Ceramic Bud Vase

Bhutan, 2002

When I was a teen, still in junior high, my family went out one night to a fancy Chinese restaurant on Long Island. The china itself was beautiful, every piece decorated with the same floral motif. My eye was drawn to the little sugar bowl. I announced that I liked it, in a cagey way.

My parents suspected my intentions. I’d done some petty shoplifting around that time. I’m not proud of it. I’d even been caught, once, and brought home by the police! So now my mother’s eyes were on me. And there were Chinese waiters everywhere. There was no way to do the misdeed without being seen.

When we left, it was dark out. We walked toward our car, a green Dodge Coronet. “Did you take the bowl?” my father asked me directly.

“No,” I replied, but showed him an ceramic soup spoon. My brother, silently, revealed a saucer.

My father had grown up in a rough neighborhood, and possessed some skills we lacked. He shook his head, and took the sugar bowl out of his coat.

This was an isolated incident. Ours was not a family of thieves; far from it. My parents were usually obsessively honest, and after my punkish teen phase I followed that line. Even in 2000, on assignment for Yoga Journal in Bhutan, I had very mixed feelings about taking this small but elegant bud vase from my room in Thimpu’s Hotel Riverside.

I like to think that I spoke with the management first, and that they offered it to me as a gift. Maybe that’s what happened. Yes, I’m sure it was.