French Wine Glass
The sound of glass breaking on the tile floor; it is a sound that says a thousands little pieces have shattered everywhere, that only bare feet can find. Slowly, I turn the corner to see what has come to an end.
When living with antiques how curious it seems when something breaks. Take for example the glass last night, just a simple wine glass found at a flea market, what made it extraordinary was as fragile as glass is, it had survived these last 100 years without a chip or crack. Moving from cupboard to table, hand to hand, table to sink, sink to cupboard and possible a few moves to different homes, and sold and bought a few times over…only to end its day as shattered glass on our tile floor.
Often I think what stories could an antique piece tell if it had a voice? Where has it come from, and who has owed it? What history could it give from the passing from hand to hand, until my picking it up and asking, “How much for the glass?
This I know, it was at least 100 years old, it wasn’t made of crystal, but it wasn’t a bistro glass either, it was used for red wine not white, I bought it in Lyon years ago, and my son often drank milk in it.
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