Tangerines

Before we left Ajijic, we harvested one last batch of tangerines from the tree in our garden, knowing we would have to surrender whatever we hadn't eaten once we got to the border. So for two long days, between a hearty breakfast and a very late dinner, all we really ate was tangerines--that is, Bob, Daisy, and I ate them. Howdy's not too fond of fresh fruit. I had an image in my mind of us traveling across Mexico, peeling and eating tangerines, tossing the peels and seeds as we traveled. Sort of like The Elephant's Child in my favorite Kipling story:

"Then he went away, a little warm, but not at all astonished, eating melons, and throwing the rind about, because he could not pick it up."

Except that we are much too neat for that and collected our leavings and deposited them in the trash: "The rest of the time he picked up the melon rinds that he had dropped on his way to the Limpopo--for he was a Tidy Pachyderm. "