I first saw the girl at the bottom of the cup about the time I was old enough to drink milk/juice/Kool-Aid from a big-girl cup. I was young enough to wonder who she was. She was always at the bottom of the cup, no matter where I was when I drank from a cup. I remember being reassured that life was normal when she appeared at the bottom of the cup after we’d moved into our new house around the time I was five years-old. I considered her a friend.
At some point I no longer looked for her, but when I did, she was always there. Also, at some point I realized it was my reflection — although her nose was much bigger than mine. Over the years there are long stretches of time that I don’t even think about the girl at the bottom of my cup, but then I see her again.
Lately, in the morning when I take my last few sips of coffee, I notice her there at the bottom of my coffee mug. I think she’s more noticeable when the coffee cup is dark, but she’s there in light colored cups too. I don’t think she’s at the bottom of transparent glassware though. I guess I have never checked.
I wanted to get this on the blog because I don’t think I have ever told anyone about the girl at the bottom of the cup. Now I have. I’ll bet you have someone at the bottom of your cup too.
I remember Grandma Patrick’s kitchen in her apartment. I remember the old-fashioned sink. I remember the sewing machine near the window. I remember the table with the gray-patterned cotton tablecloth. I remember her napkin holder that sat on the tablecloth on the table.
After my grandmother died I took a few things to remember her by. I took her aluminium stovetop coffee percolator, I took that gray-patterned cotton tablecloth and I took her napkin holder. Years later, after my mother died, I took the sewing machine too.
Most of these things created some points of contention between Dean and me, but the one that is still on-going is the napkin holder. It’s pure mid-century modern with its starburst pattern on one side (there was one on the other, but it fell off and according to Dean could not be soldered back on). I’d love to have it sit on the kitchen table holding our napkins — and it did for a while until I quit using paper napkins.
I’ve tried other uses for it. I hooked it on a nail in my office wall to hold cables. I used it to hold small notebooks on my desk. Both of those uses were short-lived because the napkin holder is just too light. It’s meant to hold paper napkins on a kitchen table.
I don’t know what to do with it other than put it in the kneewall with my other memories, but I feel that it can be used for something!
I have an old candy tin that contains tatting materials that, I was told, belonged to my maternal grandmother, Lois Green. It holds crochet hooks, all with small to tiny to nearly microscopic hook ends, tatting shuttles and other things I don’t know the names for, some of which might have nothing to do with tatting.
One of the tatting shuttles is sterling silver and engraved with initials. At first glance I thought it was L. P. But it is possible, since my grandmother’s married name was Lois Green (nee Koeser), what looks like a P could be a very fancy calligraphic G. Otherwise I don’t know who it belonged to. Her mother’s name was Emma Koeser (nee Theide) — Could it be a fancy K or T? Her stepmother’s name was Josie Koeser (nee Barnes).
When I first figured out what this tin contained, I thought perhaps I’d learn to tat. I’ve since changed my mind.
The tin holds other mysteries. Like these plastic clips. I wonder if they are plastic bobby pins. Oddly, Google is no help.
There are also a few lapel pins in the tin. One is a moose, which I am sure has something to do with the Moose Lodge, but the other has what looks like a medical symbol on it.