I am somewhat lost without my favorite coffee mug. In the mornings, I look for it. I hear it calling my name from a deep dark place. When I walk in the kitchen, it is not on the counter top where I left it the day before. It awaits me every morning, ready for me to grab my hand around it’s round smooth bottom and feel the heat embracing my hands as I pour the first cup of coffee. I know! Sounds kind of a little erotic? Maybe I need help? Just kidding. Still, my mug was not on the kitchen counter this morning. I kept searching for it, following the sound of it from what sounded like a small whisper from a closed door. I opened the dishwasher and there it was. I smiled. I swear my mug smiled back at me. I rinsed the dark, dry, crumbling residue from the bottom of the mug. Yes, I saved my mug from the harmful dishwashing detergent and the extremely hot water, although she probably needed a good bath. I poured the coffee and my mug let out a breath of relief. It’s a special kind of relationship, me and my mug. Can you relate?
Be Well My Friends!