Mango Musings

Right now I am sitting on my kitchen floor with the fan blowing on me as I snack on two lovely ripe mangos. I am so content to be right here, it’s ridiculous. πŸ™‚

Mangos have always been my favorite fruit. Actually, as a baby, mango was my first solid food. There were many great summers spent at my grandmother’s house running though sprinklers and chewing a mango seed.

To me, mango is love. It represents safety, beauty, warmth, and laughter; everything that I hope to one day pass on to my children.

When I take a bite of a sweet juicy mango, I am immediately transported to my grandmother’s kitchen. If I could name one place in my childhood where I felt the safest, most loved, it would be right there, standing next to the stove watching her fry up the bacalaitos and sorullitos.

It makes me sad that these things will never happen again. But it makes me infinitely more happy knowing that they happened. I suppose this will happen more often in my life than I want to admit, but I am glad that God keeps growing mangos, so that every once in a while I can eat and remember.

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