In our household, we each have our own favorite coffee mugs. I drink out of a cat doodle mug. Jaime, my stepdad, always drinks from a mug that I bought for him at Faneuil Hall in Boston. My mom really likes to drink coffee out of red mugs (she doesn’t know why). And Jesse, my younger brother, tends to use a red JFK mug that my mom also likes.

Well, I broke it yesterday. It slipped out of my soapy hands, and I couldn’t save it as it hit the corner of the sink (I’m sorry, Nano!). There was something comforting about that red mug. Maybe it was its red color (I feel you, ma) or maybe it was just that it has been with us for years. I never thought about losing it.

Isn’t it interesting how we become attached to material objects? Even they have lifetimes.