The Ambivalent Spoon

Perception

         There was a pronounced chill in the air, though the skies remained clear and bright. Susan pulled her jacket more tightly around her and shivered slightly. Soon she would need to dig out her thick, winter coat, though not for a few more weeks, she'd hoped. It was, after all, only the first week of September. A sudden movement caught her eye and she paused to watch as a rusty-orange leaf twirled lazily toward the ground, blown from a grand old sycamore that towered above them on the suburban street. It alighted gently in a puddle, sending small ripples spreading across the surface.
The first leaf of Autumn, she mused, noting that no other foliage yet adorned the pavement beneath her feet.
         Susan smiled to herself, Autumn was her favourite season. The colour of the leaf was that of the deepest part of the flames that would soon crackle nightly in her fireplace sending clouds of pine scented smoke wafting up the chimney. She thought of her warm, chunky-knit sweaters and the gorgeous, woollen set of hat, scarf and mittens that little Amy had given to her last Christmas. She mulled over the prospect of hot, mulled wine, enjoyed at the European market in town whilst watching the children, giddy with joy, as they whizzed and swirled around the small ice-rink. Later on, at home, she could encounter the delights of rich, delicious, Belgian, hot-chocolate, sipped and savoured from beneath a thick duvet as she got lost in a good book. She thought of the wash of reds, oranges, gold, yellow, purple, auburn and mauve that would soon ripple in the wind upon the woody hill at the back of their house. Her eyes sparkled at the thought of choosing shiny new decorations from the veritable treasure trove of tinsel that the local garden centre became each year. Her mouth watered in anticipation of the juicy turkey to be laid out at the in the centre of the bountiful Christmas dinner she would prepare, to be enjoyed in the company of her loving, lovely, little family. Yes, Autumn was her favourite season, but winter came a close second. She gazed at the leaf a few moments more, relishing the myriad of wonderful anticipations it gave rise to, feeling her spirits rise until she was in a perfectly buoyant mood. 

         Dean had developed a habit of resting his eyes on a fixed point in the middle distance and unfocussing them from his immediate surroundings as he walked. He found that if he met peoples' gaze as he navigated along a busy street, it somehow became his responsibility to negotiate the crush of bodies and step out of their way. Much better not to acknowledge others at all, just keep staring into the middle distance. This tactic worked like a strange sort of magic to clear a path to his destination. He supposed he must give the impression that he was utterly focussed on some important task. It worked a treat. So accustomed had he become to employing this clever tactic on his way to and from the office, that he was doing it even now as he took a leisurely Sunday stroll through the more or less deserted local neighbourhood with his family and their dogs. He was surprised when the leaf suddenly spun in front of his face and forced his eyes back into focus, before descending onwards into an inky, black puddle on the pavement. A shiver went through him as he contemplated the meaning of this ominous apparition; namely Winter is on it's way.
         To Dean, this meant he would soon be struggling to force himself from beneath the cosy blankets of the luxuriously soft, king sized bed he shared with his wife, and out into the comparatively frigid air of the bedroom each morning. It meant stumbling through the darkness to the en-suite bathroom so as not disturb his slumbering darling, ever at risk of stubbing a toe or stepping upon some painful object thoughtlessly discarded the previous night. It meant watching his breath steam up the mirror as he performed his morning ablutions, while the bathroom tiles turned his feet to ice. It meant taking the damn dogs a walk in the near pitch black, only a thin trickle of light from a small torch on a novelty keyring to light the way up the sodden, slippery, slope of the hill at the back of their house. Nine mornings out of ten he would be be marching through biting, cold drizzle. The other one in ten, through a full on downpour. It would be dark when he left for work and dark when he returned home. Then, there was Christmas. The kids would soon commence nagging and pestering for various expensive items that they might deign to use once or twice. He would surely get some new novelty gadget, no doubt just as useful as the pathetic key-torch he was forced to use out of 'gratitude'. The dinner would be delicious, though no doubt slightly dampened by his wife's anxious fretting as she strove to keep it all warm and his mother in law's... well... presence. He sighed quietly to himself and trudged on down the street.   

