I don’t know about you, but I have a collection of assorted mugs that, in their own quiet way, mark the moments of my life.

They sit on a shelf like an unassuming timeline. To anyone else, they’re just ceramic. To me, they are chapters.

Jim and I crewed for many years in the Great Chesapeake Bay Schooner Race. Every year, a converted tugboat entered the race as a schooner–the Norfolk Rebel–with its grumpy but lovable captain. It was salty and exhilarating and just a little bit ridiculous. And yes, I have the mug. Every time I see it, I can almost feel the wind and hear the water slap against the hull.

My years with the League of Women Voters at the national, state, and local levels are marked by a mug boldly declaring “Votes for Women!” It isn’t subtle, and neither is the work. That mug reminds me of conversations, organizing, persistence, and the deep satisfaction of civic engagement.

There’s a Fredonia High School mug — bearing a now politically incorrect hillbilly image that carries its own complicated nostalgia. Close by is a Texas Longhorn mug, a gift from my daughter from her first post-college job in Texas. That one holds pride, transition, and the bittersweet joy of watching a child step fully into her own life.

Stratford has its mug too. So many evenings of wonderful theater — stories unfolding under stage lights, laughter, tears, applause. Somehow the mug captures all of it, as if art itself could be poured and held.

Martin Luther King Jr., one of the greatest patriots of our time, is represented by a mug from a luncheon honoring him. It stands as a reminder that courage and moral clarity are not abstract ideals, but daily responsibilities.

Mah Jongg–playing it, teaching it, gathering around the table — has its mug as well. That one holds friendship, strategy, and the comfortable rhythm of shared ritual.

One sport that has remained with me through many decades is tennis. Tweety Bird carrying an outsized racquet marks my joy in playing.

And after years of chairing my local access committee and spending countless hours on local television, there is, of course, a mug to mark that chapter. It reminds me that community is built not just in grand gestures, but in meetings, planning sessions, and showing up–again and again.

Some people keep scrapbooks. Others frame photographs. I have mugs.

Each holds a piece of a life I would not want to live without. There’s something deeply comforting about the idea that your life isn’t summed up by one defining object or one defining role. It’s layered. The shelf isn’t clutter — it’s a chorus.

Marcia Merrins is a Fredonia resident.