When Life Hands You Lemons, Host the Lemon Party

Morning, Mouth, and Serendipity

I woke with my gums grinning and my dentures dozing in a cloudy glass, fizzing like a forgotten science fair. On the stoop: a basket of lemons, bright as brass buttons on Sunday.

Life said, “Pucker up,” and I said, “No—party up.” If I’ve outlasted three pairs of shoes, two spouses, and one winter of thin soup, I can outlast a little sour.

Reasons to celebrate:

• I like yellow; my joints do too.
• Lemons are cheap confetti.
• Every wrinkle is a laugh line looking for work.

So I scribble a plan in shaky cursive: The Lemon Party—citrus, neighbors, second chances, and soft foods you can gum with dignity.

What’s first?