Few things offers simple, satisfying
comfort like a warm mug of __________
(fill in the blank with whatever comes to mind). Coffee.
Soup. Cider. Mulled wine.
Green tea. Chili. This morning for me it is black coffee, decaf
for the good of my nervous system and the world at large as caffeine, unless in
dire fatigue circumstances, makes me unpleasant to myself and others. Insert memories of my inside head voice
saying, “stop talking, stop talking, just stop,” and my inside body voice
responding, “Can’t.” Really, caffeine in
my body is ruthless, unlike the merciful mug
which proffers plainly a two-palm-sized gift to ourselves each time we fill it. On this August morning I don’t think I have
ever enjoyed an ebony swig more. I am
alone in the house early on Monday for the first time since May. I raise my mug today to toast the first day of school.
Mug is a noun defined at dictionary.com as a drinking cup, usually
cylindrical in shape, having a handle, and often of a heavy substance, as
earthenware. Also there is a slang noun
form meaning the face or the mouth.
Many of my mugs are from garage sales and used stuff stores. I feel an exquisite, thrifty thrill when my mug budget of fifty cents reaps some
ceramic cast off that fits my fingers just fine as I wrap them through the
handle and around the body of the cup.
Never mind the plates and spoons, a unique mug makes me swoon! Seems
silly, I admit, but it is a simple joy that keeps me from sorrow at the times I
inevitably drop a mug or
absentmindedly smash one into the side of the sink. The original twelve matching tea cups with
saucers received as wedding gifts thusly are reduced now to four - dainty and
lovely and just what a bride should choose but failing to satisfy the weighty
warmth of a sturdier stein. Indeed my tea
cups have never crossed over into mug
territory. Fine for a lovely table,
luncheon, or dessert tray but never hoping to hold chili with cheese nor fat,
fluffy marshmallows swimming in Godiva hot chocolate. Never.
Today takes its place in a long
line of soggy days. I don’t mind. Serendipitously the term to describe today’s air
is muggy! Quiet is all the more
compelling in such weather, damp from recent rain and still with anticipation
of more predicted thunderous precipitation.
More captivating also is my mug. Mine alone for the first morning in months. Silence.
Sipping. Sitting in space that
has been a bustle and acutely active for well-lived summer’s steamy stint but
now slowed just for the moment. The day
holds much and will be busy in a matter of minutes, melding from languid linguistics
to droves of to-do demands. But in deep
gratitude I find myself truly loving my matchless Monday mug.
Mommy Cup
mug resting in palms
sip light after
offspring leave
what now can I hold
