Silverware is that amazing thing that you stick food upon and eat with. It’s almost like one of those sticks my cave tribe uses to skewer our brontosaurus roast, but, it’s, it’s… metal! I have to bring one of these revolutionary devices back and show Tum-Dum-Rumma-Grum-Grum and all my other cavemen friends! Wow! Now we won’t get bark and stuff in our meat when we skewer these things. I shall bring these things, these For-aks, and these Sop-Oons, and these Ka-Nives back to the caves!
Also, what are these “tablecloths?” Is that like a saber-tooth tiger hide? I need to show all the dinosaur hunters these crazy new inventions!!!
Laid out on the table were spoons of all sizes, all he’d never seen before, forks, chopsticks, plates and bowls and glasses, and- It was never-ending, it seemed.
Yet, the silverware lay beneath the wooden boards just underneath his bed. For the first time in his life, his silver tongue provided no defense.
My family has trouble keeping up with silverware. Forks, Spoons, and Knives. We either accidently throw silverware away or keep them. We found a bunch of silverware at Goodwill for $2.
blue in the drawer,
felt and soft to touch
unveils tarnished long loved and familiar
weighty, held long in animated discussions, debates, celebration and tears
by family we love and have loved
present and past
to be passed again
So lovely if it didn’t get tarnished. I never have found the best way to clean the silverware I have. I have 4 place settings of Toll’s Old Colonial pattern, and my younger sister has 8 placement settings. From our mother. That is the dynamic of older-younger. Self-sacrifice by the older, lack of appreciation by the younger. How many times I have fantasized going to my sister’s house, knocking on her door, and when she opens it, yelling, “Give me my two place settings back this minute. And no, I don’t want a cup of coffee to discuss it. Just get them for me now.” The fantasy is good enough for me; I don’t really want them.
Am I just silverware to you? Another element of your everyday – even though I’m not there every day – that you come in contact with, don’t care to remember? Because to remember the silverware at a meal is to realize the meal itself is unmemorable.
What Rose Whittaker was about to do was not good. It simply was not right or proper. It just wasn’t what someone raised in the way she had been raised, all silver spoons and old money and delicate refinery, should do. But she intended to defy them, all the norms that had tormented her all her life. She intended to flout them opnely and proudly, with her golden curls a halo around her head and her lavender dress ironed so fine that nobody would expect she was anything but perfect. Nobody would expect her to have a girl who dressed in men’s clothing and talked low and easy and warm and looked especially gorgeous smoking a cigarette in her favorite suit outside the club at night. Nobody would expect sweet, fine, lovely Rose Whittaker to have a mean streak in her. Nobody would expect Rose Whittaker to have a gun, and, more than that, intend to use it, and know how to use it.
“This silverware set is missing a knife.” The wizard frowned while eyeing his set. “Someone has been touching my shit again.” He stepped back and muttered an incantation under his breath.
“silverware” is what The Silver Surfer calls his underwear. The Silver Surfer is confused because he is a surfer and everyone knows surfers are dumb. “Tubular! Peace out!”
When I was in highschool I played a grandma in our production of The Dining Room. I said “balls” out loud and threatened to cut off an actor’s “masculinity” with a “pistol handled butter knife!” hahahaha I still got a better grade than he did!
Silver ware has a big use in our lives. People use it al the time to eat and to cook. If we didn’t have any utensils it would be funny to see what people would improvise with to cook. I went camping and some of my friends forgot to bring utensils for eating so they carved sticks to have a pointy end so they could eat their pasta.
the only thing that has ever entered my mouth
i dislike the way it tastes
of metal and disgust
terrifying and sad
it was all over from the first moment
silverware. the tarnished and shiny. a token of civility. a meaningless thing. comfort. privilege. all in a simple utensil. so much diversity but they’re all the same. all a shame.
silverware is a thing that people use to eat various kinds of food with and silverware include knives spoons forks etc. and so different kinds of slverware are used for different things.
When I stabbed him in the thigh with a fork he just smiled. I wanted him to cry in pain but his masochist tendencies had surfaced, along with his constant desire to save face in public.
She said it was from her wedding, but that was only after I accidentally threw one of her forks away. I’d washed every piece in that drawer and none of the patterns matched. All lonely castoffs from thrift stores, no one ever thinks about that until they have a reason and spite is always the best reason.
When my in-laws came over for dinner, we brought out the fine china and the nice silverware. We got the rose-bedecked tablecloth and lit candles and did all the cheesy stuff you’re supposed to do to “impress” anybody. When my wife told me what the menu was, however, I nearly had a heart attack.
“TURKEY BURGERS?”
She blinked. “My dad loves them. And don’t worry – they’re FANCY turkey burgers.”
