What's in a teacup?

In December of 2003, I got two Christmas presents that became symbols of that era of my life.

Dave, my partner at the time, after months of me dropping little hints that I wanted an iBook (ok, so stopping at the Mac store window with him, my eyes would lock on the laptop, my hand flying to my heart and a dramatic sigh of infatuation whistling through my teeth wasn't exactly a "little" hint, but I wanted to be really clear about what I wanted), turned to me one evening a few weeks before Christmas and said, exasperated, "Mandie, what do you want more, an iBook, or an engagement ring?" I paused to think, but that was really just for effect. "Ummmm," I stalled, "an iBook?" It was not truly a question. He shook his head, but smiled cryptically. I got the laptop, but he said, "You can only accept this gift as a stand in for an engagement ring." I did think at the time that I would one day marry Dave, but I wasn't ready to say "yes" to a marriage proposal either. And I really wanted the iBook. Not wanting to get bogged down in the details, I simply said, "Ok!" and thanked him profusely, not letting him actually ask the question.


Yeah, so, cat's out of the bag, I wasn't always a woman of integrity.

The other gift I got that year was a glass tea mug. Dave best friend, a drop out from Humboldt (yes becuase of the reason you suspect) had picked up glass etching and made a handsome living by etching hundreds and thousands of mugs with emblems representing such bands as the Grateful Dead, Iron Maiden, and Phish. He also designed his own mugs and sold those, too. He made mugs for both Dave and I that year, "his and her" mugs. Dave's had some ancient looking symbol of masculinity. Mine has a human figure, arms raised above a circle of a head, broad chest narrowing to the waist, which then flare out to substantial hips and nipping in again to a point where toes could be. running from the toe tip is a squiggly line that rises to the midsection and swirls into itself, a spiraled womb nestled in the focal point of the figure. I loved it instantly, almost as much as the iBook. I loved seeing both our mugs together on my kitchen shelf, a symbol of my hope for our future.

These two things were all that survived the relationship, not including me, of course, and that salvation was really only possible by moving to Mexico for six months, a close call if there ever was one. They became tokens of survival. Every time I turned on my laptop or used the mug, I thought, with much satisfaction, "I survived the greatest heartbreak of my life. Nothing can break me."

In September 2007, I bought a new computer and a few months later gave my iBook to Thomas, who could use it for school. There was a bit of releasing I needed to do, some measure of melancholy at letting it go, but I blessed it for the work it had done for me and would now do for Thomas, and hardly thought about it again.

Tonight, after boiling water for tea, I began pouring it into my mug, thinking, "Yup, I'm a momma." Ok not literally, as in I am pregnant right now, but seeing that woman etched into the glass has recently morphed from the survivor mantra it's been for years to confirmation of who I am in the world, a nurturing, caring woman, full and flowing over with love and creativity. Not two seconds into the pour, I heard a clean, sharp crack, and looked down to see water pooling around the bottom of the mug and a crack shimmering from the rim to the mid-bottom of the mug. No, no, no! I though frantically, Not this mug! And swiftly, my wise self replied, "Well, I guess I don't need a mug to remind me who I am anymore, I just know it, through and through."

So, what's in a mug? Just what you need to be in it until you don't anymore, and then it's just glass to be recycled, repurposed, resurrected into some other container for someone else's nourishment.