Cup o’ Kona

Well, for a nice, benign Saturday morning post I thought I would, yet again, pay homage to my beautiful coffee. Actually, come to think of it, I’ve never mentioned my glorious Kona Blend on this site, but my Facebook friends are quite familiar with it. At any rate, what you all are privy to is a first time look at said morning companion. Though this post, actually, is not about the coffee itself, but its holy vessel of delivery: A stellar coffee mug.

As with any great coffee mug, there is a little bit of a story behind it. Nothing action packed. Simply a story. A simple story. My brother lives in New York City. I visit him every year for New Years because it is a good excuse to make sure I see him in his element on a regular basis. It is a great excuse to get out of LA, for which I don’t need much of one, and an excuse to go to NYC, for which I need even less of one. I was tired and bored of my coffee mugs, with the exception of one that my brother had sent me for my birthday. It was bright yellow with a white interior. On the outside it had little black rings, almost like spots, and in black, hand-painted type it said “GENIUS”. I loved that mug, but it was the only one I loved. I wanted another, just to spice things up a bit.

It was the end of December and it had yet to snow. A depressing fact for someone like me that loves a cold, snowy New York. I told Solomon of my desire to find a new coffee mug there in NYC because I had little to no faith that I would find a satisfactory result in Los Angeles. So we set off, and the day quickly turned cold and blustery.

It was the first snow of the year, and I was there to enjoy it! It would not stick, of course, it was still too warm, but at least it felt a little like winter. We walked all over Manhattan. We didn’t find a coffee mug. I thought maybe I could find one significantly different from my Genius mug, but just as precious. After several days of searching, I finally decided we should go to Our Name Is Mud. They were no longer there. Woe is me! *Sigh. But they had another location in Central Station. Like Mr. Universe’s back-up unit in the bottom of the complex! We went to Central Station two days later and got there just in time. Our Name Is Mud was having their “going out of business” sale. It was a sore blow to NYC to lose such a fine little shop. It was a tiny micro-culture within the fast-fading greater culture of the city.

They did not have much left in the store when we arrived, but they had enough. One mug caught my eye immediately, but I was not prepared for something so immense. It could hold a reservoir of coffee equal to that of two normal mugs! Could I drink that much in one sitting? Was I up to the challenge? Or would I simply fill it halfway, incline my head in acquiescence to a battle well-fought and go about my day? I looked around some more, but kept returning to the black megalithic ceramic with its lime interior. I was gearing up. I had to. I am not a drop-of-a-hat type of person, nor am I an obsessive planner, but I need moments to collect myself. I collected myself. I purchased the mug.

When I returned home to California I spent many a morning gauging that mug. Only picking it up one out of five times. There was a challenge here. We circled each other like mongrels around a choice scrap of ripened meat. I would like to think I came out on top, that I won the fight, the battle and the war, but to claim as much would be a fallacy. It would be no more than my ego talking. No, it was a mutual conquering. But what must happen when two opponents go through such trials together? They find common ground and learn to respect one another in ways that few understand. So, my dear mug; my sweet cup o’ Kona… here’s to you.

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Cheers,

~D/L

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