In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Set It To Rights.”
The pottery, first of all. For our wedding, one of my distant cousins sent us a lovely set of hand-made coffee cups, saucers, and plates, crafted by an artist he knew. They were oyster-shell grey and detailed with deep blue swirls, rustic-looking but very well made, and each piece was signed. Twenty-five years later, I still have them. My daughter took one of the coffee cups with her to college.
I rack my brain trying to remember whether I ever sent him a thank you card.
I recall having trouble finding his address. He lived in another country and was in the process of moving at the time. But surely, my mother could have routed a thank you card through his mother–her first cousin? Did I even try that?
These were the days before email, Google, and Facebook, so no help there.
As time went on, I kept coming back to it: Did I send the card? Did I not? The more time passed, the more awkward it became to track down my cousin and clarify, much less rectify the matter.
The gist of it is this: I like to believe that I persisted, that I did find that address and send that thank you. But I was young, self-absorbed, probably a little lazy. Odds are I never sent it. I’m really sorry. I love those dishes.