Lemonade stand world savers.

I’m telling you, children with lemonade stands are why the world will be okay.  Somehow, along with bad habits like nose picking and saying “stupid,” we’re passed this tradition along.  Inflation swooped in and messed us all up, the recession came, and kids still have lemonade stands where it’s just $.25 per cup.

I always want to beam at kids who are having lemonade stands.  I want to tell them how adorable they are and that I remember being them and thinking that I was actually going to make a lot of money.  (Thank goodness people didn’t always carry quarters with them and sometimes substituted actual dollar bills.)

Brooke and I used to have lemonade stands every summer.  Our dad made us a stand out of one of those things… Oh now the word is escaping me, those wooden platform things that they put softener salt on.  You probably know what I mean.  Anyways, that’s what our stand was made of.  We used my play cash register and would sit outside for hours, getting excited every time we saw someone.

Then there would be those dry spells where no one would be in sight.  This is why you have lungs, to yell as loudly as possible, “ICE COLD LEMONADE…. 25 CENTS A CU-UP!”  Then do it again…. wait a couple minutes and do it again.  Hear it echo around the empty neighborhood.  Then it gets dark, and it’s time for dinner, and you’ve made like $8,00 today, so you can probably pack up.

As fond as those memories are, I wouldn’t go back, because that was also the time of life where I was only allowed to bike or rollerblade on the driveway.  Endless circles, around and around, maybe trying to fit a figure eight in.  It’s nice to remember all the years that I spent in the yard, feeling free and happy to be doing whatever it was I was doing (tying a jump rope to a tree and trying to do double dutch by myself without actually knowing how to do double dutch, making a tent and reading inside it, watering the flowers, watering the driveway, running through the sprinkler, sitting on the sprinkler til you got too cold to stand it, swinging on our swings that hung under the deck, hitting head on said deck… too many things to mention).

Funny that it isn’t until you get outside of your circumstances that you see how limited you were… or perhaps how much freedom you had.  I think that might be called perspective.

(By the way, if you were getting concerned that I tried to do double dutch by myself and were wondering if I had any friends, don’t worry.  I was happy.  That was just in dire circumstances when no one was around, and the jump rope called.)

Baguette trouble.

Today, I am the girl who sits at a table for four outside a café with a baguette and a bowl that used to have tortellini in it.  I’ve excused myself for taking this entire table for myself and my laptop because it’s not the busiest time for lunchers, and there are other empty tables out here.

I don’t know how I’ll justify this when it gets busy.

Thoughts:

• If your car makes a noise like a tractor, jet, or any other loud vehicle, you should probably get a new muffler or never drive in public areas.  Maybe you can’t afford a new muffler…. I suppose I can give you some grace.  I mean, I am depriving four wonderful people from being able to sit together outside.
• Baguettes are tasty but also very hard to eat.  It makes me feel sort of fierce.  Also, I’ve almost shoved it up my nose while trying to eat it.  I hope people understand how hard this is.
• I hope people can see the bugs that I keep swatting at, because otherwise it’ll look like I’m doing some kind of interpretive dance.  Maybe I should just embrace that.
• People who sit outside at restaurants can see the people who stare at them while they wait at the adjacent stoplight.  I’m sure it seems like it’s a one-way thing to the people in the white truck doing the staring, but I can definitely see you.  I suppose if my sunglasses weren’t completely covering my eyes and cheeks and half of my forehead, you could see that better.

That’s pretty much the gist of what’s running through my head right now.  If you’ve ever had a problem with eating a baguette gracefully, I’m sure you appreciated that.

Playing catch and retail.

I suppose everyone has a day like this at one time or another.  It’s one of those rites of passage into the work force.  You probably won’t ever be a CEO if you don’t first have a day like this.  It’s the day that you start a retail job (or perhaps a food service job).  You don your cape, grab the pricing gun, and rename yourself “Retail Girl,” because you are a superhero for grabbing life by its horns in this way.  Slightly over minimum wage, ha-HA!

Or at least, that’s what happened for me.  I spent four hours of my day making sure that price tags were honest and learning how to use the cash register.  (actually, I don’t know what to do if someone has cash… so far, they’ve only used credit and debit. ironic.)  I gunned little stickers onto tags and smiled at the thought of how happy people would be when they saw the low prices on the adorable clothing…. oh, and that’s cute, too.  That’s my size!  That’s… FINAL SALE!

Whoops.  Oh, right.  I was working.

I’ve told myself that I shouldn’t use my incredible employee discount for at least two weeks of employment.  Two weeks.  That way, I’ll have at least one paycheck in hand.  Also, I will have a better idea of how far I should let prices get marked down before I secure an item in my size.  It’ll be great if I can stick to that.

I would say, “welcome to my life,” but this is probably your life, too.  You probably have a story about your first day at a new, similar job.  I’d like to hear it.  That’s what the comments are for.  Stories are best when they are told like a game of catch.  It’s not like ping-pong, where it’s competitive.  When you play catch, you just really want the other person to catch it and throw it back to you.

Let’s play catch with our stories.  Your throw.

Sailboat.

As much as I would love to fly, I feel like an adequate substitute would be sailing.  I’ve had few experiences with being on a sailboat, and all were in the same week of camp where I was paired with a girl I didn’t know who cried when our boat got stuck in the weeds.  I don’t know why she cried; it wasn’t like we weren’t ever going to get out.

Regardless of my less than positive experience, someday, I’d love to have a sailboat.  Or a sailboard.  Something that would enable me to fly across the water with wind power (and I would simultaneously paint with all the colors of the wind).

