Revenge of the Juice

The good news is that apple juice, unless injected intravenously, won't kill you. The bad news is, that an attempted overdose may make you wish for something opiated, which will stem the flow and just make the world a lot better all around.
So it began, innocent enough, as I was dreaming of fresh squeezed, sweet and frothy apple juice, organically grown; windfall apples reprieved by my own hands from a truly rotten fate. Once again I mounted my faithful steed, Bikey, and on another Quixotic adventure, went gleaning.

It was a gooselygood day, a day that tickles your wellness bone and with an approving blue sky above, I rode down Caledonia street, past where the giant bamboo grows and the hill starts. Past where Patty lives on the corner of Park, (one of my favorite blocks), geese in the kiddie pool, Sliding rock hunkered down (Huh, you ain't movin' me), Snapdragon Hill, with the long garland of blackberry bushes at her feet and then onto Maple street, !carefull! stay out of the busy road and get on the sidewalk. Past the condo's where Kwami lives, past Janet's and past Myrtle street where Alan and Kevin have their houses. Past Chris', Past the little kid baseball field and past the little kid soccer field. Past Marylins' where I built something I admire, something whimsical, something fun.
Careful now, I look for traffic behind me, ready to cross the busy road. Woo-hoo, I'm in luck, it's clear for blocks. I cross and am nearly at the Hedlins. Nobody around as I pedal past Mary's house, not even the blonde Lab dog, that barks just to keep up decorum and checks to see if might be carrying a bag of Magical Fried Chicken. If so, she would display any dog's superior power of one minded concentration on the hand that holds the chicken.
I pedal past the potting shed, empty of workers, but full of fiesta sounds of Mexican music. Up ahead are the apple trees, two long files, like parade soldiers at attention. Red, green and yellow apples are just about piled on the ground. I load up the recycled Pepsi crate that serves me as a cargo carrier over Bikey's hindquarter. Some more into the saddle bags, and in a spiffy I am on my way, a session of juicing ahead.
Bikey the steed decides it is much more appropriate to turn into a mule, then into a donkey. I am just glad he's not an Ass, as I lumber homeward, back tire groaning under the strain. At Myrtle street, the attention deficit cherub pegs me with a good whack and my brain goes off track. Maybe I will go see Alan? No sooner thought formulated, deed in the doing. ADD is a lot of things but boring and efficient number not amongst them. Alan and I sit on the back porch, in the shade cast by big, tall trees, that offer a friendly shade. The day is not hot, really, it is warm warm. It is perfect in the shade, Alan and I agree. We talk.
Alan has a rare ability, one of the many reasons why I like and admire him. He knows how to listen. Not the run-of-the-mill listening, which is impatient and fleeting, rather a deep and grounding attention that is a lightning rod in turbulence. All my good friends have, to greater or lesser degree, this ability.
An hour later, back on my trusty donkey, I make a bee-line for home, where my one big drinking glass waits, ready to receive the liquid bounty. I filled the five gallon bucket with water. I own a cute basket, one with a long curved handle and I used it to bring the apples to my juicing station. I liked doing it this way, though less efficient, it adds a certain quality to the experience. Washing and paring the apples is done slowly and attentively. Into the juicer and into the glass, the red skinned apples tint the juice a delicate pink. I am not the only appreciative one. The wasps appear. We have an agreement. They can drink all they want if they are considerate of my feelings. I leave cut apples out for them when I am gone. I moved carefully, not wanting to accidentally trap one or pick up a slice of apple with a grazing wasp attached. It helps me to be more attentive. This attention feeds something else, what It is I am not sure.

The juice is tart-sweet and delicious. I drink a pint and juice more. I know that apples can give you the runs, but I don't believe it. Four glasses into it, I am sick of apple juice and I don't care if I ever drink another sip. That's when I have enough. The parings and pulp go to my compost barrel and the worms get to eat too.

Guess what happened within the hour? I like to think of it as a "cleansing reaction". Spin is the thing and it can help us to see the world in a different way. Mostly it helps us swallow a bitter pill, yes, if you invite the elephants into the house, they will step on the cheesecake.