Orange Slush

When Mom woke up Saturday morning, there was a rare and wonderful phenomenon occurring outside – rain, and lots of it!  It had been coming down most of the night so the drainage gutter that was stamped into the middle of the street was flowing freely and briskly with a small river of rainwater, maybe 3 inches deep and 7 feet wide.  I told Mom about it while I wheeled her down the hall and toward the living room.  She asked me to make a slight detour into the kitchen so she could look out the big picture window and see what was going on in the front yard.

“Boy, it’s really coming down,” she commented with a nod.

“Yup,” I agreed as I moved through the kitchen into the living room.  “The weather reports were right for a change.”

“All I know is,” she said as she stood up on wobbly legs, turned and collapsed onto her spot on the loveseat, “I feel sorry for the orange trees.”

“Why?  This is good for them,” I replied.

“Because all that fruit’s going to freeze now,” she said.

“Mom, it’s raining, not snowing,” I said as I shoved the ottoman under her legs.

“But it looks really cold out there,” she said, scrunching her eyebrows and grabbing her TV guide.

“Well, it’s supposed to be 70 again today, so I think the oranges are safe,” I responded.  “And I don’t think you’ll find a weather report listed in the TV magazine.”

“I know that, smarty pants.  I was going to turn on the Weather Channel to see if this is going to turn to ice or snow.”

“Maybe it will by the time it hits Detroit, but I think the oranges have managed to dodge a bullet.” I answered over my shoulder as I returned to the kitchen to get her breakfast.

“Well that’s just dumb,” I could hear her mutter.  “They don’t grow oranges in Michigan.  Even I know that!”

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