My husband was a great fixer of broken things, and an adjuster of things not broken but in need of improvement.
For 20 years, I complained about this ugly, worn, and often stained, 10 cent, yard sale, coffee cup. Oh, I didn’t mind it in his workshop, or the car, or while fishing. I just didn’t want company to see it, or for him to take it with us on a road trip visiting.
I’ve wondered about my aversion to the cup for the past seven years. It was “Harry’s cup”. It was customized. He had cut off and shaped the bottom of the handle so it would fit the cup holder in the car. Later, he notched the rim of the lid to assist in setting the perfect degree of rotation for coffee to mouth delivery.
He made me laugh.
I don’t think I was ashamed of the cup itself, and God knows, I could never be ashamed of Harry. My guess is that I thought of it as a negative reflection on me…a sort of visual demonstration of neglect or lack of caring, in much the way that I’d view a mother in the company of her child with unbrushed hair or an unwiped runny nose.
Over the years I had bought him several new, better, improved cups. He would dutifully try them, then return to using this ugly, gas station cup from a place we had never been.
I came to realize that the cup spoke volumes about the man. There was no pretense in him. He was a genuine, simple, hard-working man, full of life stories and laughter. He was perfectly suited for his place in the world… perfectly suited for me.
It is now Cia’s cup. I no longer try to explain it or make excuses for it. I just enjoy my coffee in it, and usually spend a morning moment remembering.
- I LOVE THIS CUP •