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Angels Don't Always Have Wings
By Gwendolyn Mitchell Diaz
She was having a hard time buying me gifts. She never knew quite what to get me, so about five years ago, my sister-in-law decided that I needed to start an angel collection. She wrapped my first one and presented it to me that Christmas. It was a beautiful porcelain angel with long delicate wings. Ever since, she has continued to build me one of the most delightful, eclectic collections of angels one can imagine.
However, there was one thing my sister-in-law failed to take into consideration when she selected angels as the object of my accumulation – the fact that she has four very active, often rowdy nephews who happen to live in my house!
That and the fact that most angels are either fragile or frilly has led to some very interesting moments. Teetering angels have barely been caught as they tipped from the top of the bookshelf. Ruffled, rag doll angels have found baseballs and golf tees sitting in their laps. Wicker angels have nearly been scrunched by low-flying footballs. Shiny, painted angels have been targets for suction-cup darts.
Miraculously, every angel has managed to survive each episode ... until this morning, that is, which explains why I am typing this with my left hand while the thumb and index finger of my right hand remain interminably stuck together.
Following a wrestling match (which included all four of my sons and their father!), I found my tiniest angel cowering behind the television set, unable to fly back to its home. One of its miniature ceramic wings had been clipped completely off when a flailing limb had sent it flying.
Quite upset, I picked up the itsy pieces and stomped into the kitchen. I hunted in every messy drawer 'til I found the glue that guarantees it can put everything from Humpty Dumpty to china teapots back together again. The accompanying brochure mentions its special powers to bond paper, rubber, ceramics, leather and wood.
It forgets to mention on thing: skin!
After two minutes of holding the pieces firmly in place, the only objects stuck together were my fingers! The angel was as wingless as it had been when it first struck the floor.
I approached my sons and tried to plead my case for a kinder, gentler household, but they were much too amused by my lack of gluing prowess to pay much attention.
"Look. Mom glued herself together!"
"I always knew you were stuck on yourself, Mom."
"Mom's just trying to get out of doing the dishes."
"Hey, Mom. What's the difference between an angel with one wing and an angel with two?" one of them quipped.
When I failed to respond, he said, "Not much. It's just a difference of a pinion. Ha, ha, ha. Get it? A pinion
