It was meant to be one of those poetic, possibly romantic gestures.
We were celebrating two decades of life together. There had been some brokenness along the way to be sure, but we had survived, persevered and even as recently as this very trip, chosen each other once more.
A few months prior, in a fit of anger, he had taken off his wedding band and set it on the hotel dresser where we were
True to the well-worn pattern, he drew near once the mood had lifted and wanted his ring back, but it had been indefinitely misplaced by then.
We talked of getting rings tattooed.
But he couldn't mark up his body, he said.
Instead, he said he ordered an identical ring to the one he removed. It was coming in the mail, any day now, he said.
I found out later they don't make that ring anymore.
He had not placed an order, but I am sure that he meant to.
Back to the future-past, where we find ourselves in Orlando (Lake Buena Vista to be exact), celebrating twenty years of a continuously renewed subscription.
I purposed to draw another circle around my chosen-again one and headed down to the gift shop.
I chose the shiny black ring.
Some because it mimicked a tattoo and some because of the darkness we had seen.
We always tried to work those quirky little traditional markers into our anniversary gifts.
When we marked 11, it was steel. On our anniversary date, I ducked into a cobbler's shop and asked for two steel nails.
For 15, it was a tiny clay Krystal burger, with Swarovski crystal onions.
Twenty can be marked with china and platinum.
I had seen the picture online that we have all at some point re-posted about kinstugi and the beauty of sealing broken things with gold. You know the one:
I thought I would do is this: break a china bowl, seal the cracks in "platinum gold" and place his new ring inside.
So I took a purchased china bowl into the bathroom of 'our' Embassy Suites and dropped it on the floor.
It didn't break the first few times. I'm not really sure how many times I dropped it before it broke into four distinct pieces.
Perfect.
I trimmed the brokenness in platinum gold paint.
I sealed it together with E6000 (That stuff is really amazing!)
Or I attempted to. It would hold together, until it wouldn't.(Okay, somewhat amazing.)
I used the hairdryer to try and seal it faster, firmer.
I tried to seal it from the inside.
I tried to seal it from the outside.
I tried from both directions.
I tried to seal it with the paint.
The bowl would not be fixed.
Lesson:
Some shattered bowls stay broken.
As Paul Harvey would have us do, I bring the story now to rest.
I threw the bowl away and thought of something else to finish the gift with meaning and metaphor.
We put the children to bed and had dinner in the lobby restaurant just below.
I gave him the ring (which he would remove again a short while later)
And the lyrics to a song:
"...Maybe you and I were never meant to be complete
Could we just be broken together?
If you can bring your shattered dreams and I'll bring mine
Could healing still be spoken and save us?
The only way we'll last forever is broken together..."
But in July, I realized it was time to let the broken bowl be broken.
The song, like me, means well but is mistaken.
You absolutely can last forever, broken but not together.
With broken shards you can sever ties, shatter vows and gild your lies.
New bowls are cheap and easy had,
Swipe left for paper, plastic, diamond-clad.
Broken bowls can't hold things, like cereal or wedding rings.
But pieces can be moved about, rearranged and mired in grout
Now I am mosaic.
