The backyard of my parents’ winter home in Arizona sports an orange tree.
That’s quite a novelty for grandchildren visiting from Saskatchewan.
Grandpa likes a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice for breakfast and asked if his 2 young grandsons would make it for him. The next morning, the boys rushed outside, filled a bag with oranges, and brought them back to the kitchen. There, they had worked out an assembly-line system to get Grandpa his juice. The older one sliced each orange in half and the younger one squeezed. And squeezed. And squeezed.
But a 3-year-old only squeezes a dribble of juice out of each orange before moving on to the next half. It wasn’t long before they had to pick more oranges. And then run to the neighbor’s yard to pick those oranges. And still, Grandpa’s glass wasn’t full of juice.
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