Tag: memorabilia

SoCS: mugs

Our family has lots of mugs.

Lots.

There are Big Hug mugs that came years ago filled with FTD flowers. A pair of floral mugs that B and I received as a wedding gift 42 years ago. Mugs from my various Smith College reunions. A line of mugs related to B’s jobs. A mug with children from around the world that was given to me by the middle school principal years ago as a thank-you for being on the building planning team. Some hand-crafted ones which double as works of art. A Doctor Who mug that changes its design depending on the temperature of the liquid inside. Some mugs designed for soup instead of beverages. Sandra Boynton mugs spanning several decades.

Our most recent acquisition is a Sunday Today mug that T and I gave to B for Father’s Day. Its claim to fame is that it is very big, although, of course, it isn’t obligatory to fill it all the way. However, if you do, you need to use two tea bags.

I don’t use mugs very often myself. I don’t drink coffee or tea. I used to love cocoa but it riles up one of my medical conditions. I sometimes will drink white hot chocolate in the cooler weather or make hot milk with spices but it isn’t that frequent.

I do, though, like having reminders of our past in the cupboard, even when they make me nostalgic, like the mug from our children’s elementary school or from the elementary school where my father-in-law was principal for decades. He passed away in 2005, a few years after he retired.

Some day, we will have to downsize and cull some of our mugs.

It will be hard.
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Linda’s prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday this week is “mug.” Join us! Find out more here: https://lindaghill.com/2024/10/25/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-oct-26-2024/

Re-oragnizing

Some of my faithful readers may have noticed that I have been scarce around here the last few weeks, even given that I have had to cut back significantly on blogging this year due to family commitments. While I have been spending time on family obligations, even more of the time in the last few weeks has been dedicated to re-organizing our house (for reasons that will be elucidated at a later date).

I am the first to admit that I don’t like housecleaning, but this re-organization went way beyond that. There was a lot of going through things, both our own things and things that we had brought to our home after Grandma died this spring. Some things got donated, some got packed and stored in the attic or basement, and some found their way to new places in our home.

Bonus:  We freed up the garage so the minivan can stay out of the snow.

The most difficult thing for me, though, was sorting through papers.

Some things were painful or poignant by their very nature. Obituaries. A note from a friend who has since passed away. The fiftieth jubilee mass for a long-time pastor who died this year. Copies of my junior organ recital at Smith, a reminder that I haven’t been able to play the organ for years now, due to orthopedic problems.

Other things caused a more wistful reaction. My daughters’ artwork, starting in preschool and going up through middle school. Some of their report cards and concert programs. Programs and liturgies from our years at Blessed Sacrament, before everything fell apart.

There were some things that had been gathering dust, perched on a high display shelf in our bedroom, that I packed away. My summa cum laude diploma. My Phi Beta Kappa certificate. A certificate naming me a Presser Scholar. All things that I earned thirty-five years ago, when I was quite a good student.

This sounds like I am bragging, but remember these were in our bedroom, not out on the mantel in the living room.

Some may also infer that I am very competitive person, but I am the opposite. My parents raised us to do our own best, without regard to what others were doing. I was fortunate that my best translated into good grades, but my motivation was not gaining honors but learning as much as I could.

Having these mementos was a good reminder for me over the years when I was feeling overwhelmed that I did have a brain in my head that could go to work and research and weigh options and arrive at a useful course of action.

Now, they are in a box in the attic.

I hope that, after thirty-five years of learning, living, and growing, I no longer need a visual reminder.