Reflection

When Life Hands You Lemons...

Hello Friends!

Last month life handed me lemons. Not just a few, a whole tree-full of the tart yellow citrus fruit.

So I did what I normally do when I am surprised by something not so great: get quiet and think about it. I looked each of those metaphorical lemons over, sniffed them, squeezed one to taste that tongue-puckering juice and thought about the lemon-dump.

What’s Your Dealing-With-Lemons Style?

We all have our own way of dealing with bad news. Some people immediately talk to their nearest and dearest, some extend that to random strangers, some leap into protective action; some get quiet and think, and some positively disappear, pulling into their metaphorical shell and slamming the door closed.

I’m closer to the pull-in and close-up end of the spectrum than the talk-first end. I turned those metaphorical lemons over in my mind for a couple of weeks before I finally talked to a few people. And then I thought some more.

When faced with difficult news, I take time to digest it. Let it ripen, as it were. I think through the various alternatives, feel them out—even taste them, if we stick to the lemon analogy—until one choice feels right.

Only then do I reach out to others, starting with the people I know will be able to sort through the chaff of emotions and fears and preconceptions, and just listen before trying to fix anything. People who can give wise advice. Which I may or may not heed, of course!

Me in I’m-still-not-quite-ready-to-talk-about-this mode

Those Lemons…

I have a serious lung-heart issue: my lungs have become compromised and no longer pull in sufficient oxygen to live at 7,000 feet elevation. My heart is showing stress from working too hard to try to get oxygenated blood to the rest of my body. So I’m going to have to move to downhill.

Lung impairment is a known complication of some autoimmune conditions, including Lupus, which I have lived with since I was diagnosed in my 20s.

My breathing has gotten gradually worse for the last couple of years, especially since I moved to Santa Fe, but I figured it was just that I’m getting older.… (I turn 68 next week, but I still don’t think of myself as “old,” which is common for we humans—our sense of our age and capabilities is usually at least ten years behind our actual condition.)

Nope. I am actually oxygen-starved living at this elevation, and to relieve the stress on my heart and lungs, I have to move. Before winter comes.

So my charming and snug home has just gone up for sale.

The house I bought ten months ago as my “last home.” The house I have lavished so much time and money and sweat equity on. The place that felt perfect for me in a landscape that inspired my Year of Spiritual Thinking project.

My blue front gate and my courtyard hummingbird-pollinator garden. I love that brilliant scarlet Salvia darcyi and the Maximillian sunflowers!

Where to?

That’s the big question.

I don’t want to leave my home range, the region where big sagebrush perfumes the air after summer rains and sandhill cranes’ throbbing calls echo off the ridges. My heart is rooted here where the light is clear, the skies are wide and mountains line at least one horizon. Where wildness flourishes nearby. Where I am a member of the larger community of the land.

And I don’t want to start over entirely: I want to be somewhere familiar, where I have at least a few friends and the possibility of a human community.

I have two places in mind, small to medium-sized towns, places where I have lived in my perambulations in search of home since I was widowed 13 years ago. I’m heading out on a road-trip this weekend to spend a few days in one of those places, and will visit the other the following week.

What to Do With Those Lemons

The antique lemon squeezer from my mom’s childhood home in Berkeley.

My initial response to life’s lemon-gift was more WTF! than calm acceptance. I was shocked, ticked and also scared. I do not want to move again. I have done far too much moving in the past decade or so.

And then a wise friend reminded me that I have successfully lived with Lupus and its shifting constellation of symptoms for nearly 40 years by adapting my life to manage the disease.

“Adapting is one of your strengths,” he added.

So I’m adapting. And as I do, I am reminded of the banner on an old version of my website:

Choose happiness.

Practice Love.

Embrace Life.

I’m working on that. I’m gathering the lemons life dumped on me and making lemonade. With as much sweetness and love as possible.

A lemon ripening on the dwarf Meyer lemon tree that once lived with me.

Yes, that’s a metaphor, but if you want to be literal, here’s my simple recipe for fresh lemonade:

Lemonade

2/3 cup sugar plus 2/3 cup water

6-10 lemons (save one to slice thinly for garnish)

4 cups water

Combine the sugar and water in a saucepan and heat until the sugar is completely dissolved to make simple syrup. Let that cool while you squeeze enough lemons to make one cup of juice. Pour the lemon juice and simple syrup into a large pitcher and then stir in 4 cups of water. Chill and serve. That’s it!

If you want to get fancy, garnish each glass with a thin slice or two of lemon and a sprig of fresh mint. Or add lavender syrup or prickly pear syrup to taste.

In winter, you can use lemonade as a basis for hot rum drinks: Warm a cup of lemonade, add a dollop of honey, a shot or two of rum, and sip and enjoy.

Next time life hands you lemons, you know what to do with them! It’s not easy to hand-squeeze those lemons, but the results are worth it.

Blessings to you all, Susan