Write. For five minutes straight. One-word prompt, five minutes, no editing. I'm linking up over at Lisa-Jo Baker (aka The Gypsy Mama) where we read, write and encourage.
The jagged edges spread, slowly, seeping, every time we washed it. The division between the painted green and yellow colors, lovingly drawn, painstakingly put down.
He made it for me. My father. I like to say my artistic expression comes from him- though I'm sure my mom had a hand in it too.
I didn't ask for much. I wanted something personal. Something handmade. Something I could show my children as we set the table. "Look at Grandpa's bowls! Would you like the stars or the gecko bowl for dinner?"
Dad certainly delivered. Each year a new bowl has come. When you first peer over the porcelain rim, your greeted with a smile. Sometimes it's the wide-mouthed smile of a fish swallowing the worm. Other times it's the bulging eyes of a spotted gecko hiding beneath the fronds, just like they did when we lived on Oahu.
I wanted memories of my dad. And every anniversary he reveals another piece of art for my table and my home. Another piece of us.
And now it's broken. Leaking and unfit for use. I can't bear to part with the tenacious pieces of bowl- it's three-quarters gone already.