My former neighbors sold their place and headed back to California last year, refusing to take me with them. Maybe three’s a crowd, but I tried to explain that I’d be at the beach all the time anyway, or taking walks, or eating al fresco. They held firm. So I was left here amid yesterday’s two feet of snow and teeth-chattering temperatures dreading the shovel-out, which really takes all the fun out of having a snow day, you know? So I broke down and hired someone on Craigslist to shovel my driveway, and spent half the night wondering if he’d be like most posters on Craigslist: people who promise to meet you to buy that thing and then flake out. But he arrived this morning in a 4-wheel drive vehicle ready to work, and while there was some guilt in watching every shovelful blow back in his face, there wasn’t enough to guilt me out of my pajamas to help. Instead, I am gorging on Scandal and about to watch multiple full-seasons of every show ever positively reviewed thanks to Santa’s gift of Google Chrome and my stunning ability to set it up, despite online comments rife with warning.
Then another neighbor came by with a gift; he and his wife had been out to visit my former neighbors who had fled to California.
“This is from her lemon tree,” he tells me, as I stare dumbfounded at the white piles of snow and these two perfect, plump little lemons.
“Her lemon tree?” I ask. “Her lemon tree?” It strikes me that I am not sounding very grateful.
When life gives you lemons, better to make hot chocolate.
Musings at a picnic 
I have a guest room. I am an hour from Napa Valley and an hour from San Francisco. We are having a drought and it refuses to rain here. You might want to consider a visit. My lemon tree isn’t producing, but it’s 65 degrees and sunny.
You are dangerously close to me showing up on your doorstep. Thankfully, they promise a heatwave of 50 degrees here for the weekend. (And really? A lemon tree? Sigh.)
Lemon trees can grow in formerly cold regions now.
My brother is fully attenuated to the drafty weather patterns. This resulted in a near dear miss which we all cherish. So far, my glances of the parking lot cannot appease my lazy streak, preventing my stay in the grove. You know how it is, but not how it might have been. Return to the diner and get that nice sandwich with the delicious drink. Try not to wait until it is too late. That takes motivation. Again.