Where’s My Mug

I have misplaced my favorite coffee cup, mug actually. Somewhere, somehow, sometime. Now I have a number of cups and mugs but there’s one old blue perfect size, perfect-fit-for-my-hand Air New Zealand mug that I got when I worked there. I’ve always loved it. And that is the cup/mug I use every day, even though I have a number of ones to choose from. At some point yesterday I must’ve misplaced it. But where? 

The object of this obsession (or affection) is a rich royal blue with a cream enamel coating inside. My hand fits into the curve of the handle, cupping it ever so finely. The size of it is also proportional to that which holds it, lifting it up to my lips for a luxurious slurp of coffee. Not tea, mind you. I use a different mug for tea. No, this is my favorite coffee mug, you might even say only it will do.

GAPS IN MY SMALL UNIVERSE

Now, I have memory lapses like the average 70+ person on the planet but they are things like not forgetting somebody’s name or even wondering where I put other things, something I rarely use like a small cooler or screwdriver. But the mug? Never!

I have to tell you, there’s only so many places it can be. I live in a tiny house. A tiny house! I have a limited number of cupboards, a limited number of drawers, even a small number of nooks and crannies. I even looked in the trash thinking I could have absent-mindedly thrown it out. Nope, not there, not nowhere.

ATTACHMENT IS AS ATTACHMENT DOES

I don’t really care as much about losing my mind as I do my mug, although I do care somewhat. I mean I’ve always valued certain things in my life, maybe overvalued others and this mug has been one of them. The human species is an odd collection of brilliance and idiosyncrasies, garnering a hodgepodge of behaviors. Actually, make that mammals cuz I’ve seen dogs, cats, goats and hamsters that also have some of the strangest preferences or attachments. (Ever seen a dog circle the pet bed a prescribed number of times before plopping down?)

Is this mug an adult version of a security blanket sort of like the dog and pet bed? Have I imbued it with special powers? Value? Symbolism? Am I more attached to the mug than my own mind or memory really truly?? Oh my God!

I’m not sure a deteriorating memory is a sign of Alzheimer’s or some other form of dementia but I do think I’ve been attached to the mind just the same, with a subset of memory as a retrieval function. It’s partial identity but it’s also how I function. It’s how I know my world is okay, predictable, reliable. And this mug is a symbol of that.

VALUATION

So it’s frightening that I can’t remember for the life of me that which is vital to my daily joy and happiness—the mug. The measure of importance we place on small innocuous things in our lives is staggering, and I’m really no different than the next guy or gal, or dog!

This little whine of mine in the larger scheme of the universe, with all the tragedies on the planet such as wars, starvation, pestilence, liars and cheaters in politics and business seems pale in comparison to the mug and therefore seems a bit misplaced. And while I’ve never been a “thing” person, at the same time I want my mug back! While you can replace anything or everything, I want this one.

At the end of the day, I truly don’t know which I’m more attached to, my mind that holds the memory or the mug that holds the coffee. God help me! I am in quite a quandary. Whatever shall I do?!