Happy Thanksgiving (teacups II)

My favorite teacup, the Tiffany-box-blue one, has a chip in its lip. The saucer is, in fact, not in tact. I’ve come to terms with the Twister cups that I once thought were tacky and outdated (I think they’re rather retro-chic) Over those tacky teacups, sob stories as sticky as honey, romances as sweet as honey, laughter as thick as honey.

What can be learned in a year? Sip slowly. Take the higher ground. Take lots of pictures. Take your vitamins. Wear a helmet. Wear socks. Don’t leave pomegranates on top of your fridge in excess of a month. Lock your door, and turn out the lights when you’re not there.

I learned to appreciate you and me, and tea for two. I learned that it’s not the time in between us, but the time when we’re together, and the time you’re on my mind. I learned to send letters when email isn’t fast enough. I adjusted my camera’s view.

"The richest person is not the person who has the most, but who needs the least"- Grandma

happy thanksgiving.



Chapter 15:

You teach me now how cruel you've been - cruel and false. Why did you despise me? Why did you betray your own heart, Cathy? I have not one word of comfort. You deserve this. You have killed yourself. Yes, you may kiss me, and cry; and wring out my kisses and tears: they'll blight you - they'll damn you. You loved me - then what right had you to leave me? What right - answer me - for the poor fancy you felt for Linton? Because misery and degradation, and death, and nothing that God or Satan could inflict would have parted us, you, of your own will, did it. I have not broken your heart - you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine. So much the worse for me that I am strong. Do I want to live? What kind of living will it be when you - oh, God! would you like to live with your soul in the grave?'

'Let me alone. Let me alone,' sobbed Catherine. 'If I've done wrong, I'm dying for it. It is enough! You left me too: but I won't upbraid you! I forgive you. Forgive me!'

'It is hard to forgive, and to look at those eyes, and feel those wasted hands,' he answered. 'Kiss me again; and don't let me see your eyes! I forgive what you have done to me. I love my murderer - but yours! How can I?'