Everyone was arguing and part of me wanted to join the verbal fray. Someone yelled, “I hate the way she…” when my attention was snatched away by a loud crash in the next room. I missed the last part of the statement. We all went to see what happened.

From the doorway, I could see pieces of what used to be the BIG flower pot now scattered across the floor reaching toward the door, flowers strewn outward, slammed down like the end of the statement, or a pleading. I was stunned and so was my mother who was just behind me at the door. Mom immediately turned away, walking through the noise-makers who were trying to see. She went to get sweeping tools and I got the kitchen garbage can. I was picking up the big pieces and the plant when mom returned with her tools.

The noise makers pontificated about how it could possibly have happened and trailed back into the kitchen leaving mom and me to clean up. Quietly mom commented to me as she swept up rich, dark potting soil, “It is rather strange that this fell over and broke so completely, don’t you think?”

“It is,” I said. “It shouldn’t have fallen according to its positioning. It’s as if the smashing was meant to signify “Enough!” to the raucous everybody was making.” Mom replied, “I think it’s right.”