I threw the obviously-broken one away. The one underneath seemed OK. But now I've noticed a hairline crack. It's on its way out. I've decided to throw it now - I don't want to see it get worse.
That's two bowls slain, after twenty-four years without mishap. I now have only two left, not what you can really call a 'set' any more. I will use the remaining two daily, but inevitably they will suffer greater wear and tear, or at least run a much greater risk of accidental damage. And I will definitely now have to buy a proper set of posh bowls to replace them, in case I entertain. Chinese bowls again, if at all possible. I like the style.
This is a rather tragic loss. The bowls, as a set of four, had been part of the background to my daily life for so long. They had been one of those minor but familiar possessions that I used through many a phase, many a crisis. The two remaining bowls seem forlorn, in mourning for their missing siblings.
I do feel the loss of my favourite things very deeply. Oh, I know, there are no pockets in a shroud, and that kind of practical sentiment. But it's hard not to experience a certain passing sadness. Still, these breakages may signal a sea-change. Time to cast away the old, and bring in some new. It may all herald a comprehensive revamping and re-equipping of my home.
There was once a time when I had too much emotional attachment to objects. Ceramics by their very nature accumulate chips and cracks through time or a once treasured piece imbued with memories is ruined in a clumsy moment. I have learned that the world goes on after occasional breakages and even better since I cannot overcome being brought up during post war shortages and scrapping still serviceable items does hurt, there is joy in finding something new which fits your new personality.
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