I turn on the faucet and depress the pump. Into my palm floats a foamy, aromatic peak.
I place it below my nose and inhale.
Lemons.
I
see Donna's face. She laughs as I tell her I will think of her every
day as I feel grateful for this exotic gift. The hand soap is titled
"Sicilian lemons."
But
I think of Meyer lemons and the tree in my back yard for 24 years on
Apple Blossom Drive in San Jose.Those lemons were an opulent
contribution to so many cherry pies, apple cobblers and lemon bars. A
free gift of nature, the lemons consistently gifted me in frozen slices
that cooled my guest's water glasses. To this day I am known throughout
my extended family for lemon bars.
As
we stand in line to make the purchase, Donna tells me that Harry is
experiencing some disconcerting health symptoms and asks me to pray. I agree.
So
as I rub my hands today, and savor an elegant mini massage of my own palms, I
pray for Harry. And in a split second I have gone to San Jose and back
twice.
I rinse.
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