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.