It’s funny how life repeats itself. My mother kept a shelf of coffee cups. Likewise, I have two shelves of coffee mugs.
Maybe as many as twenty or twenty-five mugs. I know I really need to pack half of them up and take them to the Salvation Army.
We use two mugs, well, maybe four per day. We choose the same mugs over and over: my husband goes for the horse cups, I go for those with designs and painting imprints.
We both like a handle that fits the hand. Like a good hammer or a writing pen.
If I get quiet, the shelves make me smile. I can almost hear the laughter, the voices, the talk surrounding the mugs.
I struggle to give these mugs away.
They came from friends and family on birthdays and Christmas. My people are enmeshed with the ceramic mugs.
Now we are getting down to it.
A couple of the givers of mugs are no longer with us. They’ve gone on to Gloryland. Hey! that makes it impossible to give them away. They once sent love and courage in a mug.
They knew nothing about fake smiles or hand pumping. They were the real thing.
What goes with my mugs are lots of nodding, lots of hugs, lots of laughter.
The cupboard doors stand open like arms waiting.
Maybe that’s what heaven will be like. That cloud of witnesses, right there with arms open on the other side, right there with Jesus.
My mugs are not beautiful. Interesting, though. Maybe that describes the people who gave them to me, too. As they aged, their beauty went inside of them.
I look close and see mugs that grandchildren like, then there’s a Norman Rockwell, birthday, Christmas, Starbucks, a mug encouraging me to dance, love, sing. A couple of pretty tea cups given by special friends, a Bibentucker’s Bagels mug from a shop in Shreveport.
Okay, I’ll give up the cup with my name on it. After all, I still know who I am, and I can’t remember who gave it to me! There’s probably another Pat out there really needing it.
When I look at all these mugs, I know this world has some good in it. Not perfection, but good.
I’ve had some really good friends, friends for life.
All this from just looking at a cupboard of cups. So many folks with such gentle words.
I want to be one of those people.
P.S. - Gratitude for your friendship.
Photo of mugs taken by Pat Durmon, November 2, 2017