I eat with forks, spoons, knifes so I don’t have to use my fingers.
I also use plastic silverware so I can dispose and not have to wash it. Especially plastic comes in handy for parties. My mother has real silverware she polishes.
She glances down at the table set with the beautiful colors of the holiday. Fall’s in the air and ready to have her home be filled with her family and friends. She runs her hand over the silverware and plates passed down to her from her grams, for whom instilled etiquette along with fun and laughter at the very table she sat as a little girl so many times right next to her. Shared with many family and friends being passed on for generations. She holds tight to these precious memories and can’t wait to share and partake in the festivities. Her home filled with the auroma of good eats lingering and beckoning her to participate; as she breathes deep it takes her to her sweet place, and this makes her smile from the inside out. She is right where she knows she is to be.
Criss-cross forks-and-knives mark the table like insignias on playing cards… Each criss-cross shines slightly differently; the chandeliers swinging mysteriously overhead make the utensils shiver.
She slammed the drawer shut. “Well, what do you want me to do about it.” It wasn’t a question. It was definetly a statement.
Had Stan been a smart man, he would have backed off right then and there. But Stan never quite knew when to leave well enough alone. This was definitely not “well enough”
That’s the shiny stuff you eat with.
Also see the Annual international Shoveling-The-Food-Into-Your-Mouth Championship (AISTFIYM ). It’s just like the Annual Lamp-Breaking Championship, but in these games, forks, spoons, and knives all compete to be on the top of the silverware tray when the utensils are brought out for the Thanksgiving meal. They have one hour to get to the top. If not, they are not picked up immediately and set beside the plate. therefore they lose. It’s a bitter struggle.
I think we should use the nice ones, she’s my mother for Christ’s sake!
I understand where you’re coming from, but she isn’t a queen or anything she’s…
She’s what?
She’s just your mother.
Aha! JUST my mother. I suppose you’d break out the plastic for your mother as well, eh?
Sweetheart, my mother is dead.
How much silverware does one person need? She always thought that as a little girl but here she stood in her childhood home, back from the holidays. Her mother asked if she could set the table. The thought crossed her mind but this time after decades of thinking it, she said it out loud. “Mother, how much silverware does one person need?”
She did not mean it out of disrespect but curiosity, it had been a question that haunted her most of life. She was hoping for a genuine response that would put it all to rest. That is not what she got. Her mother slammed the china plates down on the table, so hard Lily thought they were going to shattered right there in front of them both.
Her mother paused after her dramatic performance looked Little in the eyes and laid into her. It was as if her mother was waiting for this day to come. As if she had rehearsed the speech she was about to give. Gail, that is what her mother liked to go by even though it wasn’t her name and Lily never asked that why. Gail cleared her through, picked up a table setting and started shaking them as she spoke, it must have been her way of making a pint.
“Now, you hear me, Lily Anne, what are you getting at? What kind of judgmental question is that.” It never was a concern of yours before you went away to the University” “What could they possibly be teaching you there that would cause you to return home and ask such a rude question?”
Lily knew her mother was a drama queen, yet she had never seen this side of her. An angry person showed up at the end of the table, an angry person who did not seem to want to have a conversation but give a lecture to her grown daughter. A lecture to her daughter who asked a simple question, not disrespectfully but out of interest she wanted to know.
In front of me are a large amount of silverware.
Why there are a large amount of silverware, I haven’t got a clue.
But the only thing I know is, it will get rusted with out maintenance.
Clinking and clanking were the only noises that filled the hollow hall. Broken stares aimed at half filled plates with pain and regret soaked in their eyes. This time they lost too much and the smell of dinner in front of them was enough to make their stomachs turn.
Quiet clink at lunch time, life on pause. Smell of fried onions in the stairwell. Hush of distant traffic through the open window. There could be peace, or just a patient wait until true life could resume between the schoolbook’s page.
Quiet clink at lunch time, life on pause. Smell of fried onions in the staircase. Hush of distant traffic through the open window. There could be peace, or just a patient wait until true life could resume between the schoolbook’s page.
silverware
She took the knife from the drawer and held it up between her and her husband.
“Don’t come any closer, jackass.”
He rolled his eyes. “Is the weapon really necessary? I’m not an psychopath.”
She blanched. “You’re an alien wearing my husband’s skin!”
silverware is used in the kitchen for preparing food and cutting food for you eat and eating food .
Silverware is that amazing thing that you stick food upon and eat with. It’s almost like one of those sticks my cave tribe uses to skewer our brontosaurus roast, but, it’s, it’s… metal! I have to bring one of these revolutionary devices back and show Tum-Dum-Rumma-Grum-Grum and all my other cavemen friends! Wow! Now we won’t get bark and stuff in our meat when we skewer these things. I shall bring these things, these For-aks, and these Sop-Oons, and these Ka-Nives back to the caves!
