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D broke his favorite mug yesterday. He was really bummed. Thing is, we have another one just like it, but now we only have one left! He is sure we will never be able to replace the remaining one if it somehow dies before we do. Yes, it is a nice mug, with a serene screen print photo of a field of cows. Its origin is sentimental as well, purchased from one of our favorite stores, A Southern Season, in the magical town of Chapel Hill, where we lived for seven years while I attended graduate school at UNC-CH. Truth be told, we've bought three of the same mug there. We initially bought two, one for each of us. He broke the first one while we still lived there, and we replaced it within the week. Those two have lasted us lo these ten or so years, until now. One mug remains.

So, this morning, I've been thinking about my special mugs. I have several favorites, some of which I would be sorry to say goodbye to. The photo below is the mug I am using at the moment to drink my 25% caf coffee. I bought it at a Covent Garden craft stall in 1981 when I was in tenth grade. My chorus was on a tour of Europe, with stops for concerts and master classes in London, Paris, and Lucerne. At the same time, I bought another handcrafted mug, fashioned in the rope style, various shades of tan and russet with a gently tapered waist. But of the two, this one with the unglazed mousey resting on an ear of wheat is my prefered mug. What if something happened to it? I like to think I could let it go. I won't have the mug any longer, but I will always have the memories of that first trip to one of my favorite cities in the world. I have since returned to London five times, once to live there for four months, and there is little doubt we will return yet again, at least once. Maybe I'll be in the market for a new mug by then.