Sometimes life throws you a super juicy lemon fresh from a tree and you have to grab it and squeeze it until the juice runs down your leg and into a pitcher. Then you add sugar and water and love and voila! Lemonade is made. Really good lemonade, the kind that makes your eyes roll back in your head and your tongue quiver from the perfect ratio of the sweet and tart and the yum and the oh.
Well, the lemonade we just drank was epic, better than the state fair varietal and sweeter than the first time I tried powdered Country Time as a small, pre-packaged child of the 70’s. And the name of the lemon was Hawaii and the size of the glass was the big island. Five marvelous, glorious days on the beach in a house at a fancy hotel, surrounded by cabana boys and great friends while filling up on frothy drinks make a girl change her latitude and wake up right.
We were blessed to be invited along for a last minute trip and damn if we didn’t jump into the air and pull that fruit off its branches. I left my computer at home, never checked my phone, seldom glanced at a television and just ogled the sunset, the splashing waves, the lava rock and the gift that these generous friends handed us wrapped in a banana leaf just when we needed it most.
So next time I complain that the universe has clogged ears and a waxy build-up as monumental as a Boulder boulder, I will close my eyes, take a breath and conjure up the view from our back porch and shitsticks, if it won’t just straighten my spine and make me smile.
|Dotty and Otto as seen from our porch...|