peeling Rosalbita

Today, in 2008, my maternal grandmother breathed her last breathe in Los Andes, Chile. Here's my most common connection to her: Every time I peel a mango, potato, or other round fruit or vegetable, I think of my grandmother Rosalba - Abuelita. Every time.

She used to stand over her pot peeling things with a knife, telling us stories, with a twinkle of mischief and delight. We were amazed at those hands. She didn't hardly look... so used to the task from the decades of preparing food. And she drew the knife toward her fingers!

Here she was breaking every rule our mother had taught us - to cut away from the fingers. I was amazed that she never cut herself. That she missed her adept fingers every time by millimeters. And that she dared break our mother's rule was astounding. Of course, she was her mother, so she trumped it. Little bits of naughtiness.

And then the coolest part: she'd cut the entire peeling in one long strand, all connected. Then hold it up triumphantly at the end, with a sparkle of pride, to her little audience.

So guess what I do, every time I prepare a similar food? Just like my Abuelita. And I feel a sense of satisfaction, mischief and connection. All this from peeling a mango. To a life that has touched mine forever... and from whose blood I am... Abuelita...