Letter to Julia 20120515

In the name of Allah, most Gracious, most Merciful.

On the very top of the mango tree is a mutant fruit.  I didn't see it and I didn't know it was there until I was a few steps up the ladder.  The problem with the fruits on the higher branches is not just the height, but the branches and leaves themselves block my view and motion.  I often find myself teetering on the edge of the ladder holding on to a branch with my left hand and a very long stick with my right hand, trying to shove the mango into a cup at the end of the stick.  Oh, who cares about those puny little fruits: I'm only interested in those mondo mangos the size of 38D, even though those don't fit in the cup.  More often they balance on the surface of the cup while I slowly slide the stick down where I can reach for it with my left hand, while I gradually climb down the ladder.  And those pesky army ants!  Anyway, the mutant mango is almost the size of a football, but it's not exactly shaped like a mango: it's like the front end of the fruit is overgrown with with a symmetrical tumor, as if a pumpkin is fused with a mango.  I encountered another mutant mango a week ago, but this one is just HUGE.  However on the last mutant mango, the tumorous part rotted first.  It could be that I dropped it when I picked it, and it fell on a rock which punctured it.  InsyaAllah, this mutant mango I have now will ripen perfectly, and I will give it to my Mom.  A Mondo Mutant Mango for My Momma!

Hey Julia, the time to really know who your best friends are is when there is trouble.  I guess that's the use of trouble, for it brings out the true colors of people.  This especially concerns your Islam: who will run, and who will stand their ground?  Who will be covetous, and fearful at the prospect of death?  And when the trouble is over, who will be the first to bitch and moan?