Recently I heard of the Japanese method of Kintsugi, the art of fixing broken pieces. Immediately came to mind a Cronin-blue tea pot we had growing up, one from which we drank tea when Mom, veering away from serving a traditional supper, made us bacon, eggs and toast instead. I loved that tea pot. On the front of it was a little Dutch boy and girl facing each other, reminding us of Holland, a city far away from our small town in West Virginia. The tea pot sat on a metal holder above a warmer which held a lit candle, to keep the tea hot for the duration of the meal. It was a special time for my sisters and me, memory-making time with Mom. Oh, how Icoveted that tea pot! Years down the road when I had a family of my own Mom gave the teapot to me. In a cramped apartment with little kitchen space I stored it with various glassware on metal shelving in the living room. It sat there in its Cronin-blue glory until one fateful day my husband’s buddies came over, got a little too drunk and a fight ensued. As if in slow motion I can still see his friend staggering from a shove and crashing into the shelving, my beloved tea pot teetering then falling and breaking into several pieces on the floor. I muttered only five words, get them out of here! Somewhat apologetic for his friends’ behavior, he swept up the pieces and threw them away as I sat crying on the back-porch glider. If only I’d known then about Kintsugi, I might still have my teapot today, not worse for wear but made more beautiful, each jagged piece cemented in glittering gold.