I’ve broken ‘it’ again. ‘It’ encompasses the many things that have graced the ‘darling niche’ described so eagerly by the real estate broker when I was considering purchasing this house. ‘It’ is the vases, blue and red, clear with swirly things, and that oddly shaped one made from my efforts at pottery. (Yes, I took a pottery class)

‘It’ is the bust of my father that my mother gave me, the one I still haven’t told her is in about a 6 large pieces, resting in a cardboard box in my upstairs closet, and the one responsible for the oddly shaped dent in my wood floors. I haven’t forgiven myself for that one. I somehow think he hits me upside my head from heaven for that error.

‘It’ are the glasses, both for seeing and drinking from, in bottle and glass form, or in flat lenses that make up my reading glasses. I am reminded of these by the odd number of wine glasses in my bar. That 250$ stemware I purchased as a stupid reward for some award I received, of which 3 have been sent onward to wineglass heaven. I am reminded of the reading glasses by the bills I pay for replacing the same stupid prescription.

‘It’ is the snowglobe. I can only blame my nephew for this one. He shook it until it flew out of his hand and broke upon the floor. It no longer snows in Paris as a result, the Eiffel tower is considerably shorter, and I have an idea of what makes that ’snow.’ It isn’t magic, and it doesn’t clean up well.

‘It’ is the perfume. May I never smell ‘Beautiful’ again. I hate the scent.

‘It’ is the glass inside of various picture frames. ‘It’ is also the pictures inside.

Why has ‘it’ been broken so many times?

‘It’ never seems to be where ‘it’ needs to be. ‘It’ is always in the wrong place. ‘It’ greets me at the door, in fair weather and foul, in clumsiness and grace, in anger and temperance. ‘It’ is silent. ‘It’ is always calm. ‘It’ is broken because ‘it’ can’t fight back.

And because I can’t seem to remember that ‘it’ is there.

My new ‘it’ are flowers - in a plastic vase.

I have high hopes for the vase, but the flowers are questionable.

Pray for ‘it.’