I finally learned how this angel broke its neck. Z. finally spilled the beans. Apparently, many years ago, during my absence, there was a party at the house. One of those parties held in secrecy when a house becomes "available" for teenage liberation! I had thought that my house had never hosted one of those parties. Living across the street from the grandparents, I felt secure that the constant vigilance would be a great deterrent. No. I was fooled all these years.

Recently, during an "intervention" by my two adult daughters, who absolutely detest the clutter of my collections, the poor angel became target number one for the trash.....

I could not part with him. I got him long before angels became a collector's fad. The alternative given was one that the girls thought I would not accept. If I wanted to keep the angel, then all of my clothes would have to go to charity. And so it was, closet after closet, bin after bin, every piece of my clothing was held, and finally put into industrial size plastic bags. It was difficult, very difficult, but as a final push, they used an approach that I could not possibly contradict. When a certain piece became difficult to part with, they held up my gorgeous granddaughter and asked me: "Do you love it more than G.?" What a question! I love nothing more than G!

My van was filled with all the bags of clothing, shoes, etc. My van has only the two front seats since I use it to carter around large things.

At the donation center, I was looked at strangely. The van was unceremoniously unpacked.

I smiled when I returned home feeling a lot lighter and seeing my broken angel greet me. It was worth the price.