BROKEN ON A SATURDAY MORNING

Dearest Gary Pletsch,

I told you this would happen.

For years, I have purchased your pottery only as gifts to be given to other people (I specify because the practice of "buying gifts for oneself" seems to be growing in popularity). In fact, one of your beautiful blue cobalt bowls was bestowed upon my good friend Mary and her husband, who have on many occasions, along with their giant Newfoundlands, taken to entertaining me in their lovely home. (Though it was probably more the other way around.)

Another, larger, dusky green bowl belongs to my artsy, ragtime piano-playing friend Chris, who (or whom, whichever school of wordsmithery you subscribe to) me (or I; see previous parenthetical statement) and my kids love because he's one of the funniest people we know. He refers to his three brothers as "the unholy trinity" (one's a lawyer, one has a Ph.D. and is a school bully expert --and Chris always cracks me up when he says, "Well, he should know all about bullying since he beat the living shit out of me when I was a kid" -- and I forget what the third one does; I only met him once at at a funeral --but I'm sure he's equally nefarious). I yelled at him because I found your lovely bowl in the dishwasher at his house. More than once. He uses it as a centerpiece on his table and always puts it out when we're coming over because he knows it makes me happy. Until he puts it in the dishwasher again.

Even Marie has a lovely plate that you made. (Figure that one out.)

Being that I have such a soft spot for potters, I finally gave in to you. You wore me down like a pair of 20-inch tires in Brookline during the spring thaw until I got a piece of my own, after I told you and I told you, "my kids will break it."

Now, I'm left here to pace and ponder how to put a positive spin on my shattered piece of pottery. Oh, the turmoil!

Do you think if I put "Unchained Melody" on the stereo, plant myself in my youngest son's Sit 'N Spin and concentrate hard enough, Patrick Swayze will embrace me from behind? I mean, at least then I wouldn't care so much about the broken pottery.

Sincerely,
Ms. Mon

P.S. Crazy Glue, right?