Mug…mere the word may mean, at least, two different notions: when used as a noun it corresponds to a large cup with straight sides used for drinking coffee, tea etc., though a verb ‘to mug’ means to attack someone and rob them in a public place. The situation is rather delicate because I felt like a mugger some days ago. Year, guys, the first idea of mine was to stole the image in the largest public place ever – the Internet, be hallowed thy name! J I found the whole process of picturing rather complicated and inappropriate for a guy who used to be extremely busy. But then I remembered that honesty is the best policy Thus, a mug presented above is by far a favorite drinking instrument of mine. A sweat present of my younger sister. It definitely deserves being pictured and described.
A nice piglet and 350 ml of tea are always ready to raise my lazy mood in the morning. My charming “muggie” is always up to me in frosty winter evenings when I am sitting in front of my comp desktop and have a high old time traveling through the immense roads of net-libraries.
The eternal question: tea or coffee? It depends. As for my passion for coffee it could be a subject for a separate essay, but I prefer to enjoy it like ice-cream in a cozy café sinking down in the aroma of deep reflections and reminiscences.
Tea is a more active sort of drinking stuff. It has more than a three thousand history which took its roots in China. In Belarus it has been drunk since the 17th century: it came to us through two ways: both from Europe and Russia (through Asia). That’s why there have been used two names for this drink in
Belarusian: ‘harbata’ and ‘čaj’. The first name has a Dutch origin – mere Holland became the biggest European exporter of tea at that time. The word ‘harbata’ has two units – Latin name of the plant – “herba’ as well as a component ‘te’ – which came from the South-Chinese name for tea. As for that Chinese variant, it gave birth to another word used in our lands – čaj (compare with English ‘tea’ or French ‘thé’). At the beginning of the 20th century when our literature felt real Renaissance, the word ‘harbata’ was dominant. E.g., in ‘Paűlinka’ (by Janka Kupala) everybody drinks ‘harbata’ (not ‘čaj’). It is interesting to note that Maxim Harecki once even criticized Michas Lynkoű for the fact that the latter writes ‘čaj’ instead of the literature norm ‘harbata’. Then the rude years of Soviet Russification came and ‘čaj’ almost totally forced out ‘harbata’. At the end of the century ‘harbata’ resuscitated once again. The process was accompanied by a great rise in choice chances in comparison with Soviet deficit in this area. Tea became a kind of intellectual drink. As the Belarusians used to say, “đto kaţuch – to nia vata, đto kapusta – to nie harbata” (as wadded coat is not cotton wool, as well as cabbage is not tea).
Thus, I estimate greatly the intimate instants of peculiar enjoyment which my darling ‘harbata’ gives me in combination with a charming piglet-mug of mine.
A nice piglet and 350 ml of tea are always ready to raise my lazy mood in the morning. My charming “muggie” is always up to me in frosty winter evenings when I am sitting in front of my comp desktop and have a high old time traveling through the immense roads of net-libraries.
The eternal question: tea or coffee? It depends. As for my passion for coffee it could be a subject for a separate essay, but I prefer to enjoy it like ice-cream in a cozy café sinking down in the aroma of deep reflections and reminiscences.
Tea is a more active sort of drinking stuff. It has more than a three thousand history which took its roots in China. In Belarus it has been drunk since the 17th century: it came to us through two ways: both from Europe and Russia (through Asia). That’s why there have been used two names for this drink in
Belarusian: ‘harbata’ and ‘čaj’. The first name has a Dutch origin – mere Holland became the biggest European exporter of tea at that time. The word ‘harbata’ has two units – Latin name of the plant – “herba’ as well as a component ‘te’ – which came from the South-Chinese name for tea. As for that Chinese variant, it gave birth to another word used in our lands – čaj (compare with English ‘tea’ or French ‘thé’). At the beginning of the 20th century when our literature felt real Renaissance, the word ‘harbata’ was dominant. E.g., in ‘Paűlinka’ (by Janka Kupala) everybody drinks ‘harbata’ (not ‘čaj’). It is interesting to note that Maxim Harecki once even criticized Michas Lynkoű for the fact that the latter writes ‘čaj’ instead of the literature norm ‘harbata’. Then the rude years of Soviet Russification came and ‘čaj’ almost totally forced out ‘harbata’. At the end of the century ‘harbata’ resuscitated once again. The process was accompanied by a great rise in choice chances in comparison with Soviet deficit in this area. Tea became a kind of intellectual drink. As the Belarusians used to say, “đto kaţuch – to nia vata, đto kapusta – to nie harbata” (as wadded coat is not cotton wool, as well as cabbage is not tea).
Thus, I estimate greatly the intimate instants of peculiar enjoyment which my darling ‘harbata’ gives me in combination with a charming piglet-mug of mine.
Yaodong with his e-classes