As I walked by an antique dealer's stand I heard glass breaking looking down I saw a broken inkwell.
"Zut!" sighed the dealer, as he looked at the broken inkwell on the ground. Bending down he picked up the pieces declaring, "Poubelle!"
My ears perked when I heard the word, "Poubelle" which means garbage in French.
"Bonjour Monsieur," I said politely, before asking, "If you are going to throw that broken inkwell away, can I have it instead?"
Laughing, he handed it to me, "Saves me a trip to the garbage, take it."
Broken-Saved, came home with me. Belle-Mere's (Mother-in-Law's) nimble fingers glued it back together. It now rests secured by my bedside.
At the right place at the right time, symbolically broken made whole.