There was a woman in our church, growing up, Mrs. Carl. And she was a tiny woman, a kindergarten teacher. Her husband was a high school history teacher, I never sat in their classrooms, he retired before I got there but my brother had him. They were both very smart, and fairly quiet, and kind. Thoughtful and kind. And she would harmonize like no other. It was great sitting near them every Sunday.
They came to my high school graduation party, and when I got married she gave me these great glass storageware things for food that I hadn’t registred for because I didn’t’ know how much I would need and use them. For everything. They’re brilliant~ they’re glass so they can microwave and not leach, and go in the dishwasher if needed and they’re just the best, I love them.
When I found out I was pregnant, she made, along with the quilting group at church, a lovely quilt for my child.
My amazing child who just dropped and broke one of the pyrex glass food containers from Mrs. Carl. It broke cleanly and no one was hurt. Greatest tragedy is that now she needs to wait for fresh mac and cheese instead of getting to eat cold leftovers.
And my dish.
I know I shouldn’t mourn it, that’s silly. Especially in light of everything that’s happening. It’s a storage thing. It’s a thing. Everyone is fine, we didn’t even need a band aid, let alone stitches, so, really. I get that, I have that perspective, I KNOW that it’s not a thing to be upset by.
But I used that dish. That container was useful and thoughtful and symbolic of knowledge from women that we were completely oblivious to until the after. And I know that my reaction to the broken dish has very little to do with and everything to do with how much I love and value Mrs. Carl and Mrs. Deitchman and Ruth Bader Ginsburg and that dish, that I didn’t know I needed… that dish is now NO LONGER THERE FOR MY DAUGHTER.
So I sweep up the shards and I weep .
They tell me today is Wednesday.
Pretty Good Ugly 