Pink Lemonade: The Hard Way

Christmas may be long past, but the weather outside is still frightful. As heat and humidity insidiously sneak their way into Waitsburg's forecasts, it's becoming increasingly unbearable to stay outside for long periods.

In elementary school around this time of year, my classmates and I would try to save ourselves from the un-air-conditioned torment of math class by waving paper fans folded from old assignments. In middle school, we would all flock to the desks near open windows or electric fans. The high school is air-conditioned (with the notable exception of the lab), so most of us do fine until the walk home.

My secret weapon for surviving the warm spells is my world-famous (okay, not really, but let me dream) pink lemonade. I stumbled upon the recipe one day as I dinked around in the kitchen. It's cool, refreshing, fruity, and so simple you can practically dash inside and stir it together while your inflatable pool fills up. Here's the recipe: - In a large pitcher, dump half a cup of sugar. Pour over the sugar four teaspoons of

V-8 Splash (NOT regular

V-8) and four teaspoons of raspberry soda. - Realize that you're out of raspberry soda. Throw on flip-flops and walk the half-mile to the grocery store with the two dollars you found on your placemat. When you get there, buy the soda - unless, of course, they don't sell single cans and you have to walk back to the house to get two more bucks so you can buy a six-pack. Or do they even sell raspberry soda? If not, you'll need to drive into Dayton or Walla

Walla, praying all the way that your cat doesn't knock down the pitcher of sugar and V-8 Splash. - Once you've added the raspberry soda, stir. It should be vaguely slushy, much like the slushies they were selling at the Dayton grocery store but that you didn't buy because you were too busy getting ingredients for something cold and refreshing. Try not to dwell on that. - Now you'll need to add half a cup of lemon juice. I always cheat and use the bottled stuff, but if you want to wrangle with a bunch of pithy little citruses that squirt pure zesty agony all over the mosquito bites on your hands, be my guest. - Stir this well. If you went for the "pure zesty agony" juice option, now is the time to track down that one sneaky little seed that managed to escape into the lemonade (which is, by the way, now opaque). Good luck. - Now add three cups of water and stir. (You'll need a pretty long spoon to reach the bottom by this time; you don't want the sugar settling.) As you add the water, there may be a vaguely disturbing sensation in your mind as though you've forgotten something you were doing. - Look out the window at the inflatable pool you were filling, which has now overflowed and made a marsh out of your backyard and possibly your neighbor's petunia patch.

Dash out, turn off the hose, dash back in, and behold the puddle of pink lemonade upon your floor, topped with the pitcher you knocked over with your elbow during your mad dash to shut off the water. - Drive back to Dayton. Order a slushy.