I have these cups, they’re 1960’s design in colours that I would never have wanted to put together. They aren’t microwaveable (which limits them and their bowls usefulness) and you definitely cannot put them in a dishwasher.
I have never liked them.
They were my mum’s and that there lies the rub. Although rarely did she ever use them, she kept them from her 1969 wedding. (And if I ever have a registry it’s white or white and blue and never. shades of brown and taupe).
I hated them from childhood.
They now, subsequent to my parents passing on, reside in a top shelf of a cupboard that is highly difficult to get to.
I hate them that much.
The cups are obviously coffee cups with their saucers and their sandwich plates and dessert bowls and what was once height of fashion has not aged well. Added to this that my parents smoked and that a small sheen, if you will, of nicotine now coats them, they definitely do not belong in my mismatched crockery (some call this shabby chic) cupboards.
I hate them, in ways too numerous to count but I can neither smash them, nor until now give them away.
As I sit on my bed before sleep, half sick with another round of , I’m guessing strep throat, I am planning the next days to do list of the minutiae of decluttering and sorting (and dear God I hope) purging that will happen the following day and my list starts with “ugly cups from cupboard” written in a somewhat garish hot pink cursive.
Their time has come.
Tomorrow I will pick up a box ( the amazon one my beloved slow cooker came in) and place these monstrosities into the box. They are leaving. Perhaps one person will fall in love. Plenty of people look for retro chic. I am just not that person. I like clean lines and simple colours.
I feel like I need to apologise to my mother.
There is a sense of guilt that comes from even acknowledging that these thing need to go, but I can either hold on to the past or I can embrace my future. I could go all Mari Kondo, but I can’t remember in 23 years my mother routinely using the coffee cups and by the time I was a teen even she had migrated to other bowls. (Still non microwaveable bowls – but they were artisan and handmade, perhaps I can forgive her that).
I can’t thank them for a usefulness that I never “enjoyed”, but maybe they will be a blessing for someone else, perhaps they can enjoy them.