Teacup

So it's six or so weeks after being diagnosed with diabetes and I can proudly say that so far I'm still doing fine. I'm eleven pounds lighter and am keeping my blood sugar at good levels. And honestly some days I get so sick of obsessing over it each day. That's the thing about diabetes - you don't get a day off from it. Your whole day revolves around what you eat and when you take your medication and when you take your blood sugar. It's a freaking pain in the ass some days. Well that's the price you pay for worshipping the god of Backyard Burgers.

So after a somewhat quiet if not downright dull Christmas and New Years I can say that the holiday season is completely behind me. All decorations are down and stored away and I'm settled in for the long ass haul to spring. One of the annoying differences between German and Mississippi is that in Mississippi I only have to wait until mid-March to get some warmth and to see some springtime. In Germany I'm sometimes waiting for warm, sunny days well into June.

My mother called me this evening rather late. A phone ringing here at 11pm doesn't tend to bring cheerful news. All she said was "Call me back." and after getting settled in to get the trans-Atlantic blow I called her back. I'm all set for death or illness or accident.

Accident I got.

My father's sister, Jewel, who we called Aunt Sister, gave me a tiny china teacup with a magenta flower on it when I was three or four years old. I vaguely remember her giving it to me and for many years it was my prize posession. The only real "keeper" type thing I had that wasn't child oriented. All during my youth it stayed in the china cabinet and on occasion I'd ask my mom if I could take it out and look at it. After I got married it stayed in my parents' china cabinet - I don't think I ever had it with me in my own home.

After my mother sold her home and moved in with my sister, the teacup went with her. It stayed on a small shelf in her bedroom. On visits I'd remind my mom that it was my teacup and later on when she was no more, I'd want it back. Mother would try to get me to take it with me but I'd decline to take it home with me. Even after I'd moved to Germany my mother would ask me if I wanted to take it home and I'd refuse. It looked nice in her home and I was a little afraid of breaking the cup and forever cursing myself for not leaving it where it was safe.

Evidenlty where it was wasn't safe.

Mother called me to tell me that she's broken my teacup. She'd become tripped up while taking something out of her storage closet and while trying to save herself from crashing to the floor, the cup went instead.

And you know it didn't bother me that much. I'm sorry that cup is ruined but it being broken didn't upset me nearly as much as I may have thought it would. Hell, it's just an old cup. Throw it out and don't worry about it.

Unless I find out later it's some priceless treasure. Then I'm gonna be a little miffed.