I have a lot of mugs.

A few years ago, which now seems like both yesterday and a lifetime apart from the present, it was brought to my attention that my mug collection had grown to a point that was uncomfortable for two other people in my life.
There were some issues with this assessment, but as one who tried to accommodate, I paired down. Even though some of the things that brought up issues were in the space to make them feel welcome, I could understand the desire to nest a little more in one’s own nest.

No shade. But perhaps a little tea was spilt…

I feel in the years between then and now, the “pair down” that was necessary was not the things. It was the relationship.
There are things that begin to not fit. Shapes that are not congruent. Moments and conversations that lose their luster in the shadow of past harm.
But I kept most of my mugs.
I just finished washing twelve of them, all nested together on the kitchen counter, a space that is lacking in my hovel/home. Twelve of them that held a warm beverage for someone dear to me. Someone experiencing loss or grief or rage or confusion or hope or joy. Friends that gathered for my birthday one week and the death-day of someone dear to them a week later.
They are vessels of grounding, vessels of care.
I know they are just mud, fired with pigment and shape. But when someone asks you to cut things out of your life, it is a good idea to ask why they would ask. Again, no shade.

Unless it’s us under a tree, sipping tea from one of my mugs.