So said Allen Ginsberg. Yes, there’s a story in everything. My coffee mug, for example, though its narrative has no grand finale. Its history is beyond reach, but it is a lesson in paying attention to my world. Somewhere in the wider world there are probably many like it, but in my cupboard, it stands out. I bought it in a thrift shop for no reason but that I liked it. The heft of it, its modest sprig of flower, the generosity of the handle. No label tells me where it was made. I don’t think that matters. Nothing suggests why its previous owner discarded it, no chip or crack to make it less than useful. There’s no end to this story, just a moment’s noticing of an object I admire and find useful, something solid and dependable in a difficult world.