I have few favorite things. I am not a collector of rosy cheeked Hummels, black oak victorian sideboards or AmazonPrime movies. I recycle and regift. I don’t have adult toys (of any kind) and I’m not interested in leaving behind a wall-to-wall estate-sale-size sketch of my life for my children to contend with.
I prefer to be sparse. Live simply. Collect nothing…almost nothing. Almost nothing ……except vessels for liquid otherwise known as mugs, Au Lait bowls or demi tassen.
I have two…verging on three… special containers from which I drink or today-drank-coffee. And to these I am feverishly attached. The kind of attachment that whips you raw. The kind of volcanic attachment that makes a non swearing person say FUCK. The kind of attachment that snipes the calm, zen master model of ecosustainability that I am.
On this day, my cerulean, recycled glass, sun-design-embossed coffee jug from Sleeping Lady Resort tumbled and crashed onto the concrete driveway.
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