         Jenny was sixteen years old, beautiful, funny and popular at school. She was good at sports, did well academically without making too much effort, had loving and supportive parents with a substantial bank account, and she had a wicked sense of style. This latter, she considered her greatest attribute by far and constantly worked to promote it. She read every glossy style and celebrity magazine on the shelves and was always on top of the latest trends. Jenny didn't even see the leaf. She was tapping out an instant message to Becca on her i-phone when something, some whisper of fate, made her eyes flicker to the pavement and notice the cold, murky puddle that threatened to engulf her fabulous new Ugg boots should she take one more step. For a moment her breath caught in her throat and her heart beat wildly at the thought of such disaster, so narrowly avoided. Then, she exhaled slowly, gave thanks to whatever god of fashion was watching over her and stepped around the rain filled danger. “OMG” she quickly typed, “ul neva ges wot juz nrly hapnd”.

         Amy watched the leaf float all the way from the tree to the puddle. For a moment she was tempted to run and catch it, but she knew the scornful look her 'oh so serious' big sister would afford her if she dare behave so childishly in public. She was only eleven years old, but Jenny seemed to think anything she did that could be deemed at all fun, anything that involved running, laughing, singing or shouting, was totally immature and the height of embarrassment. So Amy kept walking demurely along behind her sister and resisted the urge to dance in circles beneath the leaf as it spiralled down to meet her. Perhaps it's really a fairy dressed in a pretty, orange, leaf skirt, she thought, she'd be sure to grant me a wish. She knew exactly what she'd wish for. She'd wish for Jenny to step right in the great big puddle she was approaching and get her new Ugg boots soaking wet.

         Tobias didn't see the leaf either. At five years old he was a rambunctious little fellow. He saw only a target. He was wearing his glorious new welly-boots. They were beautiful. Sparkly, blue AND they had a picture the blue Power Ranger on the side. The blue Ranger was his favourite. These boots were made for stomping, he knew, and here was the perfect victim. He waited until the leaf settled lazily on the puddle. Then, took two great strides, launched himself into the air, and came down upon the leaf with both feet. Perfect precision. The perfect splash. He heard Jenny scream as the water hit the backs of her legs. His parents behind him gave startled little yelps. Amy was laughing, though she tried to hide her grin. His boots had kept his feet perfectly dry. The leaf had been plunged into the depths of the puddle, held beneath his boots and thoroughly stomped. Awesome! he thought, as he began to jump and dance in the puddle and laugh and laugh and laugh.

         We all receive the same raw sensory data from the world around us. We do not, however, all perceive and experience the same things. Our perception and experience is coloured, even in the simplest instances, by memories, desires, values, hopes, dreams, fears, anxieties, education and understanding. This is as true for people who live in the same household and shared similar upbringings as it is for people from different nations on opposite sides of the world. Show a grandmother her granddaughter's I-pad and she is completely baffled as to what it is used for and how it works. It is unfamiliar to her and the experience produced by receiving the same raw sense data, (i.e. the colours, lines, textures and weight of the I-pad), is completely different to that of her granddaughter. Each has a completely different understanding and value judgement connected to the item they hold. Each perceives it in a very different way.
         This is true across cultures too. Take something we all take for granted as being a simple, everyday object, such as the pen I hold in my hand. Perhaps grandmother and grandaughter would have pretty similar experiences with regard to this, (although even that is debatable). However, you could take this pen deep into the Amazon jungle and find tribes people that have lived their whole lives without making contact with the outside world. This simple, everyday object, would suddenly become a bizarre, mysterious and astonishing phenomena. It is conceivable that the tribes people would have as much trouble comprehending the workings and possible uses of a pen as Grandma had with the I-pad.
I, for one, think it's amazing that no two people ever see anything in the world in exactly the same way. We are like so many snowflakes or fingerprints, completely unique, even down to the things we perceive around us.