The corollary to that is something like, “there’s a good reason why I am not a teacher.”

It’s been another long day. Got up and walked early in the morning, bedroom, bathroom, laundry times two, errands, grocery store, straightened out various financial problems, including an ridiculously long ongoing situation with Visabuxx and re-entering five years worth of checking account data into Quicken (don’t ask). And all kinds of other stuff that I won’t bother to document. I can’t say there wasn’t any fun involved. I mean, I actually *like* to balance bank accounts.

Five o’clock. Time to shut down the Macbook and go for a walk. I rely on walking to de-stress. I don’t totally let my brain go on auto-pilot but I let it kind of meander around. Sometimes I solve problems that way or at least come up with some new strategy.

So, I’m cruising along and it’s summer and it’s, well, not really that hot, thank you god, but probably hot enough to sell lemonade. I turn a corner and without looking a half-block ahead of me, realize with some degree of horror that there is a lemonade stand! Yikes! When I walk, I don’t need lemonade or water or anything else. I don’t carry quarters with me when I walk. And I always feel so guilty walking by those hopeful little faces with a “no thanks.” I feel like they’re thinking, “who is that ugly old witch?” Grok Grok. Yeah, Ugly Ol’ Witch inna big ol’ ditch! grok grok Excuse me a minute. [Shut up, Froog.] Sorry about that RUDE interruption! Grok grok to you, you old Froog!

Now, I think that setting up a lemonade stand is a good, constructive summer-time activity. I think it’s better than getting dumped off to a constant series of camps or learning the art of pick-pocketing. I vaguely remember plotting and planning various “sales” when I was a kid. I can’t remember if we ever actually set up any kind of sale. We had limited venues. The back road was (is) a two-track used by an increasingly small number of people as the beach goes on. It would be interesting to try to sell lemonade on the beach during a screaming nor’wester and when it was lemonade weather, we were busy swimming.

I wish I was better at interacting with little kids. I don’t dislike them. Heck, I *had* two of them. If I am in the right mood, I like to talk to kids just like I like to talk to my grown-up friends. Often, I feel like I understand them better than some of the other adults they encounter. I’m just not a schmoozer. It’s hard for me to make small talk with *anyone*. Somebody else might stop at a lemonade stand and, even if they didn’t have a quarter (or two), talk to the kids about the weather or what they were doing or whatever. I can’t do that. It’s my five o’clock walk and I have to keep going.

If I were a better schmoozer, I’d be shaking those kids down for a website design job. Lemonade stand would be fun to design. I can think of several scenarios. Lemons in every one. A tropical version. A hand-written kid version. And maybe an arctic version. But, sigh, I am not a schmoozer.

Note to self: learn to be a better schmoozer.

And to all you lemonade stand kids. Keep at it! Do not mind old fogies like me!!!

Don’t get me wrong. I love little kids. On my own terms though. I would not be a good teacher.

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