HH II

Clear this morning from my window onto heaven, St Andrews Bay spread out, calm and ringed with lights. GC15 being High Heaven, HV7 is too, two, 2, II. Magic machine coffee this morning, sipping from a small black mug.

There were two, two identical black mugs, treasures because. Thirty-five or so years ago, Tass was visiting my parents in PC, probably she was down here from Pennsylvania with me while I taught my defense acquisition management courses at UWF. My mother took her shopping and she wanted to buy something for me. Spotting the mug, black with an oriental-looking design, she said, “My dad would love this.” “Not black?” grandmama commented. Tass insisted, mama purchased, and dad loved, loves: they were my sole beloved coffee mugs for years, and I always had one for coffee in the car, bringing them from Harrisburg to Apalachicola.

Some years on, one went missing and I was sick about losing it. I searched and searched and, not finding it, started protecting its mate carefully, seldom using lest it get broken or lost too.

Eventually I remembered: when Charlie and Brenda bought my green F100 pickup for Heath, I left it in the truck. It was gone.

Obsessively cherishing things given to me by those I love most has been a lifelong fact of my life, often a factor, sometimes an obstacle, even a problem. It becomes all the more so now as in going through a lifetime of cherished things and gifts from loved ones, I try so hard to decide what not to keep because there isn’t room any longer. At least I realize it. Maybe a blog post for another dawn.

Meantime nobody can even touch this little black mug but me.

It’s just the way it is.