Tha “art” of building a bento box is, apparently, a lesson in meditation. One learns patience and serenity blah, blah, blah while getting the food ready to pack, and then designing a pleasing arrangement in the container.
It gets really complicated if you try to take it seriously and impart “wishes” into the arrangement for the person you’re feeding.
These two boxes took over 45 minutes to create, between the washing, slicing, dicing and arranging and rearranging.
By the time I got finished I was just wishing I’d decided to pack a sandwich. I didn’t get a lot of mediation value for my time, I don’t think.
I have to admit, though, that it kind of did feel like time well spent; I fridged my lunch ’til morning, and went to bed looking forward to an inspirational meal break next day.
By then, though, the serenity spell had worn off. It was a good lunch, but I don’t think the prep. time was worth the few minutes it took to scarf it down.
I now occupy the attic space that Kyla first commandeered when we moved up out of the one-room basement apartment we had shared for 18 months. She didn’t stay here long, a couple of months at most, before declaring the space to be too big (?!) and begging me to trade places with her.
It was another couple of months before I could bribe her into finishing the “Dream” mural she had begun on one of the wall panels. The walls are entirely made up of those panels you see… Ky had originally planned to paint them in a pastel-ish group of blues and pinks and browns.
The kid that lived up here before we moved in had decorated with bloody red handprints stamped on the walls, crayoned cartoon characters and a plethora of cuss words carved into the wood-shingled ceiling.
I can’t decide if it was the bloody handprints, or the secret door hidden in one of the wall panels, leading into a tiny crawlspace that freaked Kyla out, but I don’t care. I’m creating a spectacular, long-awaited Teenage-Heaven up here, beginning with Ky’s mural… which she kind of, sort of, almost finished for me.