My mom loved glassware. She collected it. Some had been passed down for generations. Some she bought at auctions. Some of it was given to her.
Her oldest sister had given her a pedestal Fenton candy dish that she loved. She kept it on the coffee table. She often filled it with candy, but the candy never lasted long with my dad around.
One evening my dad, my sister and I were playing a board game on the coffee table. We had put the candy dish at one end while we played at the other, a couple of feet away. The game ran rather late into the night, so my mom decided to go on to bed.
Suddenly, several minutes after my mom went to bed, the candy dish broke apart. Seriously, it was not bumped; it did not fall; it just cracked apart. We were not even near it.
Mom heard our statements of unbelief. She got up to see what happened.
When we told her what happened, she did not believe us. She thought that the three of us somehow broke her dish and were just covering our tracks.
We bought her a replacement. It was similar in style, but not as big and not a Fenton. Even so, she was still heart-broken about her favorite candy dish.
The worse thing is she never believed us. She was finally able to laugh about it. However, she died thinking we had concocted the story.
