I keep breaking up with OLW (for some reason I want to call it OWL though…One Word, Little?). I once lasted two whole years, with the same word. We have a shaky relationship though. Just one? And words, aren’t so little.
Perseverance. Create. Creativity. Be (add another word here and switch it out every month so you get TLWs-two little words). Three, like I wrote about here-and is a much better post than today’s-a quarter into 2016. Courage. Blank-this year’s word because it hasn’t found me. Yet.
But this OLW, OWL, whatever, is like finding the one. Lipstick. Spouse. Wedding dress. Dog. Car. House. Vacation destination. It takes time. It takes perseverance. Patience. Creativity. Listening, which I’m not good at doing, not one bit. I like to think I find it, but it finds me. Hello, OWL, OLW, where are you?
Last year, I broke a fancy champagne flute we received as a wedding gift almost 23 years ago. We only used them to toast the new year or on our wedding anniversary. They’re the fanciest pieces of drink ware we own and only used them once or twice a year. Eventually, I decided to use them more frequently. Why do they sit in the cabinet? Shouldn’t I use them more often? I first took them out for special occasions like Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Day. Later, I used them for mimosas on Sundays after long runs, filling them with cheap sparkling wine and orange juice. My husband sometimes joins me, but it’s mostly a party for one.
I set them on the counter when they need to be washed. I once explained how they do not go in the dishwasher after I fished them out one day. They might get broken. They’re special. I can’t afford to replace them.
I began washing them carefully after a mimosa date. I carefully rinsed them and placed them on the drying mat. They always get washed first. I continued with the other items requiring hand washing. After I drained the sink water and shook out the dishcloth, I heard a clink in the sink. What…?
A piece of glass. I didn’t wash any glasses. No, no, no, no and NO! I immediately took a look at my champagne flutes, set upside down to initially drain the water. After washing everything, I always hand dry them and put them away. I took a look at the bottoms of the stems. Nothing. Maybe a glass broke in the sink earlier in the day and I didn’t notice the shard? I took one flute, inspected it and didn’t find any damage. I did the same with the second. No breakage on the bottom. Nothing along the rim. Well, not this side of the rim. I spun it around and there it was, a triangular shaped shard seemed to have been chipped from the front edge of the flute.
I almost cried. I dried them and couldn’t bring myself to toss the broken flute. I couldn’t even trash the shard. Can I fix it? If I do, I can’t use it. I researched crystal glass repair. Surely it would cost more to send it off to get fixed than it would to replace it, if I could even find a replacement. I like to think that I purge things I no longer need and after all, it’s just stuff. It was bound to happen. I’ve been using them instead of letting them sit around. They hold my little bubbles of joy every once in a while, on special occasions and on ordinary uneventful Saturdays.
I dried the broken flute. I might be able to use it if I sip from the opposite side. It might work for a quick toast. I’ll let my husband use it since I wind up finishing his sipping bubbles anyway. It’s sitting in the cabinet, unused, next to it’s companion that gets a little more one-on-one time with me. After a year, I can’t bring myself to throw it out.
New Year’s Day came and went this year. We were all under the weather and didn’t attend my best friend’s New Year’s Eve birthday party, let alone stay up late enough to welcome 2022. I had a mini-bottle of Prosecco for a toast. I didn’t open it until this past weekend, a week later. I filled it with cranberry juice and bubbly, clinking the air, while I opened my journal to write, yet again, my hopes and dreams for the new year. In sixth months, I’ll turn 50. F I F T Y! I plan to use both flutes for a toast. Broken or not, here I come.