Jeff brought one of his large wood fired pots into the house to be photographed. It was in the kitchen, standing next to the center island. I was cooking dinner and he asked me to pass one of the bar stools over to him. When I picked up the stool, the leg hit the vase.
It seemed like it rolled over in slow motion, with me not being able to do anything about it. It hit the floor and shattered.
I try not to cry when favorite (or very expensive) things get broken, because objects shouldn't be anything to cry over. Looking at the broken vase on the floor, all I could think of was the time and talent it took to create this giant beauty, and then the labor of a five day wood firing. Yes, I did think of the $1200 that it would sell for.
Jeff hugged me tight and said, "Just be glad it wasn't a sink".
I still had that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach when I saw the shards out on the porch this morning.