More than twenty-eight years ago I left Harbor Beach to come to Chicagoland. A country mouse in the city. Just after the new year dawned.
Before I left, I packed up my mini-van with text books from college and resource books from work. Someone stole them while I was at midnight mass, Christmas Eve.
“Whoever stole the box, will see those books are of no value to them,” I said to my friend Cindy. “I’m sure they’ll bring them back.”
“Adela, think about it,” she replied. “They’re thieves.”
I was so naïve.
My co-workers sent me off with $100 inside a coffee mug. I bought a professional looking wool coat, so I could leave my puffy parka in the closet and look like I belonged in the city.
I have the coat in the closet, hoping some day it will fit again. It is, after all, retro by now.
[tweetthis]The coffee mug still fits.[/tweetthis]
On cold mornings, it reminds me of old friends. On warm mornings it does the same.