The Red Bowl

I wish I had a picture.  It's been on my mind all day.  The red bowl.  My red bowl.   You see, this was no ordinary bowl.  This was THE bowl.  I have searched vintage sites, and places I didn't know existed ,on the web today to at least find something akin to my bowl.  But, to no avail.  Sigh with me now.  Sigh.  Thank you. 

My Mickey Mouse Bowl (And , thanks to a phone call from my mother this evening, I learned my "M's" at an early age and they were clear.  In case you were wondering.)  was of simple plastic, probably molded for many children in the late '60's, who wailed for something with the beloved Disney character on it.  The inner part of the bowl was smooth, yet at the bottom, Mickey was in a pose possibly tipping his hat.  That part remains unclear.  BUT, around the rim...the rim of the bowl crept over like a little ledge, and on this little ledge sat the alphabet and the numbers from 0-10. Perhaps this bowl was for smaller children, and I probably used it when I was younger, however, I remember this bowl for my morning cereal contents and the freshly salted popcorn my father would put in it on nights when we watched The Wonderful World of Disney.

Sugared cereals were a rarity in our house.  A Frosted Flake with Tony the Tiger looking strong on the box might have made it's way from the A & P, or a Fruit Loop for some special reason, but, mainly it was Wheaties or Dad's granola that found it's way into my bowl.  Cream of Wheat was another favorite as was oatmeal.  I never was a fan of the milk at the end of the bowl of cereal like most kids ,(where the milk poured out of either sides of the mouth), as they held the bowl up to their mouths, much to their parent's chagrin.  No, I liked to watch the milk slide down the sides of my red bowl with the hopes that I was close enough to finishing the cereal with my milk, and, that Mickey would make his appearance.  Breakfast was then complete.

No one made popcorn like my Dad.  We had an electric popcorn maker that was small enough it even had a handle on it.  He always made it on the top of the stove where there was an outlet.  Oh, the smells on a Sunday evening.   He would routinely salt it perfectly;  not so much that you ran for water, but just enough that it slid across your tongue with every crunch of each kernel.  Here's the kicker: Dad liked (and I think still does) his popcorn topped with milk.  To this day, I will never get over that.  Soggy popcorn and milk.  The texture still sends me with nose curled up in wonderment how someone could enjoy that.  Sometimes, Dad would even use my red bowl.  I let him.  It was OK.  Really.  I mean, after all, Sunday nights were about not only sharing Disney, but the bowl too. 

So, cereal and popcorn and my red bowl.  I miss those days.  I miss the texture of that silly, plastic, bowl that obviously still has my heart. I have interviewed all family members on the whereabouts of my bowl.  "I think I might have given it away when we left Pennsylvania", my mother stated today. I could sense the apologetic tone in her voice.  I'm sure it was never intentional.  I will continue to scour the web to see if there is one out there. I probably won't pay $250 for one, but you can be darn sure I will cut and paste a copy of a photo of one.  It might even become a desktop background photo. 

Ah, but a girl can dream.  If you come across one, please let me know.  I would be forever grateful. 

Kathy