The Sourness of Need and the Sweetness of Hope
If you were to show up on my doorstep today or tomorrow for a short visit, I would do well to offer you more than a cool glass of refreshing water or a cup of hot tea. Perhaps I could procure some fresh fruit, but cookies and snacks no longer abound in the “slowing metabolism, there are no teens around” Boyd household (Mmmmhhh, hmmmm. Can any of my readers relate?). So, it NEVER fails to amaze me when I show up at my refugee friend’s house and a drink and snack is ALWAYS offered. Not just offered but insisted. I must drink and I must eat. My face is like a book, so it is easy to note when I particularly enjoy something versus not care for it too much. This is an unfortunate trait and hopefully has become less revealing with maturity. My in-tune friends have figured out that their hand squeezed lemonade is hands down the best and I LOVE it. My mouth will begin to salivate just thinking about it as I walk to their home. I asked my dear lemonade making friend to teach me how t