And Mug

I wanted to explain a little further about the name of my blog.  Previously I explained why paper and pen.  Let me tell you about “mug of”

Sometimes one of the most important decisions is a mug of? The anticipation of wrapping one’s hands around a particular mug; followed by that first smell; finally taking that first sip.  It certainly is one of life’s pleasures and for many an integral part of their day.  Over the years my “mug of..” has changed.  I will freely admit to having been a coffeeholic.  Twenty mugs of coffee would have been the norm.

I began to research and taste various coffee beans.  A friend gave me a coffee grinder so the experiments continued but now it was to find the ideal grind.  Now I was not a coffee snob.  Yes, I enjoyed and enjoy instant coffee but I can appreciate and savour coffee which has been lovingly made.  I am convinced whenever I taste a bitter or burnt cup of coffee it is because the maker has lost the incentive to really make a good coffee.

I use a china mug for tea.  I know it shouldn’t make a difference but that morning mug of tea has to be in a china mug.  Perhaps it is all in my imagination but to me it tastes differently.  At this stage, I have slim china mugs specifically for that morning cuppa.  The colour will be chosen depending on the weather outside.  I have always admired the shape of teapots.  There is something happy about a tea pot.  Perhaps it reminds me of the 1939 song “I’m a little teapot” which always made me smile or perhaps the people who had a smile on their face while pouring that first cup of tea.  So, morning ritual is a tea made in a teapot with a china mug.

Throughout the remainder of the day it is the mug of coffee which is the go to.  Many of my mugs for coffee are generous in size.  Either tall and elegant or squat and round; the latter invitingly made for warming the hands even in the middle of summer.  It is my go to mug when heading out to the garden on a cold winters day.  A good friend gave it to me and when I get to the bottom of the mug “another one?” is written and I immediately think of her.

Now I find that my “mug of …” is dependent on the time of day, what I am doing and sometimes who I am with.  Over the years I have acquired a great collection of mugs.  Each has its own story and memory associated with it.  Those memories are equally as important as the brew it holds.

 

 

 

Paper and Pen

Hello,

You are very welcome as you visit my blog and I hope this is the first of many visits. Let me tell you a little about myself and this blog.

I am nearing my 6th decade, small with a spreading waistline and not quite totally grey hair. I am a woman who can never have too many notebooks, journals, scribble books, jotters call them what you like. I love to scribble down my thoughts in notebooks, enjoy getting lost in a good book, enjoy crafts especially paper crafting. In other words I am a small fat pudgy woman with a love of paper.

Every five years I do a clear up. I look at everything in the home and really see what brings comfort and smiles or what is necessary on a day to day need. There are things which over the years have been thrown out or recycled, others which have been removed for safe keeping, others still which have been lovingly replaced while others have been destroyed. I enjoy this time and allow the memories to flow and ebb.

Everything is looked at and I mean everything. While looking at my journals prior to the 5 year clear up, I noticed that the style of writing had changed. It was no longer necessary to write every day. Although my scribbles at times described sad events or happenings, as that is what life is made of, I noticed that in the majority the scribbling invariably ended on a positive note. The writing colours were no longer restricted to black and blue. Vivid pink, magenta, lurid purple, acid lime, were so often used. I can’t .remember consciously deciding that colour would seep into my writing. Perhaps the reason for the change was nothing more than a particular pen was to hand. Or was this a sign but if it was what was it a sign of?

One of the hardest areas to assess is books. I have to be honest here I detest having to remove a book from its home. This area of change causes me great discomfort. Each book has its own story and not just the story between the covers. Some books bring to mind the person who gave it to me. Others remind me of the joy of purchasing. While others remind me of the conversations I had while choosing that particular book. Now I am only talking about my novels here my resource books are a totally different matter. I have found a way of dealing with these by changing categories and therefore I don’t have to remove them altogether. But this year I even removed some of these but not before wallowing in my memories.

Suffice to say this 5 year stocktaking has become cathartic, emotional but so worthwhile. The stocktaking is also the start date of my journals. In general I shred or burn my journals after rereading or skimming through them but quotes I keep or keep note of. Sometimes they provide the words for the thoughts I cannot talk about. Sometimes a quote can give me the impetus to keep going or very often it gives me a laugh.

As with books journals can also tell a story. I have been amazed that my love of scribbling has been noticed. I have a beautiful leather bound fuchsia pink journal. Every time I see it, it makes me smile and I remember the friend who gave it to me. Recently I was taken totally unawares when I received a beautiful Journal from Florence. It is bound in gorgeous paper which is so tactile. The design reminds me of wrought iron gates which invite one in to a stately home. It is very elegant and just like the giver.

Other journals have been made using unused sheets of copy book pages stapled together and bound with Christmas Cards. Looking back they were fun to make and very unique.

So now you know to what pen and paper refers to in the name of my blog.

I do so hope you have enjoyed your visit and I hope you will visit again.