Because there are just certain mornings that you need a little extra encouragement.

I love this cup. I’m like a kid that just got a new Elmo shirt with it… the second that it get’s out of the washer, I’ve got my hands on it. I don’t know if it has ever even hit my cupboard.

It reminds me of the most interesting, intriguing man that I’ve ever known. He lived his life exactly how he wanted to every moment and wouldn’t let anyone change that, ever. He was my grandpa. This cup was his before he passed 9 years ago, then it went to my grandma. She passed last January, and now it is mine. Some families pass down fine china or silver. Others pass down hand crafted, beautiful furniture such as rocking chairs or hope chests. THIS is my heirloom, and I wouldn’t trade it for any amount of money in the world. Now, before you head on over to People of Walmart to sift through all of the photos like a Where’s Waldo book, looking for me in my daisy dukes and bra-less, you can pull your panties of their wad knowing that I also have a beautiful painting and a few other momento’s that are actually worth a little money. This one is just my favorite.

Everytime I hold this cup in my hand I can almost hear Married With Children on the TV in the background of his little trailer, all the while grandpa telling us how adorable Christina Applegate is. I can see the bright, fancy lights from the casino’s that I used to sit on the couch and watch for hours out his front window. I can hear the sounds of the slot machines as my grandma lead me through the casinos and to the back entrance of their restaurant where we sat at “his” table and were greeted by every young girl in fish-nets and feathers. I can see him explaining to me how to play Keeno for the first time from the all you can eat seafood buffet at the Cal Neva, I knew how to bet numbers before I knew how to add them. I can see my grandpa, who was a little Italian man no taller then I am now, make some 6 foot, 250 pound drunk man go running like a scared little girl after he threw a beer bottle in my direction on the streets of Reno in the middle of the night. Little did the poor bastard know he was taking his life in his own hands messing with me while my grandpa was there.

My grandfather didn’t like a lot of people, in fact he pretty much hated everyone… unless you were family or a life-long friend. But for some reason, everyone seemed to adore him… no one messed with him, either. At his funeral, there were people as far as the eye could see. Weaping and laughing at the many, many stories of grandpa just “being Al.” There were people in their suits and ties, people in leather vests with their long hair wrapped in bandannas, old people, young people, people from all over, you name it… they were there. It was full of just as much joy as it was sadness. And when it was over, when we placed the deck of cards on his urn just before closing the door forever, I swear I could see the cloud of smoke left by his screeching tires in the parking lot, as I did everytime my grandpa left in his little Nissan.