One of my old mugs had a chip break off in the dishwasher. By old, I do not mean treasured and ripe with history. I refer to its commonality, being one of many. I tossed it. 

 

Now if it had been a bowl I wrapped in paper, and brought home carefully from a craft fair, things would have been different. Those are precious to me, and are not easily dismissed. 

 

There is a tradition called Kintsugi which redeems broken pottery. When a jar is broken, perhaps into many pieces, an artist uses gold to fit them back together. Rather than hiding the break, it is honored. The mended area is not only stronger, it is more beautiful. I like that. 

 

New Amsterdam is a show I enjoyed, and one episode speaks to the moment that each of the doctors knew they wanted to go into medicine. The surgeon named Floyd recalls when his father angrily broke a favorite dish, leaving his mother crying. He found glue, and ever so mindfully mended it for her. He has been putting people back together ever since. (oops, for a minute I forgot it is fiction)

 

I have no interest in stitching body parts, but the joy of piecing fabric together is close to my heart. Let's skip over the part where I do the cutting in the first place, and just revel in the joy of something whole.