Lately I have been pouring myself a travel mug of coffee to sip on my 20 minute commute to work. I like to drive up through Ilion Gorge, admire the scenery, enjoy whichever CD I am listening to, and have a sip or two. Usually there is enough left over for me to bring in to my place of employment for a few more sips while I wait for my shift to start and, for example, start to write a blog post (see what I did there?).
Today I am using my favorite travel mug. I do not remember where I got it. It was probably acquired from a long-ago roommate. The logo of the business it came from is not quite peeled off, but I am pretty sure I did not get it directly from there. These are the mysteries I ponder on a Monday morning.
I do have one story about the mug that I can share. The mug came up missing at one point. This did not worry me unduly, because I have many travel mugs. I could always pick another favorite.
Then one Thanksgiving at my parents’ house in Rome, NY, I spotted it. My Uncle Tom, who had also been a guest at dinner, was filling it with coffee for his trip back to North Syracuse, as my parents had invited him to do.
“THERE’S my coffee mug!” I exclaimed.
Uncle Tom was immediately sorry he had selected that mug from the ones in my parents’ cupboard, but I hastened to reassure him. I was, in fact, delighted to have him use my mug to make his drive more enjoyable. It was also very fitting that he should take my mug, as I pointed out to him, because my husband, Steven, and I had acquired not one but two travel mugs from his daughter, our cousin Mary Beth, when in a similar situation.
Eventually I got my favorite travel mug back, so I was not forced to pick a new favorite. It would be OK if I did, and also if another relative or friend ended up taking it away with them. I feel travel mugs, like coffee, should be shared.
And that is my coffee in a travel mug story for the day. I am making the post late for a Monday blog post, but I am calling it a Monday Memories post anyways, just to be alliterative.