The Deer with the Broken Antler

It had been a thoroughly rotten day. Bad news at work. Worse news from a friend. Bitterly cold and windy. And even though it was payday, much of that money was already spoken for.

So, on my way home and after a stop at my neighborhood currency exchange to pay some bills, I decided that I needed a bit of retail therapy--even of the decidedly economical kind.

Half a block north of the currency exchange is a large resale shop. I visit there often for their wide selections of clothing, books, toys and, at this festive time of year, Christmas decorations, cups, plates and stockings.

As is usual whenever I shop, I went in with one thing in mind--a nice winter coat I'd seen on my previous visit--and came out with a bunch of stuff I hadn't planned on buying: the aforementioned coat (now at 50% off!); a pine-scented jar candle; a ceramic tealight holder in the shape of an angel with "HOPE" written across her gown (goodness knows I could use some hope); and an obviously old but still cool-looking "bendie" of a woman in a cloth red top and peasant skirt (she has no markings to indicate manufacturer or date, but looks vaguely like a brunette Rita Hayworth). Not a bad score, really.

Before departing, I decided to take a quick swing through the Christmas aisle and have a look at what fresh holiday offerings were available. (Like I need more knickknacks in La Casa del Terror.)

That's when I saw the deer with the broken antler.

To be honest, I had seen this ceramic deer before. On my previous trip to the resale shop, it had been standing there amongst the various Santas, angels and snowmen, and I had considered buying it, even though it was a bit too big for my collection. I had put it back down and thought, "If it's still here next time, maybe I'll take it home."

Thing is, last time I'd seen it, it was intact--the antler wasn't broken.

So if I'd taken it home then, maybe it wouldn't be broken now. (I say "maybe" because goodness knows I'm capable of destroying Christmas decorations myself--just last Friday, I broke my Bettie Page ornament, much to my everlasting horror.) So now I felt more than a little bit guilty.

Fortunately, the broken antler was on the shelf behind the deer--stuck into a holiday-themed coffee mug by the guilty party, no doubt--so I scooped it and the rest of the deer up and headed for checkout. The clerk looked momentarily dismayed at the broken antler, but I assured her that I could glue it back on, no problem. She looked doubtful, but rang me up anyway. I wrapped the deer and antler in the freshly purchased winter coat, tucked all my purchases into a plastic bag and wound my way home through streets frequently illuminated by colorful lights, evergreens shining in bay windows and life-sized plastic figures on lawns and porches.

After feeding an insistent Olivia--something I take particular joy in doing these days, since her appetite is so much more robust than it used to be--I sat down at the coffee table, brought out the super glue and reattached the broken antler.

At this point, I noticed something I should have spotted before--the deer's other antler had a fracture line running all the way around it, with faint glue marks leaking out. Obviously, this deer had been broken once before and reassembled.

Now the deer stands beside the lamp in the living room, its newly glued antler looking, to all but the closest inspections, like it had never been broken at all.

If only everything's--and everyone's--hurts were so easily fixed.