
Ben
Putnam
Spoon February 2021
My spoon
Consider the spoon
Ancient * Feminine * Bowl like * Soft * Reverence to food to sustenance to life * offering * Serving * Giving * Holding * The first tool we learn to use *
I learned about spoon theory - The metaphorical representation of energy reserves for people with chronic illness. Credit to Christine Miserandino describing her experience living with Lupus.
Spoonerisms have nothing to do with spoons.
I may or may not have been humming or singing “Spoon River” all week.
Make choices
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I guess the first choice was selecting the spoon.
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Day 1. Chose to add a braided strap so I could attach the spoon to my belt.
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Day 1. Chose to not bring up the fact that I was carrying a spoon around, but if asked would inform the person that by merely asking they were now a part of a performance art piece. They were asked if I could photograph them holding the spoon and they were asked if they had any stories that involved a spoon.
Rationale: I suspected that most people do in fact have stories that involve spoons. I also suspect that by and large the stories are not all that spectacular, therefore rarely rise to the occasion of needing to be told. This performance became an invitation to people to tell, what seems upon first glance to be unremarkable stories but when encouraged, can reveal a bit of insight into the person, therefore a deeper understanding of the person, therefore building stronger connections, therefore building stronger relationships, therefore strengthening community, therefore increasing love, therefore, ever so slightly saving the human race.
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Day 2. Chose to add a carabiner for added ease of clipping and unclipping.
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Day 3. Chose to continue this performance for a full week because 4 days just wasn’t long enough. Especially since there was a weekend in there. Especially since we’re in the middle of a global pandemic and I really don’t go anywhere. Especially since the weather has been terrible, further restricting me to home.
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Day 4. Chose to eat the soup I had for dinner with a spoon that was not this spoon.
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Day 5. Chose to forgive myself for all the times I forgot to bring the spoon. It’s truly a wonder that I managed to raise two humans to adulthood without losing them or breaking them or forgetting they were there. These oversights really triggered self deprecating feelings of poor follow through, lack of commitment and forgetfulness like I haven’t experienced in years.
Spoon stories
Jason Lambert, colleague
Told a story of an old woman knocking a wooden spoon rack off the wall at a birthday party for his aunt Mayonnaise.
Jaclyn Clark, friend and former student
“When I was in seventh grade, my friend Anna and I made a movie about a spoon named spoony.”
Maria Easton, sister inlaw
Always wanted to learn how to play the spoons.
Taren Birkner, Brother inlaw
Couldn’t / wouldn’t share a spoon story. Unwilling to put in the effort.
Mim Easton, sister inlaw
“One of my favorite parts of making soup is using a handmade wooden spoon I got at a yankee swap a few years ago. It’s the only thing I use that spoon for and I love holding it.”
Jo Cole, sister inlaw
“My dad used to beat me with a wooden kitchen spoon.”
Marty Kelley, friend
“My nephew's nickname in the army is spoon. They call him spoon because he always carries a spoon with him; in case there’s ever cake.”
Tim Putnam, brother
“I used to steal spoons, and other silverware from the dining hall in college.”
Karrie Mitschmyer, colleague
“Well the first thing I think of is collecting spoons to make spoon rings.”
Todd Bennett, colleague
After an awkwardly long time not having a story but desperately thinking finally says,
“My kids are constantly putting away dirty spoons from the dishwasher and it drives me crazy”. After apologizing for not having a better story, and me telling him that it didn’t matter, the point was to provide an opportunity for the story to be told. Todd had an epiphany of sorts.
We all have these silly little stories that never get told, but in fact they’re the stories that connect us.
Angel St. Pierre, student
“My sister threw a spoon at me when we were little and it hit me in the face right here” (shows scar)
Vicki & Putt (my parents)
Told in a back and forth manner that only a couple married for 52 years can get away with.
“Well the first spoon story I (my mom) can think of is the spoon that was full of mashed potatoes that I flicked into your fathers face the first time he came to our house for dinner. He never should have said, you wouldn’t dare.” “She was trouble right from the start”, said my dad.
