On Friday we wanted to drink Kona.
It's stupid, we know -- not like Grandma was in the coffee business. Did she even drink coffee? We don't know. Tea, certainly.
She used to run a gas station, a long time ago, before Mrs. Trimeth was even born. That's kind of the same thing as being in the coffee business. Fuel and all. . .
We sometimes go to a cafe with that name.
We observe rituals. The early cup. The tradition of latte art. The ceremony of tea.
Why? The familiar gets us through, we suppose. "This is how you cope when [blank] happens."
But the funeral is weeks away and we wanted to do something special in the mean time.
Coffee gets us through the day. In fact, it helps get us through all sorts of crap. Why should this be any different?