She never throws away anything that gets broken. She gather all the pieces and sits and tries to glue them back together. She arranges the pieces this way and that way like assembling a glass or clay puzzle. Each piece treated as if a relic from some hazy ancient yet relevant past. When all the pieces are not there, she will fashion missing pieces out of clay and then the cracks that remain. She talks of how ugly her hands have become, how bent her index finger has gotten. She says my father had the most beautiful hands for a man. She says E has beautiful hands too and that he wakes up her skin when he touches her. Last night, on the eve of his birthday she was in bed with him and she teased him. "God almighty" (he hates using the Lords name in vain)"I never thought id be married to a 91 year old man! I thought 60 was ancient."