My spoon story
Jar full of spoons on the counter of my parents house for soup night.
Soup night - November 2005 - March 2019
Soup night began the fall after my grandmother died. My mom had been her primary caretaker the last 18 months of her life. After nine months of morning and feeling as though she lost all her social connection to friends she began soup night the week after Thanksgiving. She sent invitations to family, neighbors and friends that went something like this: Beginning next Thursday evening and continuing every Thursday until the last Thursday in March there will be a pot of soup or two on our stove. Consider yourself invited to any and all. I’ll only promise soup, water, bowls and spoons, anything else you may want you need to bring. Don’t arrive before 6:00pm and please leave by 8:00pm, I have to work early the next day. Please do not RSVP. Just show up, or don’t.
Diary of the spoon
Thursday February 11 -
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Shared spoon assignment with my students and invited them to join me. As far as I know only one took me up on the offer and I don’t know how successful they were with the follow through.
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Made the braided strap for the spoon and established participatory guidelines.
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I forgot the spoon twice when leaving my classroom. Disappointed in myself.
Friday February 12 -
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Saw very few people today.
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Walked with Jason, he asked about the spoon
Saturday February 13 -
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Took the spoon to the grocery store and the liquor store. No questions
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Walked with Jaclyn, she asked about the spoon
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Took the spoon to the dump. No questions.
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Not doing a very good job with the spoon while at home. I abandon it frequently. Disappointed in myself.
Sunday February 14 -
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Drove around NH delivering Valentines and chocolate to niblings. Lots of family asked about the spoon.
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Decided to continue the practice for the full week since I’m going so few places.
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Still bad about holding the spoon while at home.
Monday February 15 -
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Left the spoon in my car by accident for the first hour of school
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2 colleagues asked about the spoon at school today.
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1 student asked about the spoon.
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Forgot the spoon at school when I left. Remembered half way home and turned around to go back and get the spoon. It was the right thing to do. Decided going back for it make up for forgetting it in some way so I was less disappointed in myself than I expected to be.
Tuesday February 16-
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Couldn’t find the spoon when I was trying to leave for school. Determined to find it. It was under a pile of clothes. I was almost late for my first class. Felt good about my commitment to spoon today.
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A bit surprised at the lack of questions I got from people today. Ann said it’s because people are used to seeing me carrying odd things or behaving in surprising ways. When asked to provide examples she couldn’t; but I also couldn’t deny that there wasn’t some truth to her claim.
Wednesday February 17 -
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A pretty boring day with spoon. I did forget it in a bathroom once today. Left in on a hook on the back of the door. Glad I remembered where I left it and glad it was still there when I went back for it.
“Ode to the Spoon” by: Pablo Neruda
Translated by Ken Krabbenhoft
Spoon,
scoop
formed
by man’s
most ancient hand,
in your design
of metal or wood
we still see
the shape
of the first
palm
to which
water
imparted
coolness
and savage
blood,
the throb
of bonfires and the hunt.
Little
spoon
in an
infant’s
tiny hand,
you raise
to his mouth
the earth’s
most
ancient
kiss,
silent heritage
of the first water to sing
on lips that later lay
buried beneath the sand.
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To this hollow space,
detached from the palm of our hand,
someone
added
a make-believe wooden
arm,
and
spoons
started turning up
all over the world
in ever
more
perfect
form,
spoons made for
moving
between bowl and ruby-red lips
or flying
from thin soups
to hungry men’s careless mouths.
Yes,
spoon:
at mankind’s side
you have climbed
mountains,
swept down rivers,
populated
ships and cities,
castles and kitchens:
but
the hard part
of your life’s journey
is to plunge
into the poor man’s plate,
and into his mouth.
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And so the coming
of the new life
that,
fighting and singing,
we preach,
will be a coming of soup bowls,
a perfect panoply
of spoons.
An ocean of steam rising from pots
in a world
without hunger,
and a total mobilization of spoons,
will shed light where once was darkness
shining on plates spread all over the table
like contented flowers.