As a child, my father and I would occasionally enjoy a delicious glass of carrot juice together. Many years later, he introduced me to the idea of doing some serious juicing myself when he gifted me his old Omega juice machine. The interest waxes and wanes regarding juicing, but right now I am in one of my juicing phases. This week when I went shopping for fruits and vegetables, I found myself suddenly getting a bit gaga over all the green in the produce section.
But when I got home, instead of using the juicer machine, I decided to squeeze some fresh orange juice by hand. I remembered that somewhere, stashed away, I had a little glass citrus squeezer which predated the electric juicer. I found it safely stowed on the bottom shelf of the dining room hutch, a hutch which had been in our home when I was a child. I remember my parents dragging the old pine piece home and my Dad refinishing it.
On a very green morning years ago, when the cicadas where whining and the heat was just starting to build up to a humid afternoon, my Dad and I attended a large flea market together. Both being collectors of a variety of treasures, we stopped to marvel and comment at each booth, but we did not buy – until we came across a little glass citrus juicer. We thought the green glass was so beautiful.
He bought it for me. It is one of my treasures, a small gift with a special and loving memory connected to it. This luminous, timeless green connects me to my Dad on this Father’s Day. I pushed each orange half against the glass, and reflected.