My Mug. My Life.

I am kind of giggling that I could write about a coffee mug.  But thanks to Christine Ray, a line in her poem  “A Poet’s Love Song”inspired this piece, and I just had to run with it!


I stared at the chip in my favorite teal colored coffee mug.  The mug with the typewriter font B on it for Beth. The chip happened not long after I bought it, and I don’t know how.

I felt like I was staring at my life.

Like the mug, my life is a beautiful color.  Although, it is not always the same color because different days and experiences bring different colors.

Like the mug, my life is daily filled with things I love. Family, good friends, good times, thoughts and dreams.  Oh yes, and coffee and wine.

Like the mug, my life constantly gets refilled.  Mainly, it’s the people in my life who unknowingly do that for me.

Like the mug, I sometimes spice up my life by adding in things others’ may never think of doing.  And I savor those moments of secret indulgence.

Like the mug, my life is not perfect. I never know when a chip will happen.  I don’t always know how it happens. But my life has bumps and scuffs, and those oftentimes leave scars that are permanent yet not debilitating.

Like the mug, chips won’t keep my life from being able to be full and happy. Hurt, heartache, and loss happen. But I continue on and sometimes ignore those chips.

My mug.  My life.




4 thoughts on “My Mug. My Life.

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