Ode to Tray

When we were new to the country and had no food due to ignorance of grocery store locations, lack of transportation, and downer of an exchange rate... you were there, holding free sausage rolls (what are these things?) in exchange for a few shy smiles and awkward conversations with other doe-eyed international students.

When we were faced with another tv and internet-less evening in our sparse, new home... you were there, holding a friendly offering of leftovers from the resident tutor and welcoming party planner who didn't fully understand the gift given.

When we had no cutlery, dishes, or anything else during our one week at Keenan House... you were there, as sole plate, baking tray, dish cover, and serving dish.

When we moved to Dunelm Mount... you were there because with nothing but clothes and a few picture frames, anything relating to "home goods" seemed worth saving, even carrying down the road to a new apartment, and your presence comforted us as something acquired here, not lugged across an ocean.

When we had no covers for our pots and pans on our wimpy stove, cousin to Easy Bake Ovens everywhere... you were there, shielding us from those irritating bits of red pasta sauce and curry that stick between the little bumpy bits of our white, textured wallpaper and perhaps saving our marriage from arguments about who was to clean them up once they were dried to the wall like they'd grown there.

When we had not a single plate large enough to carry kebabs out to our new little green barbecue and we were too lazy to go two flights down to ask our landlord to borrow one... you were there, carrying our food, albeit slightly shaky on this one, carrying not being your strong suit.

Now, this being the fourth Monday of the month, our last in this dear country, with greatest honour and deepest respect, we offer you, tray, to the blue bin of recycling. May you go in peace to end up in a park bench or as part of someone's can of peas.