Hello, coffee lovers!
I haven't actually been going to coffee shops regularly for that long. I've always been the type to stay home and enjoy coffee in the comfort of my own home, with family and pets as my only company. And that's not bad at all, quite the opposite. But when I started my writing career, coffee became a part of my life, not just at home in the mornings and evenings, but anytime.
I didn't drink coffee as a child. Back then, I didn't like it. I don't remember if I really didn't like it or, like almost every kid, I told myself I didn't like it because it was something old people did. However, I do remember seeing them sitting on the benches in front of my grandmother's porch, and in front of the television here at my house, drinking coffee in the mornings and chatting. It was a ritual, although I didn't know it at the time.
From those times, all that remains is the memory of seeing my family together. We were quite large back then. Now there are fewer of us, and we're more scattered around the world.
And part of that memory I'm talking about are these mugs that illustrate this post. As you can see, they're all mismatched, since they were sets of six mugs, but some have broken over the years. These are the survivors.
And it's not just the mugs. There's also this sugar bowl and this container used to pour hot milk into the coffee, to make the cortados for breakfast. It's incredible that my mother still cherishes these memories from so many years ago.
Perhaps I drank my first coffee from one of these cups and I don't remember it. I'd like to believe so. What is certain is that my children and wife have already drunk from them. So, they are now part of their history and my legacy.
