I have few physical treasures that have survived from the era in which my mother lived into the modern one in which I now reside as someone’s wife and mother. The last of these items that she had bought for me in one life and had endured into this one, was my spoon rest. It was the run of the mill spoon rest one finds as an impulse buy in the checkout aisle of Bed Bath and Beyond. My 12 year old unspectacular spoon rest had already cracked once, soon after she passed. My husband who isn’t often sentimental quickly ran out to buy the cheapest strongest glue and piece it back together because back then I was fragile and I couldn’t lose one more thing including her tchotchkes. So when I dropped the spoon rest on Sunday and just stared at it split cleanly and completely in two, the first words out of his mouth were, “I’ll get the glue.” “No,” I responded. “Not this time. Sometimes things are not meant to be put back together.” I have wanted to write something about 2018 for aw