So Many Coffee Cups

​This week, I lied to my regular weekly therapist of many many years. I told her I had a migraine from the weather changing and couldn't come in Saturday morning. She said OK, Feel better.  This week, I lied to my regular weekly grief therapist of a couple of months. I told her I had a migraine from the weather changing and couldn't meet up with her on Zoom Monday morning. She said Feel better and to let her know if I wanted to meet up another day this week. I didn't and I haven't. This week, I am tired of dealing with " IT ", my grief. Of wearing it on the outside, of having it in my face like the bright light on the tip of the anglerfish's modified dorsal fin meant to attract prey to within gulping distance of its enormous mouth. Only the females have them, apparently. It's called the  esca  and contains bioluminescent bacteria that glow. Bet you weren't expecting to learn THAT here. That's the trouble with me. I live and breathe natura...

I’ve moved a number of times in the last decade or two, primarily in an effort to stay ahead of the ever increasing rents in this ridiculously expensive town. Each time, my mom has insisted on being in charge of the kitchen. Everything from measuring, cutting and installing shelf paper to unpacking and putting everything away. It’s been a huge blessing. And it’s fun to figure out where she put everything and realize that it’s all exactly where I’d put it. About three moves ago, as she’s unpacking dishes, she gets to the box of coffee cups and asks, “Robin, why do you have SO DAMN MANY coffee cups?! There’s only one of you!” She starts tucking them into a cupboard tightly, clearly hoping they all fit. True, I own enough coffee cups to serve tea to an entire rugby tournament but I live alone save for an occasional visit from my son. And my cat. So why do I have so many and why is it so hard to part with any? My mom has never been a sentimental or nostalgic person. She is very org...