Taking a couple more bags to my USC office for temporary safe keeping - and finding that some of my possessions look surprisingly happy there - I wasn't pleased to hear a clunk of this (I had thought carefully wrapped) mug against stone - and the handle broke off. It's mendable - this is no major deal. The mug belonged - a christening present, maybe? - to my great grandfather, William Arthur Parker - a shoddy manufacturer (i.e. someone making blankets, etc out of recycled clothes) in Hanging Heaton, near Batley, near Leeds. I'm not distressed by having to glue together the handle: this seems quite sensible since almost all my parents' ornaments and antiques have been lovingly mended in their time: not only was this how they could afford them, but my father took enormous pride in the neatness of all his careful repair work.
Meanwhile, outside, we're told to expect horrible, gale force winds again tonight. It was actually great to be on campus, and catch up with others, and even to teach - but so many stories, all harrowing, in various ways. I've been pretty impressed by the displays of human resilience: given how jangled I am, I can't believe that everyone else is as inwardly calm as they appear to be outwardly. They can't be. I'm sure there's a metaphor in that mug, somewhere, but I'm not forcing it.
Mending is a beautiful thing, but I'm still sorry that the handle broke during its ride up to your office! I think many people are inwardly freaking out all the time, myself included. Ah, to be a spoiled house cat for just one day.
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