Stop Blaming, Start Building

The crash echoed through the dining room. Another piece of her grandmother's china lay shattered on the kitchen floor.

She stood over the fragments, fury rising. The servants were impossibly clumsy. How could they handle something so delicate with such carelessness? This was the third cup this month. The pattern was irreplaceable.

"How difficult is it to wash dishes without breaking them?" she demanded.

The servant apologized, eyes downcast. But apologies wouldn't restore what was lost.

For months, she scolded. She supervised. She implemented new rules for handling the china. Nothing worked. The breaking continued.

Then her husband died.