Big Spoon, Little SpoonLike just about everyone else in America, we Italians love ice cream. As a child, our family found any excuse to enjoy the cold treat as often as possible. Good grades? Here, reward yourself with some ice cream. New car? We'll all sit on the hood (back in the days when cars were made of strong enough steel to hold an extended family of dessert eaters on the hood) and eat some ice cream. The traditions we created centered around food and the best part of the celebration included ice cream. As the youngest member of our family of 8, I delighted as Nina (my aunt) used an ice cream paddle to carve my portion first out of the new carton. "Chocolate, please," I'd say as she struggled to maneuver the carton of Neopolitan to accommodate my wish. Every time we ate ice cream the same idiosyncrasies occurred - someone always gave me a BIG spoon along with the rest of the family. Apparently de rigeur, the tablespoon proved the utensil of choice when gobbling down the cold confection. As the youngest family member and one with the smallest mouth, I argued - every time - that I needed a smaller spoon (most people call them teaspoons), and every time I met the same rebuttal. "You'll get more ice cream with the big spoon." Huh? My bowl brimmed with creamy delight just as everyone else's and how could it happen that if I ate with a bigger spoon, there'd be more to enjoy? Nonetheless, someone usually acquiesced and got me a "baby" spoon from the drawer. When I reflect on this memory, I see that it provides not only a comfortable childhood memory of family and tradition (and an explanation as to my obsession with Breyer's Chocolate to this day...), but this snippet of life demonstrates a higher lesson in abundance and willingness to receive. Hardly gourmands, our family bought the local grocery store brand of ice cream for economical purposes. You know the kind… it's gummy right when it's opened and gets freezer burn along with sticky residue if you leave it in the freezer for more than a day. Artificial flavors and coloring didn't stop us, we loved the creamy coda to a game of Pinochle. Nina bought Neopolitan and commented, "other people like chocolate, too," as an excuse to dole out all three flavors to me. Yet I knew what I wanted and pouted until I got a dish of chocolate fringed with small ribbons of vanilla. I often wondered why my aunt didn't buy me my own carton of chocolate. Sometimes she'd get the creamy and nutty Butter Pecan which made it particularly difficult for a "big spoon" to remove those silly nuts. I soon became as adept at Pinochle as eating ice cream! The comments that still mystify today are the ones about the bigger spoon giving me more ice cream. Each of us used the same sized bowl and Nina carefully portioned out servings with scale-like precision. If anything, I thought, my "baby spoon" provided me with more spoonfuls and the illusion of more quantity. Ah, Family logic. My "baby spoon" however exemplified my self-knowledge and willingness to receive. I knew who I was and the best way for me to enjoy the abundance in my life. Besides, I knew I could always have more. After all, we didn't want to "waste" the food, so eat it up! Whether it's ice cream, money, love or happiness, may you always acknowledge who you are and the know the best way to receive all the good things in your life. Although I don't recommend pouting, remember life makes more available for you. The Universe offers your own carton of good, in just the flavor you want it, and gives you the necessary tools to receive it in your highest and best manner. You must be willing to sit and the table and place your order! Marlene |