Making Limeade out of Lemons

Grant County Journal
April 4, 2011
Making Limeade out of Lemons
Written by Janet Warren
My daughter and son-in-law, Jenni and Spencer, moved to Arizona in September, after Spencer finished nine years of medical training back east. None of our family has ever lived where you can grow citrus trees, and when I visited Arizona in November, I was intrigued with the lime tree Jenni had growing in her back yard. We had fresh limes right off the tree for Thanksgiving. They looked like limes, they tasted like limes, and they smelled like limes. I had no reason to think they weren’t limes until a month later when Jenni informed me they had turned bright yellow. If Jenni had mentioned her lime tree to someone who had lived in Arizona for a few years, they most likely would have told her about the growing season and that her limes were actually lemons. Sometimes we assume things and don’t bother to check with someone who really knows.
When my son was 11 years old, Mike and I took him to meet Aunt Charlene in Hemet, California and to visit the attractions in San Diego and Los Angeles. He was at the age where he was beginning to be interested in the world around him, yet not quite old enough to understand them. Of course, I’m not sure I’m old enough to understand some of the things that are going on around us, either, but that is beside the point.
We drove down the Oregon Coast and then entered California through Crescent City. Just north of Crescent City, Jeffrey looked around him and said, “California doesn’t look like it’s bankrupt.” Sometimes as adults we view the world like an 11-year-old. I admit when my daughter and her family moved here last September, I was worried about the murders that were taking place with the Mexican drug cartel. A man was even beheaded in Chandler, where Spencer and Jenni live, although I later found out it was way out in the desert. When I visited them in November, which is the first time I have ever been in Arizona, the part of my brain that behaves like an 11-year-old was probably saying, “It doesn’t look overrun with illegal immigrants and murdering cartel henchmen.” My point is, we can get riled up with the news reports of everything that is going wrong, even to the point of jumping on the Boycott Arizona Bandwagon. Some of us don’t even bother to ask someone who lives here; we form our opinions from the media. I happen to think Governor Brewer is very brave for sticking up for Arizona. There are a lot of reasons I wouldn’t boycott Arizona, but the most important one is because some of the most important people in my life live here.
On a lighter note, those of us who live in the cooler Northwest are sure to say we could never live in Arizona because of the heat. We forget that six to eight months of the year is beautiful and that you can grow grapefruit trees in your backyard.
Arizona’s spring has sprung. We went for a walk to the park the other evening, and I could smell the night-blooming jasmine. The temperature was like a warm summer night, but it was very pleasant. On April 1, however, Chandler broke a record temperature for that date by 5 degrees. It got up to 98 degrees. Jenni cranked up the air conditioner and we stayed indoors most of the day. Fortunately, the rest of the week dropped down to more normal April temperatures in the 80s. It usually doesn’t begin to get into the 90s until the middle of May. The latest forecast has Friday with 76 degrees.
The reason I am here for a month is that Jenni’s C-section is scheduled for 9 a.m. tomorrow morning. My almost-three-year-old twin grandsons, Seth and Noah, don’t have a clue what is about to happen to them when Jenni has the new baby. Noah has warmed up to me, but Seth is still very suspect of me. Friday morning Jenni was resting in bed and Seth was on the other side of the bed watching a movie on an iPhone. I went in and kneeled down beside Seth and asked him what he wanted grandma to make him for breakfast. He scooted quickly over to his mother’s side saying, “Mommy, help me.” Oh my, he’s in for such a surprise tomorrow when either grandma makes him breakfast or he will be one hungry little boy. That’s the problem with living so far away. I was talking to Julie on the playground at Grant before I came here and expressed how I wished I lived closer so I could see my grandchildren more often. “My grandkids live in Seattle,” she said, “and I don’t see them that much either.” She has a point there. Unless I lived in the same city, I probably couldn’t have the close relationship I wish I had. Of course, living that close to your children might present a whole list of other problems. And, as beautiful as Arizona is the rest of the year, I really couldn’t take that summer heat. Snowbirds, maybe? That would be the best of both worlds. Mike, can we talk?