In early January I was standing at our dresser in the master bedroom putting away some socks and other folded laundry when I glanced at Jon's glass mug full of change sitting atop the dresser.As long as I've known him he's had that mug, full of change, sitting on top of the same dresser. He had it at his place when we were dating, then it moved (along with the dresser) to our first home after we married, and now there it was, sitting on top of it's old buddy, the dresser, in our home in Washington state, twenty minutes from Portland, OR, home of the Rose Festival.
I don't know what prompted me to read the mug. It's just one of those things in your home that you get so used to seeing you hardly notice the details.
My eyes opened incredulously as I saw clearly for the first time the words "Portland Rose Festival."
What? I had to laugh. Who put those words on there? Surely it hasn't always said that.
I later mentioned to Jon, "Hey, you know your change mug says, 'Portland Rose Festival' on it."
"Really?" He had to go and take a look for himself and then gave a prompt "huh" once satisfied.
"Where did you get it?" I asked.
"I dunno. Somewhere in Colorado. Maybe. I dunno."
I don't know where Jon got the mug or how it ended up several states away from Oregon, but here it is, eight years later, twenty minutes from home.
Posts
