3 Broken Mugs 1 Broken Promise

Judgment and Keeping Up Appearances

I was quietly panicking. “Don’t bring out the mugs with the broken handles,” I whispered to Don. My daughter and her in-laws, Mi Mi and John, had joined us for dinner that night. We were about to serve homemade chai tea after clearing the remains of the Sri-Lankan chicken curry off the table. Mi Mi and John had given us those lovely mugs for Christmas the previous year, and I didn’t want them to know they were damaged.

Don seamlessly set our old mismatched but unbroken coffee mugs on the table and served the tea. In my haste to avoid judgment, it hadn’t occurred to me that Mi Mi and John might wonder about the absence of their gifts. I was digging myself a hole.

Everything Is Impermanent

Handmade by a locally-famous potter in Huntsville, Alabama, holding one of those mugs is akin to holding fine art. The feel of the rounded and scored bowl in my hands reminds me to center my thoughts in gratitude.

I cried when I broke the first one. I dropped a pitcher out of the cupboard and onto the handle of the lovely brown mug. Don wrapped his arms around me and quietly reminded me that everything is impermanent. I still enjoy homemade matcha chai from that perfectly shaped mug, sans handle, every morning.