There is a tree in the town park about which I often write. Tall and singular, it is an easy object of affection. Meanwhile, another tree, a tiny one in a clay pot, has been growing lemons outside our back door. This week it has given forth a basket of perfect Meyer lemons. Have I neglected this selfless little citrus?
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It's been raining here in Northern California for about three weeks. The newspapers were complaining about the drought and now they're complaining about cabin fever. And they still say there isn't enough water. The chronic negativity of the media seems to be unconscious, bouncing from one negative thought to another. It's one big, collective, "Yeah, but..." It's like that one sad-sack person in your life that you're trying to avoid.