A Broken Glass And The Joy Of Using My Stuff!
January 11, 2020. 8:30 am
I broke it. It was the last of four wine glasses a dear second mom, Pat Savage, had given me years and years ago. It was not expensive. The set of glasses might have cost ten dollars. They had black stems and bases. Other than that, and their gift origin, there was nothing distinguishable about them. Utilitarian stemware. And this was the last one, the others having been broken in accidents along the way.
The glass was not broken in some dramatic fashion. There was no fight, no throwing into a fireplace to celebrate or at a romantic partner in anger or at a party boor after an insult. I can think of so many ways a wine glass can come to its end that seem more impactful, more sensational, more — interesting, than the death of this glass.
No, the glass broke in a common way, just as it was used in a common, almost daily, way. I accidentally knocked in onto the floor in the kitchen while washing dishes from last night’s spaghetti bolognese dinner. This morning I had moved it from the end table in the living room where I had drained the last drops of my Pino while watching a crime show. I sat it on the counter by the sink, maybe a little too close to the edge. As I turned to grab a plate to wash, boom, in an instant it fell. It crashed. It was broken. It was gone.
It’s funny how, as the cliche goes, in the blink of an eye, so much can change. It takes a moment for the reality to set in that something has just happened. I have experienced this feeling when I had a car wreck. One moment all is well the next I am wondering what just happened and this state of disbelieve takes moments to dissipate. Eventually the reality sets in and I start to process next steps. With the wine glass that meant sweeping up the shards and broken pieces so I would not step on glass in my sock clad feet. As I swept I thought of my dear friend who had given me the glass and so much more. I did not cry.
Ironically, the black base and stem, things that made this glass always stand out in the cupboard, identifying marks that they came from Pat Savage, my second mom, remained in tact. But alas, that last remnant also ended up in the trash bin. I will miss seeing that wine glass, reaching for it like I did last night and have on so many nights, to enjoy some wine. I especially used it when I was drinking alone (either with friends who don’t drink, like my dinner companion in my spaghetti repast, or when by myself).
Am I sad? No, not really. Why? Because the glass, like all things, had its time. It served me well. So many of us never use “special things” for fear they will break. And the fear is not irrational, if you use something it might break. But so what. If you don’t use things why have them? I have other special wine glasses, like the matching pair my son and daughter in law gave me with African animals etched into the goblets. Guess what! They will get more use now.
Pat Savage also gave me bar glassware. Highball and Tom Collins glasses. I will use them and think of her. Maybe I will drink a few more Manhattans and Old Fashions, a couple of her go to cocktails, which I will enjoy in her glasses. She will not be forgotten.
Last night, before dinner, I enjoyed a dirty vodka martini, another of Pat’s favorites. I thought of her, as I so often do, and added a couple of extra olives and a little more olive juice, the way she would have liked it. Pat, I am sorry I broke the last of your wine glasses. But I remain forever grateful for that gift and the gift of having your in my life. Life is Good!
