It's just a plate. That's what I've been telling myself all afternoon. Ever since my Mom emailed me to tell me that the guy that has been cleaning their house broke it. (the man must have been moving fast because it was tucked into a corner on the kitchen counter)
It was one of my treasures from my trip to Europe 6 years ago. I got it in Capri after a VERY bumpy ride,one that I didn't think I was going to survive because I was SO SO SO sea sick. The sweet Italian mailmen sitting next to me when I first started feeling sick looked at me like I was a ghost. I must have been white but I felt green.
There was a cute little pottery shop, one of many that coastal Italy is so well known for, on a cute little street. Apparently Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta Jones have visited the shop.
Now the plate is broken. But it's just a plate. It wasn't the fountain of youth, it wasn't going to bring me riches and it certainly wasn't going to guarantee my entry into Heaven (thank heaven for that). But I'm still sad. The funny thing is, I'm not sure if I'm more sad that the plate is broken or if it's because I know how sad my Mom is that it's broken. I think it's the latter. :-)
Love you, Mom. (It's just a plate... and I won't argue if we go get another one someday.) :-)
