My daughter once suggested that I have an inordinate fondness for limes. This remark was made as she was rummaging through our refrigerator trying to find some sparkling water in a flavor other than lime. Of course, there was none. I find lime to be… sublime.

My love of lime started long ago. As a kid, I would get my allowance, walk to the corner store and buy my favorite treat, a lime popsicle. More allowance would be spent on Chuckles. These sugar covered candies were cherry, licorice, orange, lemon and lime. The lime one was, by far, the best and was consumed first.

My husband is not as much of a lime fanatic as I. However, when he worked in Milwaukee, he had a summer ritual. Every day over 95° he headed to Kopps Drive-in for “a greasy grilled cheese and a gigantic lime shake”.

Naturally, I’m in lime heaven when I visit Key West. I skip from one Key Lime Pie to the next. But for some odd reason, I’ve always thought that Key Lime Pie was extremely difficult to make. I never even looked up a recipe.

A few months ago I ran into a huge sales promotion of “Nellie & Joe’s Key West Lime Juice” in a grocery store. On the back of the bottle was a recipe with only 4 ingredients for Key Lime Pie. I was skeptical. Could it really be this simple?

I baked the pie. It was luscious. The raccoons in the Tooley Cafe got no leftovers.

Cast off all thoughts of calories and nutrition. Just buy one 9 inch graham cracker pie shell. Then combine 3 egg yolks, 1 fourteen ounce can sweetened condensed milk and ½ cup lime juice. Pour into the shell and bake 15 minutes at 350°. Chill before serving.

With tongue in cheek, tell your guests it’s an old family recipe that you slaved hours to make. I doubt that their taste buds will detect your tall tale.

Springtime is like Fridays… both are wonderfully filled with promise.

In the case of Fridays, the work week is over, and the weekend is waiting with possibilities galore for serendipitous things to occur.

Springtime is equally filled with expectation; the glorious expanse of summer looms ahead.

But I’m a traveler, and the journey is as important as the destination. If I could have only one time of the year, it would be now. The trees are almost, but not quite, leafed out, flowers are in brilliant profusion and everything is energized.

The light is the best part… it never quits. I mark the northward journey of the sun by a distant telephone pole I see from my kitchen window. The setting sun is inching toward that pole every night, which means we are still getting more daylight to see the beauty of spring at its fullest.

I’m particularly inclined to road trips at this time of year. For me, driving down the sun on a pre-solstice evening is about as good as it gets. I’m with Serge Storms (but I’ll insert the state of my choice).

“Serge’s definition of total happiness: Florida, a full tank of gas and no appointments.”

It’s comforting to know a country exists that worries about its G.N.H., gross national happiness, more than its G.N.P., gross national product.

That country would be Bhutan, a wee Himalayan kingdom, wedged between China and India. Correction: it is no longer a kingdom since the beloved king resigned last year. He concluded that his 700,000 subjects would be happier living in a democracy.

I’m not making this up. If you have read Eric Weiner’s delightful book, The Geography of Bliss, you know that certain countries rank higher than others in the overall happiness of their citizenry. America “is no happiness superpower.” The Netherlands, Switzerland and tiny Bhutan rank extremely high, while Moldova is “the least happy nation on the planet”.

Bhutan is a Buddhist country which might explain their emphasis on bliss. Buddhists put a high premium on happiness and can’t conceive of others not doing likewise. The world’s most famous Buddhist, The Dalai Lama, says, “The basic fact is that all sentient beings, particularly human beings, want happiness…”

Bhutan got a new constitution last year, and all government programs must be judged not by their economic success, but by the happiness they produce. To measure how things are working, the Bhutanese have created an evaluation system that features the four pillars, the nine domains and the 72 indicators of happiness. These people are serious about their joy.

The Bhutanese are equally serious about the Buddhist belief that “there is nothing greater than compassion.” I think they are definitely on to something here. The most self-absorbed people I’ve met also appear to be the most miserable. A nice trip to Bhutan might be in order.

“Beware of health foods”, is an imperative I believe in.

A few decades ago a segment of the populace decided that food and medicine were synonymous. Ascribing medicinal powers to food turns eating into a trial instead of a sensual pleasure. Don’t most sane people know that medicine does and should taste terrible and food delectable?

I recently choose to eat at a “fresh, organic food” cafe when I needed breakfast in an airport. Trouble loomed when I looked at the menu. Hemp toast and egg white creations repeatedly turned up among the morning entrees.

Bear in mind that I paid attention in my 3rd grade geography classes when Sister Redemptora (her real name) told us that hemp is a product of tropical countries and that hemp is used to make rope. Therefore, I refuse to eat bread made out of rope.

“Healthy” bakeries also deserve some commentary. You need two pieces of equipment after bringing home a loaf from one of the “good for you” bakeries… a hacksaw and an Ace bandage. The hacksaw is to saw through the crust that has the texture of concrete. The Ace bandage gets wrapped around your wrist. Health breads are so dense you could break a wrist lifting a slice to your mouth. Since when should eating be punishment?

Here is my suggestion. Use health breads as weights and sling them up and down like barbells. You’ll burn up a few calories. Then head out to an aromatic, French bakery and consume a perfect baguette with butter. Bliss!

…dedicated to Chris and Cathy

The other night around midnight, I was about to go out the door to put a letter in our rural mailbox. I quickly changed my plan, however, when I saw a gigantic “Pepe” munching seeds under our bird feeder. We refer to all the skunks who grace our yard as “Pepes” in honor of the hilarious cartoon character, Pepe Le Pew, who was created by Brenda White.

Despite my interrupted mail run, we’re delighted to have skunk visitors again. They had been absent for a while, and we missed them.

Living in the country has taught us how to coexist with the wildlife. In thirteen years we have had only one skunk incident; statistically, that’s not bad.

It was that proverbial dark and stormy night, and we were on our front porch watching a huge storm roll in from the west. Unbeknown to us, the wind blew the back porch door open. Our indoor cat, Blaise, marched outdoors, apparently right into a skunk.

When we walked back into our house, the smell was overwhelming, and our poor, skunked cat was hiding under the couch. (At least the skunk hadn’t followed.) Blaise had taken a hit directly in his face.

A call to the vet got us the magic formula. Forget the tomato juice myth. The following recipe now hangs prominently on a kitchen cupboard door.

1 quart three percent hydrogen peroxide
¼ cup baking soda
1 teaspoon liquid detergent

• Mix ingredients
• Lather animal (human or otherwise) and let sit 10 minutes
• Rinse
• Repeat

(Note: do not premix or store this formula… explosions may occur!)

The results were miraculous. Our cat was de-skunked and even slept with us that night. However, he did look weird. All his lovely black tabby stripes had bleached to a reddish-brown. So don’t be surprised if your black Lab turns chocolate.