I sit on the patio at Starbucks. Freedom tastes like an iced Americano. Bitter and sweet.
Ironic, my drink, this drink that GI's in WWII substituted for coffee in Italy, missing their families, and sometimes never returning home, must have been the last taste of freedom for many people. And here I sit in the shade, with a nice breeze, considering what to do with my day, something I surely take for granted.
If you haven't been to Washington since the WWII memorial was built, you should put it on your list. The fountains are ghostly and the monument itself is a stoic reminder of the price of freedom. Today, freedom might taste bitter like espresso, sweet like barbecue, cold as chilled watermelon. Savor your holiday with gratitude for the sacrifice of those who secured that privilege for you, and their loved ones.