Tuesday, I wake up feeling energetic and sore as hell. I limp my way into work, hoping the walk will do me some good, but it's hard to concentrate. I'm thankful Phil doesn't have anything too complicated for me to work on. When I finally get home from work, I see a brown paper grocery bag on my stoop. My name is written on the bag in marker, with a note: Hope this is the right size.

I look inside and gasp to see a hand-blown coffee carafe. The bowl is clear with swirls of green ...