Life writing by Stas Medvedev

Silver spoon

My grandma filled a three-liter glass jar, with a few silver objects in it, with boiled tap water every day. She believed in the healing power of silver water. This image is the earliest recollection of one silver spoon, which together with other silver items were responsible for ionizing the water. Memory suggests I was about four. Few years later, as I grew bigger, I started using the silver spoon for the intended purpose. Despite its universal use, grandma called it a dessertspoon due to its medium size between a teaspoon and tablespoon. Just the right size for the boy of my age. This is when I assumed the silver spoon being mine.

Unlike other valuables, we regarded it just as ordinary silverware. We changed flats, changed cities, but it sustained in the family. True family silver.

I don’t know its age, nor do I know how it has appeared in my family. There is no one left alive whom I could ask. Its appearance is mystic. It has the shape of a humanoid alien with a gigantic head and slim body in futurist costume. Its geometric ornament with alternating stripes and circles seems timeless.

There is no such other object in existence which I have held so many times in my entire life. It sits in my hand so naturally. The only adequate pleasure I can think of is wearing my 10 years old pair of Crockett & Jones.

For now, the silver spoon belongs to me, and I belong to it.
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