As I opened the car door this morning, there it sat. An empty reminder of a full experience.
A couple of years after we gave up television I gave up coffee (the devil's brew, as the Navigator calls it). I switched briefly to decaf before going cold turkey, which apparently is the only way I can give up an addiction. But, I lost my taste for it. Completely. And then my freedom from my addiction became a cause for pride. For being stubborn and impassable.
The Dancer, on the other hand, has developed a taste for the drink, and because of my weakness, I rarely give in to her request for coffee.
Last night, it was time to pick her up from dance. It was late. The two little ones were heavy eyed. But, what a lovely time to surprise her. To make a move to share something with her that no one else in the family will.
I pulled into the parking lot, walked through the door to order two cups of decaf, and gave up my resolve to not drink for the sake of something better: just a few quiet driving moments over a shared cup of fellowship. A good measure. Pressed down. Shaken together. Running over.