Bish kindly awarded me lemons -- I think to make lemonade -- and it reminded me of my childhood when we stored lemonade in large glass barrels. A small child could fit in one. I don't remember how we acquired these two barrels.
One year, we made the lemonade, and let the barrels sit out in the sun. Perhaps it was the way I had moved these barrels, but the bottom cracked without my knowledge. I remember running off to play with my friends. In those hot summer days, once our chores were done, we were free of adult supervision. I came back in time for supper and to my horror, the lemonade was more than half gone. Wherever the lemonade touched the cement, it was clean. I almost wanted to wash the entire cement path with the remaining lemonade, but we couldn't even manage to save the remaining lemonade. All our hard work, squeezing hundreds of lemons ... down the cement path and into the ground.
I have never forgotten the look of lemonade-cleaned cement. It's sparkly. Unlike Bish, who has lovely pictures, I have none. In fact, there is only one baby picture of me, and it isn't very attractive. On the other hand, both my brother and sister have very cute baby pictures that my parents took. I remember asking my mother why there are no baby pictures of me save that of me at two weeks, where I was scrunching up my nose and probably crying, and she said that I was the fourth kid and all babies look the same and besides, the cost of film had gone up.
There you go ... from lemonade to baby pictures to the feeling of chopped liver.
If you have a lemonade story, please share.