I recently came to own a Starbucks mug. Its red and white and the size of a small swimming pool. It can hold two and a half pots of coffee. Okay, maybe I exaggerate a tad, but you get the idea.
I am grateful for this mug because it is cute and my hands span it without overlapping, which is great on a cold morning. Mostly though, I love that my grandpa got it for me. He and my grandma go thrift-storing (thrift-storing: verb - to wander around a shop of used goods for resell in search of an item you didn't know you needed until you found it, and for less than a dollar!) Once upon a time my mom told him I collect Starbucks mugs and ever since, he's kept his eyes peeled for them whenever he's thrift-storing. My collection has exploded.
Mother: If perchance you read this blog to Charles, kindly omit this paragraph. What she neglected to clarify at that time is that I collect city mugs from places me or my friends go. But, when I got my first package of mugs, purchased, cleaned and bearing the green siren, the intent of my collection was instantly altered. Now I collect city mugs and mugs that Charles finds.
What makes the red and white mug so splendid is that whenever I pull it from the cabinet, I am reminded that my grandpa thought of me when I wasn't there, and went out of his way to find something I'd like. Just to be nice. Aw!
So today I'm grateful for giant mugs in red and white and the grandpas who gift them. They have a remarkable way of brightening mornings.