I am a friend to this yellow cup. I have glued the handle back on it, once, and if it ever breaks again, which it most assuredly will, what doesn’t? then I will have to decide whether to invest in glue and patience one more time or say goodbye to it. I wish it wasn’t yellow.
I bought it in Seagrove, NC, shopping the pottery studios with my sister. I liked the texture of it, the way the handle filled my hand, the not quite perfect O shape of the mouth, how it sat solidly on the surface, secure, steady, not going anywhere.
I liked the pattern on it, leaves going every which way, like crazy, impossible dance steps. I liked the drips in the glaze along the lip, like I’d already dribbled Bailey’s flavored coffee down the sides.
I bought it because all the things I loved about it out-weighed the one thing I didn’t, and I made my decision in a heartbeat. So yes, if it breaks again, which it must, because everything breaks, I will do my best to repair it.
I just wish it wasn’t yellow.
*This piece of writing was done as an exercise from the book, “Writing Down the Bones,” by Natalie Goldberg, which I highly recommend.