Think back on a time when you didn't feel that way. For me, it goes back to squeezing orange juice. Growing up, we had a big yard by today's standards - a full acre. And on that acre, there were lots of fruit trees. One side of the front yard was devoted to citrus and I think that space alone had eight different trees. Many of the trees were orange trees and with different varieties in the grove, we could harvest oranges through much of the year. One of my jobs was to squeeze fresh juice. I'd go out early in the morning, often before anyone else was awake, with my yellow milk crate and pick from whichever tree had the ripest fruits at the time. Crate filled, I'd head back into the house to slice and juice the oranges. We had an industrial strength juicer. It was heavy, so it didn't move when you pressed down like today's lightweight machines. The juicing head was ceramic. It quickly liquified the most resistant navel oranges. I'd juice away and usually down the first cup I squeezed. There is nothing like the taste of fresh, warm orange juice. It is liquid magic.
