Handles

We recently shattered a glass pitcher. Though already warmed, the pitcher apparently was cooler enough than the hot water poured into it. Unfortunately I missed the event, but I gather it was spectacular: our dog was still leery of the sink twelve hours later.

Some of the resultant pieces were beautiful—much more interesting to look at and think about than the original pitcher. The piece that held the handle—with the handle—remained intact; it was independently elegant. Looking at it, I had some understanding of why people seem to pay so much attention to handles.

When we were trying to figure out how to buy kitchen cabinets to replace the ones we inherited in our house (which had rotten to the point that they could be torn in pieces effortlessly by hand), I was stymied by the variety of handles available. I frequently become nervous trying to differentiate between all the possible toothpastes and select one, but the varieties of toothpaste are nothing to handles.

Places that sell home furnishings frequently have several displays of multiple handles each. You can choose between 10 types of kitchen cabinets, but you can elect to open those cabinets with roughly 35 different handles. There are three types of doors, but you can open that door with hundreds of different knobs.

An organization in the Maryland suburbs that collects and resells recycled building materials has several sections overflowing with items that walk a very fine tightrope between junk and trash, including large collections of handles removed from discarded drawers, doors, and cabinets. Also church pews—sold by the foot—and elderly toilets missing important elements (tank and seat). We picked through the handles at one point, to find doorknobs to replace the ones that a combination of homeless people and hooligans had ripped out of our bedroom door (prior to our moving in, of course), but couldn’t find two knobs that would fit together to make the whole apparatus. So, we went to Home Depot and paid $8 for the cheapest complete, but unrecycled, version.

Shattering the pitcher has another unexpected benefit: we don’t have it anymore. I didn’t object to the pitcher—we used it, but infrequently. However, it is irritating to have something that you can use, but don’t really need, but have to hold onto because someone gave it to you and it would be more wasteful to get rid of it. I tried to invent a use for it as a holder for miscellaneous kitchen utensils: a grater, measuring cups, a set of incremental teaspoons and tablespoons.

But those things didn’t really need to be held; it was a superfluous use.