Pucker Up

This past April I had three consecutive bad Sundays.

BAD SUNDAY #1: the day after I got home from Paris. Half of my face swelled up Chip & Dale style and required Instacare. I know it's vain but I get worried when my face is distorted. Let my ankle swell, let me catch a rash no one can see, just don't mess with my face.

BAD SUNDAY #2: the day of my only child’s 12th birthday. I threw my back out stepping into my underwear. Seriously. Subsequently spent six days in bed. As in six days totally paralyzed in bed with no capacity to get up. The longest I've ever been down. I had better things to do than lie in bed motionless. I needed to see my peeps at church. I had a birthday dinner of mac & cheese to whip up. I had presents to conceal with darling cupcake wrapping paper. I had a full to-do list in my day planner waiting to be crossed off with my favorite pen, the black Pilot Precise V5.

BAD SUNDAY #3: Returned home from church to soft frozen goods, dripping icemaker and wasted perishables. Our fridge/freezer was dead. This was my first day out of bed in a week and Greg was teasing me that I was walking like an old man with a full diaper. I guessed I was going to have to take my full diaper to RC Willey and shop for a new fridge, which sounded even worse than sharing chapstick with a lip leper.

After those three Sundays I was beginning to wonder what I had done to offend the universe. I was tired of inconvenience but I knew I wasn't the only customer at the Inconvenience Store (which is conveniently always open):

My brother-in-law who does construction for a living nearly chopped a finger off of his dominant hand with a chop saw a few weeks ago. My divorced sister-in-law is alone this week because she has to share what she loves the most with someone she doesn’t love anymore. Neighbors were throwing up this morning. Everywhere I look there are flat tires, lost jobs, forest fires, bounced checks, kidney stones, science projects due the next morning, news stories that make my stomach hurt, and stiff dead deer on the side of I-80. No one is exempt.

My cousin Emily sent me a hilarious card last year. The front of the card had a bowl of lemons and read IF LIFE GIVES YOU LEMONS, MAKE LEMONADE. The inside of the card revealed a big steaming pile of manure and read BUT IF LIFE GIVES YOU A LOAD OF CRAP, DON'T MAKE ANYTHING.

Noted. It could be worse. I'll keep taking lemons, please. At least I can make lemonade, lemon curd, lemon bars and lemon meringue pie. I can also squeeze them over fish or crepes.

Lemons don't last forever. Just pucker until they pass.

*Photo of the beautifully sculpted lemon meringue cake at Tartine in San Francisco. Of course I didn't eat that. My aunt did. Anyone that knows me know that this is what I snarfed down: