A few days ago my 98-year-old neighbor came bouncing out his
front door to catch me in my driveway.
“David," he shouted, “I’ve got something for
you!" And with that he handed me a
big bag of lemons.
Bob had been sitting on his back porch earlier that morning
looking at the lemon tree he planted in 1948, seventy years ago just after he
built his house. He said it has
produced bushels of lemons every year since 1949, and the only thing he has
ever done to the tree since planting it is pick the lemons. No water, no fertilizer, no pruning,
nothing. Just pick the lemons. He said he is running out of people to give
the lemons to, so it’s up to me to take up the slack.
Well, I like lemons, but this seems to be a bigger job than
I wish to deal with; however, for now I’ll use as many lemons as I can. Let’s see, lemon pound cake, lemon water,
lemon iced tea, lemon pie, lemonade, lemon chicken, uh, lemon ice cubes, lemon
… Oh, my! This brings back into my thoughts a few lemon incidences.
At one time I had a position with a company that required a
lot of travel. My main office was in
Chicago, but I was often away, and my assistant James kept things running in my
absence. Needless to say, James knew my
schedule, and once when I was slated to return to the office, his wife baked me
a lemon pie.
James brought the pie to work and somehow managed to sneak
it past the security guard and other employees and into my office without being
seen. Believe me when I say if just
just one person had noticed it, the pie would not have made it to its
destination. Rather than leave it on my
desk where anyone walking by would have noticed it, James placed the pie in my
desk’s chair where I would be certain to see it. Best laid plans.
I arrived at the office a few minutes later, pulled out my
chair, and promptly sat on the pie. At
first I was confused. My chair didn’t
feel right. Did someone swap chairs
with me? As I stood up, I realized what
had happened. To be honest I really
wanted to sample some of the pie parts that appeared to have been left in tact,
but I thought better of it. After all,
my bottom had just sat on that pie. At
least I had a couple of extra suits in the travel bags I kept in the office.
Another time lemons impacted my life was again at the same
office about a year later. One of the
other department heads had made some limoncello using a recipe from his Italian
grandfather. He managed to get it past
the security guards and into my office where he closed the door behind
him. I watched as he pulled out two
oversized shot glasses and the bottle of limoncello from his overcoat. He uncorked the bottle and filled both
glasses. He picked up one of the
glasses and knocked it back in one gulp, and then he pointed to the second
glass and to me. I must say it was
good.
A second round was poured, and it went down even easier than
the first. Then a third round was
poured. I can remember asking him if I
really wanted to do this, but I absolutely do not remember his answer. Later—much later—he told me I didn’t make it
to the fourth round. It turns out his
old Italian grandfather’s recipe started with a bottle of Everclear 190 proof.