It’s a simple desire.  I’m not asking for a yacht, people.  I don’t need a cruise liner or a airplane carrier.  I don’t need a speedboat or a pontoon or even anything with a motor.

Just a sailboat.

I mean, I suppose I don’t really need it.  And if I don’t ever have one, I’m sure my life will go on happily.  I’d stick to roads with bikes, cars, and my own two feet.  You just can’t travel on water without a flotation device of some sort, unless you’d like to swim.  But you can only swim for so long and for so far.  And the boats would whiz past you, and you’d feel lonely, being the only swimmer with all the boats.

Yeah, a sailboat would be nice. I’d even take a rental.  Secondhand.  Scuffed.  Clearance boat. I just ask that it sails.

Just call me a plant.

Sunny days come at a maximum of two in a row in Minnesota this summer, apparently.  Just when you finally breathe a sigh of contentedness because it seems like nice summer weather is here to stay, the sun retreats and lets humidity have its way with the world.

It’ll be a treat when the sun decides to grace us with its presence again.

The weather this summer has probably been so confusing to our plants.  The long season of snow and ice that stayed far past its welcome delayed their re-enty into life.  Dormancy became the norm while frozen precipitation reigned on the surface.

Then came a week of warm weather followed by a couple of 80 to 90 degree days.  This was their cue to spring forth into new growth.  This was the time to stretch out of the soil in which they had lain dormant for so long.  It was time to dig their roots in deep and push toward the sunlight.

Just as they got the strength and energy to get up through the soil, however, Mean Old Man Winter whisked back into town like a villain from an Old Western movie, on horseback in all black.  He cackled and waved, and brisk winds and chilly temperatures  (though not as intense as before) threatened the poor little plants.  Those buds on the trees, the flowers, insect life (though I’m not totally opposed to a decreased mosquito population), shivered at the oppression thrown their way.  They longed for the sunlight, to reach beyond the chill of the winter to the sunlight and warmth of the environment where they could grow most easily.

Those poor little plants hoped.  And they didn’t retreat back into the ground, because then they’d have to start all over.  They stood their ground and waited for the sun to come back.

I think I’d like to be like those plants.

Dreams do come true.

As a child, we had a playhouse  in the corner of our yard.  It was little and white and had a bookshelf and a little table inside.  I loved to play house with my sister, pretending to be all grown up, an official homeowner (I didn’t know what a mortgage was back then).

Though it was terribly fun to have a cute little building in the yard to call our own, I still longed for a treehouse.  Anyone who’s seen The Swiss Family Robinson or Tarzan probably feels the same way.  My parents explained that the trees in our yard weren’t suited to a treehouse.  They wouldn’t be able to support it.  (I actually found out that two of the plants I thought were trees in our backyard are actually ginormous bushes…. talk about mind-blowing… what??!? That’s not a tree? I CLIMBED that.)

As I’ve grown up, the desire for a treehouse has never left me.  My dream office is a treehouse.  Can you imagine explaining that to your guests? And here’s out backyard.  There’s Mom’s treehouse… nope, it’s not for the kids.  That’s where Ashley works. She’s… special. *pained smile * If I happen to meet and fall in love with a carpenter, I’ll know it’s destiny and will insist on the treehouse office.

They’re funny, these little dreams I hold in my heart.  And today, that one came true, in a way.  I was sitting on our upper deck, reading my book and enjoying a rather motley pairing of lunch foods when I paused to see where the sun had gone.  (Not to keep you in suspense; it was behind a cloud)  It was then that I saw how beautiful my view is.

It felt like being in a treehouse.  Our house is on a hill, which I also just realized…  I know that makes me seem like a complete dolt, but it’s not that obvious when you’ve lived here for 19 years.  I was at eye-level with tons of leafy, old trees.  Like we’d just settled down in a forest.

Let me show you. (holla to Pearl for having a panorama feature)

You may not be able to see it.  It might be one of those things that you just have to come over to experience. (we have cookie dough to bake if you do come)

It’s satisfying to realize that my life is dreamier than I thought.  I live in a treehouse.  Huh.

Tribute day: Here’s to you.

Today could be a sad day, but it’ll be a celebration instead.  This is the day that my dear friend, Rebecca (that’s her sophisticated, parent-given name… I call her Rebe, pronounced Ree-bee) follows Jesus to Kansas.

Kansas is pretty far from Minnesota.  It’s not where I wanted her to be this summer, but when Jesus offers you a good job and says “nope” to the ones in MN, it’s pretty apparent that He’s got something going on.

So, today is a tribute to a friendship that is unlike most others.  Here’s to intentionality and authenticity.

Here’s to skirt Wednesdays and loving vintage clothing and Goodwill.

Here’s to being like-minded and lifting each other up. Also, here’s to being 17 and thinking that we could be like ninjas and wearing highlighter yellow.

Here’s to serving together.  Here’s to selfies sans makeup plus sweat.

Here’s to babysitting together.  Here’s to loving children.

Here’s to attempting vintage hairstyles and single-handedly keeping the coffee industry running.

Here’s to THAT FACE.  Here’s to going to church together.  

Here’s to that face, AGAIN.  

Here’s to parking lot pictures.  We seem to have a lot of them.

Here’s to Jesus for being the center of our friendship.  Here’s to staying in touch via snail mail over the long semesters apart.Here’s to doing life together.

And here’s to all the good times not pictured here (aka, most of them).

Here’s to you, Rebe.