Wander into Lange’s Cafe in Pipestone, MN, and you’ll see the same sight I grew up with. A diner filled with old farmers talking about all things related to dirt. These are rugged Americans with calloused hands and warm hearts. It’s not blood flowing through the veins of the Midwesterner. It’s coffee. And that coffee wasn’t fancy, it didn’t have a name that was hard to pronounce, and it didn’t cost five bucks a cup. Midwest coffee only came in two varieties, regular and unleaded.
Then there was the cup. It was a standard glazed, off white, thick rimmed mug that weighed twice as much as it looked like it did. It would also make a lethal weapon. It’s a testimony to the peaceful kindness of the Midwesterner that someone hasn’t been killed with a mug in a conflict over a cow, hog, or woman.
But it’s the balance of the weight as you tip it toward your mouth, the feel of the glazed pottery as the piping hot coffee pours over your taste buds, and the sound of the sip that fills the Midwestern cafe with a symphony of slurping. These folks are virtuosos at their instrument. And today I found one of my own.
If you saw my collection of coffee mugs, you might be tempted to stage an intervention. Yet this morning, right here in Orlando, I found the classic Midwest mug. I filled it with plain black coffee and sat down to a literal mug of liquid joy. Happiness isn’t expensive, but it is priceless. When you’ve had something as common as a thick rimmed coffee mug in your world every day, you might just miss it if it’s ever gone. And when you find it again, you might just pay any price to bring it home.
