Mushroom Mug: A Love Story

Love Story

In high school, I told my boyfriend that I wanted to learn how to read tea leaves but didn't have a wide enough teacup to do it properly. He found this handled soup bowl and thought it was just my taste, and he knew me so well because he was absolutely right. I never learned to read tea leaves, but I did marry him.

When we packed everything we owned into my little Nissan Altima to move across the country, the cup came with us. When we moved back, this time our life stuffed in a Dodge Dart, it made the cut again. Together, we’d been through a lot: four apartments, three years of marriage, eight years together, and a new little girl. Through everything, this little bowl was a staple in our home, being playfully fought over at dinnertime night after night—until it suddenly broke.

The mushroom bowl practically jumped out of the fridge and onto the floor with a sickening crack. Leftover spaghetti spilled on the linoleum, but all I saw were the memories it held. Everything shattered on the kitchen floor.

The idea to paint it was actually my husband's. I’d only done one other ceramic still life, but I figured it would be another good study. The bowl was a thrifted treasure, and the likelihood of me finding another is painfully slim. As I posed the mug for its portrait, I wondered about the other homes it inhabited. What dinners had it held? How many relationships had it witnessed?

As I painted, I could almost see the parts of our relationship that the bowl oversaw. A year and a half of long distance was a hefty feat for two teens. All the late-night calls across two time zones came rushing back. I saw us showing up for each other over and over again, counting down the days until the next holiday weekend when he would come home. Everyone around us expected us to fail, but we grew together in spite of everything.

Putting the broken pieces back together embodied the endurance we had as a couple. We held the cracked parts of one another together, carrying each other forward. Something as mundane as a cup could oversee and represent the greatest love in my life, not just a souvenir, but a token of my marriage and the adversities it had overcome.

I’ve actually had several people recognize the cup as part of a set they or their grandma had. We’ll often get similar comments on our marriage—that we have something old and special. Of course, I'm inclined to agree.