.

Since moving away from that woman, and much to my dismay, and even after purchasing three red plastic cans of Folgers Dark Roast, and 2 cans of Kroger deep roast coffees, I've concluded with some minor distress that these yellow scoops are no longer provided in consumer containers of coffee. Maybe this was due to the recession, or possibly the incursion of Starbucks into the coffee market. Maybe simply to cut back costs to provide coffee executives a bigger year-end bonus. I'm simply speculating do to the inconvenience that this has caused.

Whatever the case, those yellow scoops are no longer available in cans (or red jugs) of coffee. Before I moved from my friend's room and into my studio, I could borrow and wash a spoon from my roommates' utensil drawer. No problem. As I unpacked into my own place, I discovered that the spoons brought from my ex's were inadequate. They were a long, thin stirring spoon, two teaspoons, and a ladle. Adequate enough for mixing and stirring chai, sipping dal, even scooping mashed potatoes. None of them were adequate or worked well to scoop coffee from a Folgers Coffee container; they simply were no replacement for the classic plastic yellow scoop we are all accustomed to.

It is an awkward proposition to scoop coffee with a straight-shanked tea spoon either from a full can of coffee on the counter, or by holding a depleting can over the sink. The difference is only in the quantity of coffee spilled using either technique, lost between the can and the coffee pot basket or filter. My situation is even more challenging in that I have a condition called benign tremor, which causes my fingers and hands to tremble at different rates throughout the day. Trying not to spill the can's entire precious contents into the sink, onto the floor, or across the counter is more of a challenge for me now than in my youth. A proper plastic scoop would differ this trauma better, and be greatly appreciated.

~~~~~~~~~~>>>

I went ahead and picked up the spoon by the trash bin, tossed it to the floor of my Ford Ranger, brought it home, and washed it extra super good. I even rubbed it thoroughly and properly with Rubbing Alcohol. Then I bent the spoon's neck about ninety degrees at the neck, right near its cup. With its sturdy black handle, there easy to grasp, I have created a nearly ideal coffee scoop. No longer must I dig through each fresh can of coffee vainly hoping to discover a plastic scoop that's not there.

Sometime around 12 years after discovering and utilizing that black handled spoon near the wheel of Target's dumpster, I discovered an actual yellow plastic handled Folgers coffee scoop at a thrift store in Quartzite, Arizona, an odd desert settlement near the Colorado River, famous for its gem, rock, and precious stone trade. It is also where Joanne's Gum Museum is located, but that is a story for another page of this tale.

The thrift store scoop was in mint condition! Not stained, nicked, bent, or scratched. After all those many years of searching, I felt it was a remarkable find, and the price had been reduced from fifteen to twelve dollars. It was, after all, considered a vintage barista and culinary device and apparently very collectible. Nostalgia nearly drew me into purchasing it.

In the end, I decided that the thrift store was asking too much, and since my modified spoon was still performing as well as ever, I passed on the yellow coffee scoop. It seems now that every old piece of absently thrown away trash tossed five or ten years ago is suddenly a vintage treasure. Speaking of vintage, I did find and buy an authentic pre-owned 1968 Corgi Batmobile toy while I was there. It was in 'stunning' condition and made a wonderful addition to my Gotham City-themed shadowbox I maintain, now in a part of the garage of our Santa Fe ranch house.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

My life has changed since this story was first published by Tacklebarn Press as a poem of the same name. Since then I've married and live mostly on our farm in Jaipur, India. I drink much more Chai than coffee. We tend to escape to our Llamma ranch in Santa Fe, New Mexico, during the notorious Southwestern monsoons there. The old bent black handled spoon is still there, resting in a drawer, maybe with the garlic press, potato peeler, possibly some chopsticks, and maybe an old IKEA knife sharpener.

Does it matter? We do make coffee on those occasions when folks come to visit, for after dinner, or after a few drinks. The spoon is there for that, and as a minor nod to traditions and ingenuity. Its existence somehow soothes me in a context of life's continuity. Still, to be honest, when the urge for coffee strikes me, I will often fold my laptop and make a run to Barnes&Noble for a cup or two and one of those chocolate chip cookies, or something.

-dp-

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Life has changed so much since this story was first published by Tacklebarn Press as a poem of the same name. Since then, I'vesince married. We live mostly at our farm in Jaipur, India, where I drink much more Chai than coffee. When the South-west monsoons arrive, my wife will escape the farm for our llama and alpaca ranch in Santa Fe, New Mexico. We could retire, but between here and there, east or west, there's always something fun worth doing.

The spoon? We've relegated it to our motorhome. Its purpose remains the same. And, yes, there are maybe six complete place settings matching Blue Daulton matching tableware there too. We welcome fellow travellers.

-dp- ADD FOOTNOTE

6-27-25

(30)