I’ve been spending almost every free moment with a human who is just single digit days old. I’ve been snatching her up the moment she’s ready to be burped, milk-sated and serene, all breath and softness and perfection. I’ve been in awe that such a thing as a newborn exists—this stunning evocation of human biology that can do nothing but be fiercely itself.
The newborn does not shy away, it does not question, it does not doubt, it does not self-assess. The newborn just fucking lives. It eats, it poops, it presents itself, in the perfection of its being, to the world. It hopes for the best—or perhaps it does not even have to hope at all.
And in the midst of all this baby love, I’ve been thinking a lot about my own being, the ways in which, as we grow older, we begin to doubt, to self-assess, to question, to shy away from what we really need. We do not just fucking live. We do not drink the proverbial mother’s milk of the universe. And I’ve been thinking about getting back to that.
I use a juicer for efficiency sake, but I understand not everyone has one. For the grapefruit and lime, you could squeeze the juice by hand or with a citrus juicer into a bowl. The watermelon pieces can be blended in a food processor and then strained to get a smoother juice. You basically need about 2 cups of each grapefruit and watermelon and the juice of one lime. Use whatever grapefruits you like, I find the red varieties produce more juice.
4 California Star Ruby Grapefruits, peeled
1 small watermelon, cubed and peeled
1 lime, cut in quarters
sparkling water, optional
tequila and triple sec, optional
In a juicer, juice the peeled grapefruit, watermelon and lime. Stir together to mix. Add more lime to taste.
As an agua fresca, enjoy cold over ice. I add a splash of sparkling water. It also makes an excellent margarita with a bit of triple sec and a shot of tequila.
Dean looked helplessly over at where the lemon was standing on one of the library tables, cheerfully pulling pages out of an old spell book for fun. “I guess?”
“Why would you even have a spell that summons lemons?” Cas asked.
Sam cleared his throat. He had a black eye from trying to catch the lemon earlier after it had slipped out of the dungeon a by leaping directly into his face (who knew demon traps didn’t hold citrus fruit?) and bowling him over to clear a path to the door. “We think it was a failed attempt at a spell from the days of ships crossing oceans on long journeys… If they could summon fresh fruit straight onto the ship, more cargo space is free.” He squinted at the scroll they’d found and turned it slightly sideways to off-set the slant of the writing. “We thought a demon-summoning spell that only needed a few candles might be a good way to save on all the ingredients.”
“That lemon does not look like it wants to be eaten.” Cas watched it hop down from the table and run to the war room, where it began kicking folders off the table, smiling its happy little smile all the while.
“You’re telling me,” Dean said, rolling one shoulder and wincing. It was incredible how much it hurt to have a twenty pound piece of fruit cannonball into you from the balcony by the front door. Thankfully it seemed to have been put off by some of the warding and hadn’t tried venturing outside.
“Perhaps there’s a counter spell to send it back?” Cas asked, stepping carefully out of the way as the lemon rushed past squealing and dragging a roll of rapidly unwinding toilet paper. They watched it go, despair on their faces. It had been a long day. The Bunker had never been more of a mess.
“We tried to find one, but this scroll is practically illegible,” Sam said.
Cas took the scroll and his eyes darted over each line at a regular reading pace. “It’s just in cursive. It even says, ‘How to Summon A Lemon”
Sam and Dean exchanged a glance.
Sam cleared his throat again. “Who even learns how to write in cursive any more these days.”
“We had monsters to hunt when we were kids.”
Cas rolled his eyes at them.
“It says the lemon comes from a fairy realm. I think we should be able to find some banishing spells in some of the books in here.”
“If it doesn’t destroy them all first.”
There were a series of prolonged metallic crashes from down the hall.
“It’s in the kitchen,” Sam said despairingly.
Dean pulled his gun out. “That’s it. We’re ending this and having tequila shots with lemon to celebrate.”