Sunday, February 7, 2016

Lemons, Lemonade and a Day in the Life (Clue: Not Hillary's, Bernie's or Donald's)

Funny how sometimes you have a lot of monster bitter nasty lemons and you’re convinced that the world is falling down about your ears and you’ll never be able to crawl out of the wreckage in a million light years. And it all really is your fault. Then from some place that you don’t even believe in, some kind guiding hand that most of the time you cynically believe is a figment of somebody’s over-optimistic imagination turns your lemons into delicious lemonade for you.

And you didn’t even have to believe or meditate or even be positive. Ha!

Yesterday was Friday. Or that’s what I thought when I woke up. And when I made coffee. And when I read the New York Times with my coffee.

And when I planned my day, including in the mix a few hefty nasty bitter lemon-type challenges—that I could see had the potential to be lemonade at some point, guiding hand or not—which, if I didn’t do this week would turn the whole week into a total achievement-bust.

I had it all planned out. I was going to go to town to talk to the curator of the Rugby museum about either helping me find funding for the script I’ve just co-written, or for another rugby script idea I’ve got that might even be better. Or for both. The world is your oyster when you’re in the planning stages. I was going to do it on Monday. But I had to think about it. Can’t rush into these things. So I told myself. Come Thursday I said, OK, tomorrow. That’s it.

I’d also kind of sort of totally procrastinated on rehearsing a song for my end-of-month concert. Haven’t sung for two months, barely played the guitar. But, on Thursday it was part of my Friday planning. I’d get out of my funk and bloody rehearse.

So there I was on Friday. Everything under control. After coffee I thought I’d spend a little time on Facebook. Not long. Just checking in. It was Friday, I still had time. I started thinking about my friends on Facebook and how much connection I really do have with so many, notwithstanding all the clich├ęs.

Relax. I haven’t got to the lemons yet. At that point I had a plentiful supply of natural lemonade. Not too sweet, not bitter at all. Just perfect.

Then I realized. Crap! It’s not Friday at all. It’s frigging Saturday. And there it was. A nasty bitter lemon bloody barrel bomb exploded in my world. Total achievement and get out of my musical funk bust and I was an hour late for a Very Important Seminar. More haste less speed was never more evident as I piled everything I needed into my bag and downed the rest of my coffee, contemplating having another cup which I really needed. Sense won the day. I put on my makeup which always takes hours, changed clothes three times and raced out.

Remembered that I forgot to brush my teeth. Raced back in, brushed my teeth, smudged my lipstick blah blah blah. Raced out. Started the car, nearly backed out with the garage door closed. Remembered I hadn’t set the alarm. Raced—fine, you get the picture.

Somewhere along the busy road into town packed with irritating, indecisive drivers or grindingly slow day-trippers—God! I hate those silly day-trippers—BOOM! Another lemon barrel bomb detonated. I forgot to check where the seminar was. No turning back now. I had a vestigial memory and just went with it. And ended up in a building that looked right from the outside and was in the right part of town. There was even parking right there. Ha! I’d been here before. I went inside.

Wrong bloody place. By now everything above the height of my head is one giant barrel bomb and it’s hailing lemons.

That’s when it happened. Out of the blue. Lemonade. And not raining on me either. That would be rather disgusting, I admit. A rather dishy fella came out of a shop in the center and said the magic words.

“You look lost. Can I help?”

Oooh, Dishy British accent too. He pulled out his smartphone—and yes, I’m aware of how idiotic it is to not have one of my own—and found the place for me. We had a nice few moments there. He walked with me out onto the street even though the directions were tremendously simple, and sent me on my way with a measure of reluctance that was Very Nice. I burst into song as I started the car. Hey presto! I was out of my musical funk too. The song? Dream a Little Dream of Me.

The seminar was just wrapping up but it didn’t matter anyway because I got the info I needed. And I got home to have that second cup of coffee. And I got to my concert on time. And I sang. Oh Great Gods. My heart soared. Now that’s lemonade for you.