From the Kitchen… On Lemonade Stands

(Image credit: Apartment Therapy)

I remember my first lemonade stand.

Mom helped me with a recipe and we shopped for the ingredients at the big Vons Market in Burbank, where the aisles seemed to be a mile long. I remember it so clearly.

I was seven and it must’ve been spring because I remember wearing my hair down a little cardigan sweater with flowers on it. Maybe a little pre-mature for a lemonade stand, but I didn’t have any trouble selling my product.

Our house was across the street from a big park where adorable hispanic men in denim cut-offs came to play soccer on the weekends, so smartly, I set up just across from the tree where they’d catch some shade. I charged ten cents, and they all came back for seconds and thirds.

My goal was to make enough money to buy a train ticket to San Diego. It was $19 and mom said if I reached my goal, she’d buy herself a ticket and we could go on a trip. But making that money made me feel like such a big girl.

A few weekends later, I put on my camel coat (those were the days when one still dressed up for travel) and we boarded the train at Union Station. I don’t remember much about what we did once we got to San Diego, but I remember having enough money left to buy a little bamboo flute in a gift shop, and playing it once I got back home under that same tree in the park where the soccer players took refuge.

(Our recipe for Lemonade Stand Lemonade)