Make Lemonade



So, since the middle of December -- which is beginning to feel like an eternity ago -- we've had this sort of nuts downstairs neighbor, which, without going to far into the details, has made life unpleasant for us. After much back and forth, we had discovered to our relief that she would be moving to a different unit, alleviating us of the stress and worry her antics were causing us.

Cut to yesterday, when on my way to check the mail, I find out that she actually has decided to stay in the unit below us. I was already basically bumming it because it was January 19th, and I wasn't too thrilled about the upcoming days' events, so this news came as a bit of a blow to me. Now, I have a tendency to go to extremes. When I love something, I become deeply obsessed. When I'm disappointed, it's tragedy. I was mentally packing my bags for our relocation to Mars when I opened our mailbox to find a package from my mom.

I sliced open the tape and our apartment was instantly filled with the zesty scent of fresh lemons. Occasionally, when one of my mom's backyard trees has a good harvest, she'll send me and my sisters fruit in the mail in one of those large flat rate boxes. Last fall, she shipped me a bunch of tart, green apples, which I baked into pies, simmered into sauces, and blended into smoothies.

So, I'm standing in my kitchen with some seriously high blood pressure with tears welling in my eyes, and this bright yellow box of lemons is like a long-distance message from my momma saying, It's okay. It's all going to be okay. Make the best of it. Make lemonade.

It's funny how moms always know exactly what to say even if it's by shipping a giant box of garden lemons days ahead of a problem ever arising. Thanks, mom.

I have plans to make dried lemon wheels, lemon bars, salad dressing, marinade, limoncello, and indeed lemonade. I'll post the results in the next week or so. Until then, everything will be okay. Make lemonade.

XO,
Annika

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