Also, what are these “tablecloths?” Is that like a saber-tooth tiger hide? I need to show all the dinosaur hunters these crazy new inventions!!!
Laid out on the table were spoons of all sizes, all he’d never seen before, forks, chopsticks, plates and bowls and glasses, and- It was never-ending, it seemed.
Yet, the silverware lay beneath the wooden boards just underneath his bed. For the first time in his life, his silver tongue provided no defense.
He picked up the silverware, looking at it with wide, ocean eyes as his brown hair moved in its metallic reflection.
My family has trouble keeping up with silverware. Forks, Spoons, and Knives. We either accidently throw silverware away or keep them. We found a bunch of silverware at Goodwill for $2.
´Zesty soap and this silverware is a sealed envelope´, said the logger on.
´It has to be a better e mail connection´, said the butler.
blue in the drawer,
felt and soft to touch
unveils tarnished long loved and familiar
weighty, held long in animated discussions, debates, celebration and tears
by family we love and have loved
present and past
to be passed again
So lovely if it didn’t get tarnished. I never have found the best way to clean the silverware I have. I have 4 place settings of Toll’s Old Colonial pattern, and my younger sister has 8 placement settings. From our mother. That is the dynamic of older-younger. Self-sacrifice by the older, lack of appreciation by the younger. How many times I have fantasized going to my sister’s house, knocking on her door, and when she opens it, yelling, “Give me my two place settings back this minute. And no, I don’t want a cup of coffee to discuss it. Just get them for me now.” The fantasy is good enough for me; I don’t really want them.
Am I just silverware to you? Another element of your everyday – even though I’m not there every day – that you come in contact with, don’t care to remember? Because to remember the silverware at a meal is to realize the meal itself is unmemorable.
sliverware is made from silver and sometimes other metals and minerls there are dozens of diffrent typise of silverware like the spook.
What Rose Whittaker was about to do was not good. It simply was not right or proper. It just wasn’t what someone raised in the way she had been raised, all silver spoons and old money and delicate refinery, should do. But she intended to defy them, all the norms that had tormented her all her life. She intended to flout them opnely and proudly, with her golden curls a halo around her head and her lavender dress ironed so fine that nobody would expect she was anything but perfect. Nobody would expect her to have a girl who dressed in men’s clothing and talked low and easy and warm and looked especially gorgeous smoking a cigarette in her favorite suit outside the club at night. Nobody would expect sweet, fine, lovely Rose Whittaker to have a mean streak in her. Nobody would expect Rose Whittaker to have a gun, and, more than that, intend to use it, and know how to use it.
“This silverware set is missing a knife.” The wizard frowned while eyeing his set. “Someone has been touching my shit again.” He stepped back and muttered an incantation under his breath.
silverware frosted and cool, varnish smells and curling paper lining, a string of dust and things, a squeak of metal and a squeeze of wood.
“silverware” is what The Silver Surfer calls his underwear. The Silver Surfer is confused because he is a surfer and everyone knows surfers are dumb. “Tubular! Peace out!”
When I was in highschool I played a grandma in our production of The Dining Room. I said “balls” out loud and threatened to cut off an actor’s “masculinity” with a “pistol handled butter knife!” hahahaha I still got a better grade than he did!
i have lots of silverware it can be used for something like eating cutting and lots of other things there are forks spoons and knifes.
Silver ware has a big use in our lives. People use it al the time to eat and to cook. If we didn’t have any utensils it would be funny to see what people would improvise with to cook. I went camping and some of my friends forgot to bring utensils for eating so they carved sticks to have a pointy end so they could eat their pasta.
It had our initial engraved at the bottom. It never really mattered much, until you switched to plastic.
Actual silverware, not carved wood or bone. I felt fumble-fingered and quaint next to the nobles, eating finer food than I had even seen before.
the only thing that has ever entered my mouth
i dislike the way it tastes
of metal and disgust
terrifying and sad
it was all over from the first moment
silverware. the tarnished and shiny. a token of civility. a meaningless thing. comfort. privilege. all in a simple utensil. so much diversity but they’re all the same. all a shame.
silverware is a thing that people use to eat various kinds of food with and silverware include knives spoons forks etc. and so different kinds of slverware are used for different things.
When I stabbed him in the thigh with a fork he just smiled. I wanted him to cry in pain but his masochist tendencies had surfaced, along with his constant desire to save face in public.
She said it was from her wedding, but that was only after I accidentally threw one of her forks away. I’d washed every piece in that drawer and none of the patterns matched. All lonely castoffs from thrift stores, no one ever thinks about that until they have a reason and spite is always the best reason.
