© Bruce Goodman 2 July 2015
Stella had a favourite coffee mug. In fact, she had found the coffee mug in a white elephant stall fifteen years earlier. She had paid 10 cents for it.
The mug wasn’t much to look at. It was blue with white trimmings. It had the message on the side: KEEP CALM YOU GRUMPY OLD GIT!
Stella had grown mildly tired of the message, but four or five cups of coffee a day for well on fifteen years was an indication of 10 cents well spent. Once at work, a few years back, a fellow worker had inadvertently used her mug. Stella pretended not to mind, but, really, she was quite affronted and thoroughly washed the mug when next she used it. She took her mug back home where it stayed in the kitchen throughout her remaining working years and current retirement.
It wasn’t the colour or the message that attracted Stella to the mug. It was the shape, the feel of it. The thickness of the rim was just right for her lips. The amount of coffee it could hold was perfect. She could get exactly four cups from her coffee machine in the kitchen without having to brew another brew.
She liked her coffee black with just a touch of sweetener. She used to have a spoon of sugar, but now had changed to artificial sweetener as a way of keeping the weight down. Her bottom was beginning to sag over the edges of the kitchen stool.
Of course, all this is just an introduction to what I really wanted to say.
Yesterday Stella dropped the mug on the kitchen floor and it broke; smashed into a hundred pieces; shattered.
You’d think, after fifteen years of living with that mug, that Stella would have been upset. She wasn’t. There wasn’t a quiver of regret. Not an ounce of shock. Not a loud ejaculation. Not even the most genteel of curses.
You see, the mug smashed when she dropped dead on the kitchen floor.
It seems fitting somehow.
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I’m trying to keep calm! I’m trying to keep calm! And the bit about her bottom sagging over the edge of the kitchen stool was inspired by one of my favourite bloggers!
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Now, I didn’t see that coming. Good one, Bruce
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Thanks Derrick. Sudden death (in a story) could be construed as an easy way out!
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Mortally mugged.
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😀 Let’s hope the mug didn’t have coffee in it. It would have made such a mess.
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But at that point, (as one of my poet friends is wont to say) who gives a…….?
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… who gives a tear crying over spilt milk?
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At least you don’t udder foul language in vain.
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What a teat! …. I mean treat…
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This is an interesting angle to talk about death 🙂
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Merci. The kitchen floor undoubtedly provides an interesting angle!
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or the cup 🙂
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I guess she decided to take her mug with her when she left! Lol!
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😀 She’d be a mug not to!
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This felt more like an odyssey then a story. I was wrong about 4 times as to how this would finish. Brilliant.
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Thank you, Alex. I’ll give you a hint for the future… I like killing characters off – perhaps a bit too much!
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All good things must come to an end, as they say.
This story struck a bit too close to home, Bruce. 🙂 I have a favorite mug – one I bought when I was twenty-five years old. It began its journey with my first job, then when I decided to go back to school, it accompanied me everyday to class. My history professor would comment on it – everyone else would bring Styrofoam cups to class with coffee; I carried my mug with its Persian motif and brilliantly colored peacocks. It delighted me.
I still have that mug. It has faded quite a bit (so have I!), but I still delight in it.
I shall handle it very carefully, lest Stella’s fate and mine somehow become entwined.
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Eke! Well Kate, if it’s any consolation – my mug is 14 years old! It has a Norman Rockwell painting on it of a grandfather and grandson looking out to sea. So, in the meantime, KEEP CALM YOU GRUMPY OLD GIT!
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😀
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Wow, Nice zinger at the end. I was completely drawn into the story, especially since I have a favorite mug, too, that I prefer to all others and have loved for years, Yikes!
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Thanks, Noelle. But all of us who have favourite mugs must KEEP CALM!
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And on the kitchen floor she lay reaching out to the shards of broken blue ceramic now seeming to spell out an enigmatic message:
gr e a t
cl ou d
y ol K !
👑
de y
ump
gi m p
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Damn you – you made me waste an hour of my life trying to make another! – got at far as:
GO PORGY CAMEL!
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LOL. ’twas not my intent, but rather to have you interpret the cryptic verbiage.
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I tried (am thick like that) and when I got to something that looked like ‘umping I got confused!
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I’m still trying to interpret but some of the solution I’ve come up with would be inappropriate for such an innocent blog as this – y ol K!
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The message from beyond is from the recently deceased old git. A warning/revelation of sorts:
gr e a t = elaborate
cl ou d = unclear
y ol K ! = center
👑 = crowned
de y = ruler
ump = adjudicates
gi m p = imperfect
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Thank you – I never realised you were so fluent at Swahili. I did get as far as y ol K! which I interpreted as You Old K… (except it starts with a C!) I now understand how it works – although I still don’t get how de y is ruler.
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Not bad. You were close: Swahili is East African while “dey” is North African.
: a ruling official of the Ottoman Empire in northern Africa
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Has anyone ever told you that you make most people – including myself – sound like an ignorant poop! My partner is French, speaks nine languages and lived for some time in Djibouti – so Arabic is one of the 9.
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Yeah. I’m one of those minds full of useless information. And usually fails to surface when I need it. I read a lot, but can’t remember what I’ve read. Until seven years later out of the blue a trigger will remind me of the premise to the Bible.
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Wow. Nine languages! My head explodes just thinking of the tongue twisting possibilities.
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Very nice, quick twist to the end — did not see that coming!
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Thank you! As I said somewhere else – dropping dead in a story can be an easy way out!
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This I somehow anticipated; seemed the most apt ending for the mug. Oh, and Stella.
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