Happiness is Lemonade and Xanadu

My summer vacation took me back to the neighborhood where I grew up. I recalled sweet  memories of endless lazy summer days spent frolicking in my best friend’s pool. We’d daydream about our futures – hers of a white picket fence with 2.5 kids and mine of traveling the world and writing the great American novel.

We’d cap off our evenings playing freeze tag and hop scotch with a gaggle of neighborhood kids on the biggest, flattest lawn until our moms beckoned us home one by one. We jumped on our bikes and pedaled home, the air thick with honeysuckle; the buzzing harmony of crickets warming up for an evening symphony.

Upon returning to my old stomping grounds, 30 years later, now with my five and two -year-old daughters in tow, I was amazed to find the neatly manicured lawns and sidewalks once teeming with life, oddly quiet.

We spent one week at my childhood home leisurely walking our dog along the rolling hills, ample time to see and be seen. We saw very few people. It felt like a ghost town.

I lamented the demise of the intimate community I had called home from infancy to young womanhood. I learned how to ride a big wheel and bike in that front yard, roller skated endlessly to the soundtrack of Xanadu and dashed out to meet my first real date. We “parked” in the driveway at curfew, sneaking sweet kisses, hoping my mom wasn’t spying on us from behind a curtain.

On the last day of our visit, my older daughter decided to hold a lemonade and cookie sale on the sidewalk of my parents’ home. We made a brightly colored sign advertising our refreshing fare, propped up an umbrella for shade from the baking heat, set up a small table and chairs, and,

we waited……

My dad was skeptical that we’d even get one taker. My mom called her immediate neighbors to act as “plants” in case no one stopped. Who wants to let a five-year-old down?  My daughter, ever the optimist, was hopeful.

We had a slow, rusty start. As cars coasted by, we waved brightly, hoping the charm of our home-baked goods and bright sign would reel them in. They passed us, oblivious to our set-up, or craned their necks in seeming disbelief as they cruised by.

Was that really a lemonade stand?

They waved in response, the way you yawn automatically when you see someone else do it- you just can’t help it, it’s contagious.

I saw the excitement gradually fade from my daughter’s lovely face.

It broke my heart.

Then a funny thing happened. A neighbor across the street  got in his car and pulled away. Half way down the street, he skidded to a gentle stop and made a u-turn, back to our stand. He jumped out and came to us with all the change he had scraped together from his car’s console-enough to buy himself and his two friends some lemonade.

My daughter’s spirits soared and her face lit up like it was Christmas. I nearly cried with joy.

Soon, several people were stopping by, some even from several blocks away, making a special trip to enjoy some lemonade on a hot summer’s day. We actually had a line form.

These neighbors who live just steps away, but see each other only as they come and go from work and life, behind the wheel of a car or dimly outlined in a living room window, were talking, catching up on local news and making plans to get together. It was truly an amazing thing to witness.

At the end of our sale, my daughter proudly showed grandpa her cup of coins and folded dollar bills. I got something too, a renewed faith in the spirit of community, a feeling that makes your grin from ear to ear and sends a tingly sensation down your spine.

I believe that is called happiness.