Recently I caught myself looking through my collection of mugs for just the right one from which to drink my afternoon cup of herbal tea.  As I reached for the perfect one with the happy, yellow wattle flowers on it, I realised I always choose this cup for my green or herbal teas.  Odd.  A few days later, on a cool, rainy autumn day, I was making some tomato soup because it seemed warm and comforting.  It immediately came to me in a flash which mug was the perfect choice from which to drink. The gorgeous, hand painted mug made in Tuscany that I bought over 25 years ago and which seemed a small fortune when I bought it.  I had gotten more than my $28 worth during those years.  It awakened in me my connection with all things Italian every time I held it.

In the mornings when I am anticipating my caffeine addiction, it’s all about the coffee.  So my mug of choice is a porcelain one that has a thinner edge but the mug itself is large enough to give me the required hit of wakefulness.  The colourful decoration of high heels is pure fantasy.  It has been a decade (at least) since I have been able to wear high heels, though this fact did not keep me from buying one last pair a few years ago!  For some reason it reminds me every morning to be hopeful for the potential of the day in front of me.

 

At the other end of the day, as a little aid to slip off into the land of nod, I sometimes enjoy a cup of warm milk with some honey in it.  Always, always this soothing, creamy sweetness must be sipped from my fat little mug that I have had for over 35 years.  It is fairly nondescript, and yet, special in its simplicity.  Everything about it says ‘goodnight’.  It is not highly embellished and stimulating, but humble and quiet and earthy.

 

Until a few days ago it had never occurred to me the importance of my chosen drinking vessels.  And today it seems to me the real importance is my own good fortune to enjoy these moments and to have had the kind of life that affords me such comfort.  My cups runneth over….