The teacher, told his contract did not get approved by the school board takes a sip from the half full mug on his desk, looks at the screensaver of Machu Picchu on his laptop and books a flight for September.
These are the characters we love, the ones who took a look at the magnet on the fridge this morning and said, "yeh! when life gives me lemons I will..."
It's easy to subscribe to the lemons into liquid bliss philosophy, it's not so easy to put into practice. In fact, it's innately easier to show others our lemons and ask them to take a small bite of the bitter rind with you.
It really is a decision to take a wedge, look at that yellow B and juice it into something great.
I usually pride myself on being a positive presser. Whether by nature or nurture, my sippy cup desires to never be empty. And usually, the guilt mixed with personal disdain when it is not tends to keep it full. Perspective is beautiful and necessary but can lead to some serious emotional confusion.
I am far from the first to ask but recent events prompt query-
How many lemons 'til your basket is just too full?
How big can these lemons get before we can catch a break?
Will this lemon here even fit into the juicer?
Is there a universal maximum allotted weight per bushel?
Of course not. All these questions are relative to the pomologist holding the basket.
***
I had booked and retrieved an emergency flight for my west coast living best friend last Friday, sharing in her emotional grief, I was prepared to spend the week caring for her crisis.I got news my Grandma wasn't doing well Monday.
Found myself hospitalized with an IV of fluids in my arm on Tuesday.
My Grandma passed away on Wednesday.
I've spent the last 4 days wandering in a land of physical and emotional exhaustion. When I've been moved to seek some silver lining I find myself thinking of my Grandma's manicured hands and the slow, thoughtful way she'd nod her head. When I take my dog for a walk to hopefully attain some physical empowerment, I have to stop at the top of the hill, still labored from the dehydration.
I just can't seem to make lemonade.
Now, there are heartaches and sorrow so deep they can't be minimized to lemons. I am not in a war torn country. I do not have a chronically ill child. I feel the need to recognize that I recognize that. But...I've got a barrel of some pretty tart lemons.
I've talked about the paradox of happiness, that is, a societal and personal pressure to be happy that results in confusion, guilt and unhappiness when felt otherwise. This relates.
I know I should make some lemonade. That key-chain sure says I should. I want to but... I've found myself asking, what do we do with lemons that are just not ready to be pressed into lemonade?
We muddle.
These cute buoyant sayings. Watering the grass you're standing on. Falling down seven times, standing up eight. They have an immediate need to fix. To take the negative rust and abracadabra it into the silver lining. Because of these sayings, I feel I should be getting out my juicer, right?
Now, maybe if there was a week between the lemons. Or it was a professional lemon paired with a personal one. Or a physical lemon combined with a logistical annoying lemon, things would be different. Maybe the barrel could be picked up. But sometimes the barrel is just too much.
Sometimes it's just a little too tight or a little too frequent and...that's okay.
Sometimes you just need to look at your tub of tart treasures and muddle 'em. Live in them. Think about them. Cry about them. Laugh at them.
As unromantic as it sounds, sometimes life is a little less about juicing it than it is about sloshing through it.
While we go through these sloshing seasons of life, I do implore you to recognize moments of sugar. A friend who drives an hour to bring natural remedies. A stranger's smile as they wait for your slow crossing of the street. A naturally erupting laugh you didn't know was surfacing.
While a cup of sugar may be days away, these subtle sprinkles add up.
Until we can truly realize, once again...ain't life sweet?
