Little Yellow Bowl My little yellow bowl broke today, its handle finally succumbing to 34 years of regular use and hot dishwashers. It’s not much of a bowl. Plastic, part of a set long gone. And I was surprised at the rush of emotion I felt. You see, my mother-in-law gave me that bowl. She gave me the whole set as part of a large box of utensils and bowls and dishcloths and other kitchen things her son and I would need as we set up our first home together. While many may not see that as such a big deal, it was. I was most decidedly not her choice for her son. And yet, she still did this thoughtful thing. I use that bowl for nearly everything. It has a little spout, making it perfect for pouring pancake batter on a hot griddle or cake mix into cupcake tins. And every time I used it over the years, I thought about her. The rest of the contents of that box are mostly long gone. But the little yellow bowl hung in there, for 34 years. My mother-in-law and I had what can ta...
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Pearson crafts her words with the gentleness of a mother cradling a newborn, yet couples it with great power and meaning. No word is wasted. She presents her understanding of truth with no apology, no reticence, and without the aggression or hostility which so often accompany passionate writing. She does not demand agreement, only offers her thoughts for consideration.
For those who disagree with her (who are brave enough to read something outside their own comfortable sphere), a foray into her work will expand the mind, soften the heart, and give opportunity to own beliefs and values on more solid footing.
For the oppressed whom she champions, those who feel like lone salmon constantly swimming upstream, reading Pearson is the solace of looking over to find you aren’t, after all, swimming alone.
For those who espouse her beliefs, reading her work is like coming home, being wrapped in a down comforter, snuggled up in mom’s favorite rocker with a cup of hot cocoa. It is the comfort of the familiar heart, the place where you are understood.
I have a shelf in my bookcase now dedicated to my growing collection of Pearson’s writings. She is articulate, passionate, skillful, and she loves chocolate. Does it get any better than that?