One year ago in this space, we discussed "comfort mugs," ceramic repositories of psychic well-being, particularly on Sunday mornings when filled with coffee and accompanied by The New York Times, a baseball game, and thou. Frankly, given the first two, we can take or leave "thou." Our comfort mug is decorated with DC Comics superheroes--the alternate CM features "The Jetsons." Several months ago, we received a "Toastmasters" mug, which does a good job of holding coffee, but has yet to manifest any comforting properties.
At the risk of sounding double-entendre-ish, we feel uneasy when others handle our comfort objects. As a married Solipsist, we've grown accustomed to WOS using our mugs and wearing our socks and t-shirts. But still, we must stifle a shudder of dread if the mug is placed too near the table's edge. We imagine we would survive the breakage of the mug, but would it be a life worth living?
The corollary of loving things is fearing their destruction--the corollary of loving people, too. Do we invest objects with significance in order to give ourselves practice in dealing with greater losses? Or does our inherent need for connection and fear of loss cause us to invest the objects with significance? The pondering continues.
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