“Kids. You gotta love them. I adore children. A little salt, a squeeze of lemon--perfect.”

“If life gives you lemon, squeeze them in people's eyes.”

“When life hands you lemons, squeeze the fuck out of them!!!”

“You gotta learn to make lemonade out of lemons.”

“How is it?" I ask as we stroll towards the dressing rooms. "Working at the playground. That must be fun.""Sure, they're just adorable," she says, "For the first five minutes. And then I want to wring their adorable little necks."I stop, shocked. "I always figured you loved kids.""Yeah, no." Kayla shakes her head emphatically. "One kid, I can do, even two-- just stick them in front of a Disney movie, let them play Xbox all night. But a herd of them?" She shudders.”

“t smells in. Let the smell of hot tarmac in the summer remind you of a meal you ate the first time you landed in a hot place, when the ground smelled like it was melting. Let the smell of salt remind you of a paper basket of fried clams you ate once, squeezing them with lemon as you walked on a boardwalk. Let it reach your deeper interest. When you smell the sea, and remember the basket of hot fried clams, and the sound of skee-balls knocking against each other, let it help you love what food can do, which is to tie this moment to that one. Then something about the wind off the sea will have settled in your mind, and carried the fried clams and squeeze of a lemon with it.”