Silverware is what you use to eat your food and set the table with before you eat you also use certain silverware to cut your food.
When my in-laws came over for dinner, we brought out the fine china and the nice silverware. We got the rose-bedecked tablecloth and lit candles and did all the cheesy stuff you’re supposed to do to “impress” anybody. When my wife told me what the menu was, however, I nearly had a heart attack.
“TURKEY BURGERS?”
She blinked. “My dad loves them. And don’t worry – they’re FANCY turkey burgers.”
I eat with forks, spoons, knifes so I don’t have to use my fingers.
I also use plastic silverware so I can dispose and not have to wash it. Especially plastic comes in handy for parties. My mother has real silverware she polishes.
She glances down at the table set with the beautiful colors of the holiday. Fall’s in the air and ready to have her home be filled with her family and friends. She runs her hand over the silverware and plates passed down to her from her grams, for whom instilled etiquette along with fun and laughter at the very table she sat as a little girl so many times right next to her. Shared with many family and friends being passed on for generations. She holds tight to these precious memories and can’t wait to share and partake in the festivities. Her home filled with the auroma of good eats lingering and beckoning her to participate; as she breathes deep it takes her to her sweet place, and this makes her smile from the inside out. She is right where she knows she is to be.
Criss-cross forks-and-knives mark the table like insignias on playing cards… Each criss-cross shines slightly differently; the chandeliers swinging mysteriously overhead make the utensils shiver.
She slammed the drawer shut. “Well, what do you want me to do about it.” It wasn’t a question. It was definetly a statement.
Had Stan been a smart man, he would have backed off right then and there. But Stan never quite knew when to leave well enough alone. This was definitely not “well enough”
That’s the shiny stuff you eat with.
Also see the Annual international Shoveling-The-Food-Into-Your-Mouth Championship (AISTFIYM ). It’s just like the Annual Lamp-Breaking Championship, but in these games, forks, spoons, and knives all compete to be on the top of the silverware tray when the utensils are brought out for the Thanksgiving meal. They have one hour to get to the top. If not, they are not picked up immediately and set beside the plate. therefore they lose. It’s a bitter struggle.
I think we should use the nice ones, she’s my mother for Christ’s sake!
I understand where you’re coming from, but she isn’t a queen or anything she’s…
She’s what?
She’s just your mother.
Aha! JUST my mother. I suppose you’d break out the plastic for your mother as well, eh?
Sweetheart, my mother is dead.
How much silverware does one person need? She always thought that as a little girl but here she stood in her childhood home, back from the holidays. Her mother asked if she could set the table. The thought crossed her mind but this time after decades of thinking it, she said it out loud. “Mother, how much silverware does one person need?”
She did not mean it out of disrespect but curiosity, it had been a question that haunted her most of life. She was hoping for a genuine response that would put it all to rest. That is not what she got. Her mother slammed the china plates down on the table, so hard Lily thought they were going to shattered right there in front of them both.
Her mother paused after her dramatic performance looked Little in the eyes and laid into her. It was as if her mother was waiting for this day to come. As if she had rehearsed the speech she was about to give. Gail, that is what her mother liked to go by even though it wasn’t her name and Lily never asked that why. Gail cleared her through, picked up a table setting and started shaking them as she spoke, it must have been her way of making a pint.
“Now, you hear me, Lily Anne, what are you getting at? What kind of judgmental question is that.” It never was a concern of yours before you went away to the University” “What could they possibly be teaching you there that would cause you to return home and ask such a rude question?”
Lily knew her mother was a drama queen, yet she had never seen this side of her. An angry person showed up at the end of the table, an angry person who did not seem to want to have a conversation but give a lecture to her grown daughter. A lecture to her daughter who asked a simple question, not disrespectfully but out of interest she wanted to know.
In front of me are a large amount of silverware.
Why there are a large amount of silverware, I haven’t got a clue.
But the only thing I know is, it will get rusted with out maintenance.
Clinking and clanking were the only noises that filled the hollow hall. Broken stares aimed at half filled plates with pain and regret soaked in their eyes. This time they lost too much and the smell of dinner in front of them was enough to make their stomachs turn.
Quiet clink at lunch time, life on pause. Smell of fried onions in the stairwell. Hush of distant traffic through the open window. There could be peace, or just a patient wait until true life could resume between the schoolbook’s page.
Quiet clink at lunch time, life on pause. Smell of fried onions in the staircase. Hush of distant traffic through the open window. There could be peace, or just a patient wait until true life could resume between the schoolbook’s page.
Silverware is important to the process of preparing and consuming meals. It saves us from unnecessary mess and disruption.