Coffee Mugs

I knocked over my coffee mug today.  It didn't make much of a mess because it's always filled with an assortment of pens, sharpies, marks-a-lots in various colors and a pair of scissors. 

That's what caused me to make the mess.  The pair of scissors.  The mug was picked to hold all the stuff that belongs in my desk drawer because it makes no sense to use it to hold coffee.  That's because it starts with a diameter of three inches at the bottom and tapers OUTWARD to a diameter of four and a half inches at the top.  Now, who in their right mind makes a coffee mug that's bigger at the top than at the bottom?  Have they no sense of functional design?  A mug like that will tip much easier than one that is the same size from top to bottom, or bigger at the bottom than at the top.  Anyway, while reaching for my stash of pens, which was conveniently located way behind my monitor, I caught my pinkie finger in one of the holes in the scissors and the laws of physics acting on such a poorly designed cup resulted in a 20 minute break from paying bills while I cleaned up the mess. 

Being the easily distracted kinda guy I am, I started thinking about coffee mugs.  That's a lot more fun than paying bills.  We have a whole kitchen cabinet devoted to the darn things.  I measured it and there are four shelves, each  24 inches long and 18 inches deep filled to the point that some mugs must be stacked on top of others so the doors will close.  I'm sure there are a box or two, unopened in the garage, waiting until we remodel the kitchen, possibly with trap doors in the floor leading to basement mug storage areas, that need to be unpacked.  Mugs just sort of sneak up on you.  One day you're in charge of them but after awhile, they're in charge of you. 

In my case, it all started with a college mug. "Go Bulldogs!" or something along those lines - it was broken long ago and tossed in the dump to be discovered and revered by some yet to be born archaeologist in the thirty-second century - so I can't say for sure just what it proclaimed, but that's close enough. Everybody hung out at our digs back then and most of them forgot at least one mug per year as they departed our place in varying states of inebriation. I was well on the way to being overwhelmed with mugs by the time the college years were behind me. The situation improved for awhile.

Like most young men, I moved a lot and mugs were unceremoniously dumped into a box during each move. Needless to say, scores of them were broken in this way, and now await the afore mentioned archaeologist. But, a guy's happy go lucky days are soon overcome by the nesting instinct of a female member of the species, so OUR mug collection began. After several years, the mugs had again gained the upper hand. Well, the solution to ridding myself of that bunch, along with all the remaining ones from MY collection was a divorce. Ha! She got the house, the car AND the mugs! Serves her right! I took the tools. Just about an even trade, in my opinion.

Later in life, I finally met the woman with whom I wanted to collect mugs.  Again, it started benignly enough.  Just a mug here and there as we traveled.  Smallish English ones that say things like Stonehenge, Dunkirk, and Skipton.  Larger ones from the Continent and REALLY BIG ones from Germany.  The size of a mug can say a lot about where it came from.  There's one with the faces of four presidents carved from a mountain on it.  One from Monument Valley with a picture of John Wayne.  Lots of mugs to remind us of pleasant vacations and then there are some, like the one that says Meteor Crater, that remind us of tarrying on the way to somewhere else, just because we had never been there before.

One shelf is mostly full of acomplishments.  These remind me I'm the  Worlds Greatest Dad, #1 Pilot, Happy to be 40 - that kinda thing.  Their value is derived from the fact someone I care about and who cares about me, wanted to put them on my shelf.  These are the best ones, but I don't often use them.  I'd hate to chip or break any of them, and I'm good at doing that.

Other mugs remind me of employers.  One proudly proclaims "With great respect, we thank you for a job well done"  By the time in my life I collected that one, management considered such things to be morale boosters, never once understanding they couldn't be used to buy a loaf of bread.  At least by that time I had wised up enough to know the score.  If I wanted to retire, it was up to me.  I'd never get rich working for wages.  Here's a tip:  There are always "side jobs" available if you look for them.  Find something you're passionate about that will bring in more money than the boss thinks you're worth.  It's out there, Just Do It.  Keep your day job for health care and a steady source of income, but retire on your side job.

Our cupboard is full, of mugs and of life.  There's a mug in our home for each of our friends to pick for his own, and ya know? These days I wouldn't want to have any less. Even though the collection is larger than it has ever been before,  there is no need to discard even one of them.  Well, maybe I wouldn't mind too much if the poor step-sister designed one that holds my pens just happened to reach fatal velocity on it's way from my desk to the floor some day. 

One less just might be OK.