One of Everything Left

By the time you get to my age you have one item of every pair of everything you ever owned still left.  One wine glass of a once-lovely pair. One mug by that nice Nantucket ceramic artist. One earring from every set I once treasured, gold, pearl, opal, silver, handmade. It's even so with my candles, although there's less sentimental attachment. So I've stopped looking for pairs. Now I hold on to the single trophies of a lifetime and marvel at the memories.

"It's okay to wear two different earrings," my daughter says, as I search in vain for the match to the opal pair I got in Australia.

"Seems like I've lost one of everything I own," I tell her. "Like these earrings. Like these mugs."  We sip our coffee and ponder the thought. I'm drinking from an old stoneware set, my daughter from a pretty Christmas set.

Later, at dinner with my friend Judi who lives below me, "Judi down under" I call her, we share wine in two lovely wine glasses that were gifts from years' past.

"This is such a pretty wine glass," Judi says of the delicate crystal she raises.  "I like yours, too."

"I have one of everything," I lament.

"Couples don't last forever," she laughs.  "In any case, at our ages we don't need things.  Memories will do!"

I'll drink to that.  And light a candle from a once pretty pair for good measure.

"I like that Delft candlestick holder," Judi says.  "Thanks," I reply.  "It's from a set my mom had. I broke its mate."