I was unloading the dishwasher the other night and a favorite red plate came out chipped, the white underneath showing like exposed bone.  It was one of a set of four that Al and I bought with money given to us when we got engaged, by dear friends of my family.  One of those friends was dying at the time, and he passed away before our wedding.  He had been my father’s best friend.  It was for this reason that I felt a pang of grief at the breakage of the red plate.  Our possessions can hold memories in time as though set in glass, so that when they are lost, or broken, we lose a part of our personal narrative.  Though the memory…