Yesterday was my mother's birthday. She would have been 95.
Happy Birthday, Nanay. I love you and miss you so much!
Thank you for teaching me so many good things!
Thank you.
Tsup!
Happy Birthday, Nanay. I love you and miss you so much!
Thank you for teaching me so many good things!
Thank you.
Tsup!
Banana Plants (Genus Musa) illustrated March - April 2010
When I was a little girl, my mother had a small grocery store. I remember the farmers delivering basket-loads of bananas. I remember sitting on the stairs on the side of the store which led to the second storey of our house. The stairs ended on a balcony. I sat on the top step with bunches of native bananas and munched on them until I was full. I would then throw the peel out into the street in front of our house at passers-by, hoping they would slip. Okay, so I did not say I was a good girl. I was very naughty, in fact. My mother found out about my ape-like antics and made me pick up all the peel and apologize to our neighbor who was hit by a peel as she walked by. We called the bananas "native" because they were grown by farmers who did not supply the giant marketers like Dole and Del Monte but the local merchants. These were the different species of bananas, they were very sweet, small and their skins were easily blemished. They were unlike the Cavendish bananas that were harvested while they were still green and then shipped to the U.S. The bananas we ate were never gassed in ripening rooms. They were organic.
Anyway, this post is about tattooing a banana:
Eventually, the banana gets eaten. My son did not want to take a photo of me holding the banana so I had to take my own goofy photo. :) It is now time to bake banana bread.
The End!
