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it was nearly lunchtime, and with a grumble in my belly
i knew i wouldn't last much longer without something to eat.
without saying a word, it's as if señora maria could read my mind -
and before i knew it, she offered to make tortillas and freshly squeezed lemonade.
to see la abuela shucking dried corn just moments before and passing it on
for señora maria to grind to a powder, it was almost magical watching as she and
her daughter, also named maria, worked side by side in the kitchen to
mix common ingredients with perfect precision. suddenly the idea of a
fresh quesadilla felt foreign to me, and it was only then
i realized just how much i take for granted.
with fascinated eyes and a salivating tongue,
i watched as a mother and daughter worked seamlessly together -
kneading the dough, forming the edges, and gently dipping their fingertips
in a small bowl of water to resist the sticky dough.
they patted the little dough saucers on the hot cook stove,
and within moments the entire room filled with the aroma of
fresh baked bread and the subtle hint of campfire.
la señora moved slowly and gingerly, gathering the tortillas
in a woven basket at the end of the stove, and generously giving
of her best homemade cheese. she sliced it in long strips to wrap in the tortillas
while they were hot, making it a warm, gooey better-than-ever treat.
i'd never tasted something so fresh and so good in my entire life.
she laughed as i scarfed down one in just seconds, and i politely asked
with my mouth half full in a huge smile and crumbs spilling out,
if i could have another.
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a friendly reminder that you and i have it good | traveling triplets