My sister has always been able to make me laugh. When I was almost eighteen and soon to move out of my mom’s house back in the late seventies I remember she called me into the kitchen one day. She had on her teacher face. There’s a method, she told me, to making orange juice from the concentrate tube. ‘Yeah’, I thought. ‘You get the squishy stuff out of the tube into the pitcher, add three of the tube containers of water, and stir it up.’
But no, that wasn’t the best method. I’m a bit of a slow learner so the only thing I remember from her lesson that day was that it involved the blender to get the orange juice frothy and that she was amusing me by the way she took it so seriously. I figured the flaw was with her and not me. She liked to complicate the simple joys of life, for I had a habit leftover from my childhood of licking off the last tasty trace of orange juice concentrate from the spoon before adding the water and I didn’t want to give it up.
So a year or so later I’m living in a two bedroom apartment in Seattle, not far from Seattle Pacific University. My roommate Gayle and I are hanging out in the kitchen and she says to me, “Vicky- I want to show you something,” and proceeds to teach me how to make orange juice from concentrate. My fixated and amazed stare in her direction was no doubt gratifying, but meanwhile I was wondering, what is it about me that makes people think I can’t figure out how to make orange juice?
I told Gayle the story and we both laughed, a lot, over frothy glasses of juice. But a few days later, I kid you not, I get a letter in the mail from my sister. It said this:
‘How to Make Orange Juice-‘
- Peel the plastic rip cord off of the tube container of orange juice and…
The funny thing is I still can’t remember any of their lessons on the subject. However I know for certain that this fellow’s method was not used. Ha ha, I love how he plunks down everything.