This morning all the bowls we use from day to day were sloshing around in the dishwasher so I'd pulled this one from the top shelf and mindlessly poured it full of flakes, milk, and honey.

As I ate eating the raisin bran, I fretted because I didn't have a viable  idea for my column this week. So I munched dejectedly staring at nothing in particular when the bowl containing the serial came
into focus.

Slowly turning the bowl, I realized it was exactly like to bowl from which I ate corn flakes when I was a kid. It wasn't the same bowl, I knew that, but it was a twin.

Where did it come from? Was it somehow vibrating at a frequency just outside my visual range which kept it cloaked until this very moment?

I called to Jilda and asked her where it came from and she said it had belonged to her mother. Apparently we've had the bowl for many years. How could that be that I'd never noticed it?

I pride myself on being observant and "seeing things," but in reality, I think I've been walking around asleep.

All afternoon I've been opening cabinets, pulling our drawers and looking on shelves taking stock of what's here.

Maybe the bowl finally appeared to provide a topic for a future column.