It's the little things that bring beauty

I learned another Cebuano word today, "ango ango" or something like it. When my ma and I visited my aunt and she asked my mom if she wanted to go to the Philippines for All Souls Day, I mouthed to her that my ma was getting forgetful. I display my fear of her traveling. Of course, my ma kind of heard when I said she's getting forgetful. She said in Cebuano to my aunt that I think that she's "diango ango" already. Forgetful or having dementia already my aunt translated. My ma is a tough lady that way, full of indignation and huffiness at me and my whispering around her.

I don't like saying it for fear of the truth, but it's the truth. She's getting forgetful. She takes a medicine that helps retain her memory. It can't rebuild the memory but it'll help her not lose more than she already has. I pray every night that it works.

What is that thing of beauty I wanted to mention? My ma holding up a bunch of lychee she picked. A bunch she wants to keep for herself. A low-bearing tree full of red fruit bursting from the sweetness of the sun is a thing of beauty. I took a picture using my camera phone. It's low resolution, but it'll hold my memory of these times with her for a long time. I can't help but share it with others as I PIX message it to my friends. My act saying, "Look, bear witness to these times of beauty." Help me to remember these sweet tastes of summer, when my mother hoards the ripest fruit for herself and I do the same pocketing the big ones. How we laugh and joke as we go along telling each other not to miss that one or this one. We wonder at the size of the fruit or how much we have picked. We sit and eat the ones that split from falling to the ground. We plot and scheme how to reach the highest fruit. How she got the scythe on the long pole and starting cutting, her instinct for pruning and getting the fruit kicking in. How we worked in tandem side by side. One using body memory locked in from years of farming and harvesting, the other remembering and praying not to forget. Remember, remember, these times of beauty.