LOST CUP

 

Have you seen the videos of senior adults doing the “Macarena check list” as they touch pockets to confirm they have keys, wallets, and phones? My dance would include a check for my cup.

In 2022, Martin and I celebrated our 50^th wedding anniversary. If you were one of my blog readers at that time, you may remember that we did lots of fun things for a full year, including a weekend at Lakeview Methodist Camp (a family favorite) with 15 kids and grandkids.

At the end of that memorable weekend, we all went home with beautiful cups printed with “Hinshaw-Established 1972” on one side and personalized with our names on the other. Now, these were high-quality cups – not the dollar store items we were known to buy. And they work beautifully. The ice stays for a long time. The seal is tight. And spills are never an issue. So, I carry mine almost everywhere.

Until the day we went to the mall. Martin parked and locked the door. I left my cup in the appointed spot – a cup holder - assuming it would be safe.

But there is evil in the world. Villains broke in. Hotwired the engine. And stole the truck. Little did they know that a very valuable cup (with my name clearly printed on the side) would be part of their ill-gotten gains.   

Rachel, sensing my distress, ordered a replacement. I was grateful.

But the cup story didn’t end there. Every Sunday, I filled my new cup with ice and water and took it to church. At that time, Love UMC had no building, so we met at Lee College. After a rousing worship that morning, Martin and I headed home – without my cup.

When I realized it was gone, I quickly texted Pastor Clayton and told him to grab my cup. But, alas, he was already gone. Jennifer has contacts at Lee College, so she reached out. But no luck there, either.

Martin, ever the hero, made a trip to Lee College and spoke to the staff. Someone found someone who knew someone who was on cleaning duty after worship. That someone remembered that Pastor Ellen had raised a black cup as if toasting another heartwarming service and shouted, “Who left a cup?” Nobody answered.

The next Sunday morning, we talked to Pastor Ellen, who said she gave the cup to Pastor Luis, who said he forgot it at home. Minutes later, Isabella (the pastor’s daughter) arrived with my cup. I thanked everyone for their efforts and filled it with ice and water.

Last month, Martin subbed at the middle school and used his personalized cup for his favorite peach tea. It should not have been a surprise when he came home and sadly stated, “I left my cup.”

Since these cups seem to walk away, maybe I should invent cup leashes….or attach Apple airtags…or buy a case of the cups and store them under my bed.

Or maybe I should just fill my cup with ice and water, sit on the patio, and try to remember where I left my keys.