My plate broke yesterday. No, not my proverbial plate, used to indicate stress load, but one of my Corelle dinner plates which are reputed to never break. You've seen the recent commercial, with the models and their matching dishware, strutting down the runway when -gasp!- a plate falls and, in slow motion, bounces a few times before coming to a gentle, unbroken, stop in perfect plate posture. It's upright, no visible cracks, ready to be served. Well I'm here to report that it's all a farce!

I was a believer once, back when we had a full set of corelle dishes on the boat, back when no amount of rough seas could bobble those baubles to destruction. No, they were hardy. They were resilient. They were unbreakable.

But yesterday, all illusions of ceramic granduer were shattered with the green-and-black trim's quick disintigration upon impact with my tiled kitchen floor. It was a sad moment in my life, to realize that the same supposedly-indestructable plates I had grown up with were now in shards and smearing their old age all over. Was this just one more sign of time's sharp march through my own life, one more indication that my bones and my heart have grown brittle and feeble?

Oh, goodness.

I don't want to spoil you too quick, Tommers, so I'll leave you with that for now, and save my other thoughts for later.