by Fred Prout
I hope everyone involved in this story is reading it.
Well, actually, I hope everyone is reading it.
I am looking at what is, arguably, the ugliest mug around. No, I’m not looking in the mirror. I’m looking at a mug of a muddy orange color that does not exist on any color chart. It was bought in a dollar store and would probably qualify for a 50% off sign had we not bought it. It was bought to be put in a cupboard to be retrieved if it was ever needed. Hopefully, never, as it was big and clunky and ugly. Diametrically opposed to the owner, who was small and trim and beautiful.
Things are not always what they seem. They are sometimes what they represent.
This mug represents a caring and thoughtfulness that is seemingly often absent from our society today.
When Rita and I left Timber Valley, we gave away a lot of stuff. I think the mug was just put out of our minds amid the upheaval that was about to occur. Just left in the cupboard for one of the periodic purges that occur. I don’t know when you saw it and realized Rita’s name was on the bottom. I don’t know how long you kept it, waiting for the opportunity to return it.
Back in July, I was invited to participate in Timber Valley’s annual festivities. As I was waiting, Linda Essex brought over a gift bag. “We got you something.”
I replied, “ I should be paying you for the privilege.” When I opened the bag and saw the mug, I cried. It was that ugly.
It is my most treasured possession now. Because this ugly mug overflows with love and thoughtfulness. And memories. And it is wrapped in the auras of people who cared enough to save it for me.