Twenty-three years ago, when I turned 50, we had a wonderful party for which I requested no presents only my friends’ presence. I did receive two presents though. One a lovely diamond/amethyst butterfly pin designed by my husband and daughter and a delightfully silly mug from my dear friend, neighbor, walking buddy. Both have stayed with me all these years.
A month or so ago while beginning plans for Michelle’s 50th birthday party, Dean said, “Why don’t you take your mug to Michelle.” What a Wonderful idea!! For about 3 days. Then I realized I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t give my daughter a mug I had had for 23 years. Why????
Well to start with, it’s my mug. Given just to me, having nothing to do with my family or anyone else. I was the one turning 50. I was the one who was given the mug. For 23 years now, I have had my morning tea in that mug every single morning that I was at home. I even tried to have it in another mug a couple of days after Dean’s suggestion to get used to the idea. Nope. That didn’t work.
Several times over the years, someone visiting would reach in the cabinet for a mug and pick this one. It was all I could do to keep my hand at my side instead of grabbing it and saying, “No, no! that’s My mug!” And so it is. My mug. When I moved from Virginia to California, my mug came with me. If I ever have to evacuate with one suitcase, my mug will be tucked in a corner. And to give her lots of credit, when I told Michelle this story before writing the blog, she was horrified. “No!! That’s your mug!” she cried before I had ever finished the story.
Dean had a lovely thought. My first born was turning 50. Share my mug. Sorry, my dear Michelle, cannot do. And she understands. My mug. My daughters can argue over it when I’m gone or bury it with me. Then I won’t care. For now, it stays with me, reminding me that once I was 5 perfect 10s and today I am a perfect 73! Happy Birthday anyway, Michelle!