It's been in the family forever. I used to make trifle in it. hours days weeks months or maybe years ago. I told the kids, don't break it. Scottish/Irish heritage encased in fragile glass. I hold it familiar with the weight and memories. I pull out chips and pour them into the bowl. The kiddos eyes are huge. "go ahead," they confirm by their glances at one another Crazy! we hardly ever eat chips they longingly look I smile and nod out of the bowl that crossed the ocean over 100 years ago they delicately pull chips individually they chew slowly savoring the salt the moment of the unprecedented the out of the ordinary.
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