I walked slowly down the hallway with the yellow bowl in my hands in front of me.
I called out to my mother, ahead of my entrance to the living room, not even entirely sure of what my question was, “Mom?”
“Yes, Dear?” She replied.
At the last moment, I tucked the bowl behind my back, and just leaned my head into the room.
My mother was sitting in the cozy living room, the spitting image of my grandmother, except older, a bit rounder, and with a swath of silver hair framing her face. She looked up from her sudoku puzzle and she looked at me expectantly.
I asked her if Grandma had one of those old yellow mixing bowls, the kind that came in a set with primary colors. My mother’s face brightened with recognition as she said, “Oh yes! Just about everyone I knew had a set like that when I was growing up.”
Internally, I felt my shoulders relax. Of course, these bowls were common. It wouldn’t be weird to find one in the attic among all their other stuff. So I stepped forward into the living room and moved the bowl in front of me as I said, “Like this one?”
A cloud settled over my mother’s eyes as her gaze met the yellow bowl and I could see the shadows of a memory flit through her mind. “Let me see that!”
I reluctantly handed her the bowl, which she held in her hands. She ran her fingers over the lip and the shiny smooth surface. She looked up at me and said, “If I didn’t know better I’d say this *was* your grandmother’s bowl! But of course, that’s not possible.”
“Why not, Mom?”
My mother sighed nonchalantly, “Oh, that bowl went missing when I was a teenager. Your grandmother accused me of taking it for YEARS. I swore that I didn’t do it, but she INSISTED that I was the last person who had it before it disappeared.”
My mouth felt dry, and I searched my mind for a logical explanation. Or even the next appropriate question, but before I could respond, my mother continued, “It’s the funniest thing…your Grandma always insisted I had been helping her make breakfast and that I went to the pantry and never came back.”
More goosebumps rose on my arms as she said this. In my dream, or whatever it was, my grandmother had sent me to the pantry, but I never got there because that’s when I grabbed the suitcase and found myself back in my parent’s home.
My mother shook her head, still lost in her memories, “I have never been able to remember the instance, and you’d think I’d recall the day I wandered off with my mother’s largest Pyrex bowl!” She looked up at me and chuckled, still cradling the bowl in her hands.
I furrowed my brow, deep in thought, “So, if the bowl went missing all those years ago, how did it end up in your attic?”
“Oh, Sweetie,” my mom replied, “I’m sure Grandma eventually convinced Grandpa to replace it, but I was a teenager, and was more interested in boys than bowls. I bet you’ll find the rest of the set up in the attic somewhere.”
Of course! There is always a logical explanation. And this made a lot of sense.
My mother handed the bowl back to me and it suddenly felt less like a specter and more like I was being ridiculous. As I turned the bowl in my hands, I realized just how charming it was. Just like my grandmother’s kitchen had been in my dream.
“I’ll be interested to find the rest of the set. What did you say it was called again?”
“Pyrex,” my mother replied.
“Pyrex,” I repeated after her, staring deeply into the bowl. So…I was on a mission to find some Pyrex!
