This morning I was looking at the two woodfired bowls sitting on the living room table and thinking about how we collect things and use them and love them but when the time comes to pass them along to our children it may turn out that they never really liked them, don't want them and will drop them off at the Salvation Army on their way to their new apartments. And I thought about how I picked out the bowls so we could use them now and appreciate them - not because they'll be worth something to someone on down the line.
Then Lucy's toe caught the edge of one of the bowls and despite the fact that it is built like a tank and I always thought I could drop it safely off the roof should the spirit ever move me to do so, I knew it was going to break as I watched it teeter off the table. Into about fifty pieces, as it turned out.
A little piece of my soul threw itself on the floor and kicked its feet while the rest of me went for the vacuum.
When I came through Lucy's room I noticed she was lying on her bed. "Did you put yourself in a time out?" I asked. She shook her head no and I saw that she was about to cry. "I really liked that bowl," she said.
We talked about stuff and how although we take good care of our stuff and appreciate that someone made it and it is beautiful, it is just stuff and is only as good as the use we put it to. In this house, given our fondness for food, it was put to very good use.
And hey, now I won't find it catching drips under a kitchen sink or being used to prop open a window when I go visit the kids' new apartments.