Hopeless

My wife thinks I am a hopeless romantic. Often she shortens the descriptor to just hopeless. The truth is that I am a hopeless romantic. I do believe that romance is something you should work at constantly but something that occurs best naturally.

A case in point is a simple Valentine’s Day gift*. It’s a mug, a simple red and white mug covered in hearts. On the front it instructs “(Read this out loud:) I Love You.” and on the interior it states “Oh, Good, I Love You Too.” A wonderful sentiment but that alone does not make the cup part of a romantic gesture.

However, for twenty years we have taken turns exchanging this mug back and forth. Over morning coffee, night time tea, evening hot chocolates whoever pours quietly finds the mug and presents it to the other. The mug has appeared after fights, in time of joy and always on the holidays. It’s the consistency of the gesture that makes this endless exchange romantic.

I never fail to smile, no matter how small, when I receive the mug. It is a gift of love baked into ceramic. The mug is a little bit of magic from Jim and Barbara Dale, the artists.

About three years ago we started the process of moving and the inevitable reviewing of all the detritus of a near quarter decade. During this weeding out we identified what was most important, the mug included. It forced us to consider what would happen if the mug disappeared. I began a search for the replacements.

Then we moved and we installed granite counters; sure death to any mug. We could have put the mug away, along with the rest of our yet to be displayed treasures but the thought of suspension of Mug giving and the joy it brought was too much for our tender hearts. We lived in fear. The fine wine glasses claimed by the counter top (never the old, cheap ones) were a constant reminder.

For three years I searched the internet on and off for a replacement. The manufacturer, Recycled Paper Products, was contacted (Now Recycled Paper Greetings), but they no longer make mugs and think me an idiot. I looked into the artists (the aforementioned Barbara and Jim Dale) but got no where. Other “Dale” mugs from that era made their appearance, but never ours.

Until now. After sever days of wait, and for less than $10 including postage, another “I Love You” mug appeared. Our old mug now sits on the mantle until a more permanent display is located.

I am pleased to report that the new mug works fine. I had coffee in it this morning and it made me smile because it reminded me that I am loved.

The exchange of mugs is a small gesture, unplanned, and only gaining the value we invest in it. Its one of a myriad of little things one can do for each other that makes the bed on which you sleep. The more you fill the mattress, the better.


*At least I assume it’s a Valentine’s Day gift. My memory for this stuff is sieve like; more flows through than I catch. But like most truly meaningful gestures just when, where and by whom doesn’t matter (unless, of course, your spouse points out the particulars of the events).