I guess the memories are in my head anyways.

I just hate when i break my stuff.

I don't have many things, and they are all very precious, because they are all steeped in memories.

But I guess the memories are in my head anyways...

So I just broke the beautiful dusky purple and blue, square pottery plate I hauled all the way from the Dingle peninsula back to Dublin in 1996, and then to Birr in 2005, and then to Canada in 2007 in a suitcase (worrying about it the whole way across the Atlantic).

The one I had Himself build me a tall tall bookshelf with a special shelf to display it on in 2008. Because it is so precious to me.

The one made by the potter who had studied glazing techniques in Japan and is now living in the shadow of Mount Brandon.

Not Louis Mulcahy. Not his pottery factory.

The one with the glaze on it that looks like Mount Brandon.

The one I looked at every day.

Reason?

I was rearranging my books and picking out ones to sell so I can buy some more, because I am already running out of things to read, despite getting four books for Christmas.

And I took one too many off that shelf they were sharing with my plate, and the rest slid down and knocked it off its stand.

I knew I shouldn't be selling my books.

GODDAMN IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ah well, it could be worse.

It is the only thing left of Kerry that I had but.

I guess I will just have to make a pilgrimage back there.

Of course, I can't find the potter....