Potions

When I was five, my dad was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. In simple ways, he and mom prepared us for his possible death, though, as is the case with children, I didn't understand the enormity of that possibility or the way in which my world would unravel if it occurred. Sometimes we pull out the formal, family portrait (taken at a photo studio in case it was our last), and there we are as children, with our crooked, home-cut bangs and country faces. Dad's sober-eyed grin speaks more to me now that I'm a parent than it ever did when I was younger. By God's grace, he didn't die, and though he underwent chemo and radiation, he touts the gallons and gallons of fresh-squeezed carrot juice he drank during this time as the cure. As a note of interest, he drank so much that his skin acquired an orange-ish cast for a time.

In his honor (not really, though I did ask her if she wanted a taste) here is Annika dipping into the green pepper juice that was leftover from making green pepper jelly.



She didn't much care for it.
Thankfully, she doesn't need to.