When I was a kid we had big family reunions the first weekend of every July. They were held on a small farm nestled in the hills of Goddard, Kentucky. Each year when we arrived a grinning cousin or two met us at the gate. They would toss me a lemon and run. I knew what to do. I would squeeze and squeeze until my lemon was soft and didn’t have much of a shape anymore. That’s when you took your lemon to Aunt Billie and Aunt Tena. They were on the back porch with a big washtub, surrounded by 5 lb bags of sugar, making lemonade. The smell was sharp and sweet. It was hard to wait for a cool glass of fresh lemonade on those hot, sticky, July days. But when that icy cup was finally in your hand it was grand!
I’m a writer. I’ve been squeezing lemons for a while, and now it’s time to put together the lemonade. I look forward to sharing with you my reflections on books, writing, and the stuff of life. Stop by and visit again. Share your two cents. I'd love the company!