Oranges

Sometimes there is nothing more satisfying than the sweet, tangy taste of an Orange.

 I once named oranges to be "ambrosia".

Although I don't love the orange dusting it leaves on my fingers, I will always adore the scent lingering on my skin. 

My grandpa used to love oranges. I remember him peeling an orange all in one peel. He would hold the spiraling rind up for me to admire before handing me a section of orange. I felt I had accomplished something magnificent the first time I successfully peeled an orange in one peel. I wish he could have seen it, maybe he did. 

When I think of Christmas, I often think of oranges. Our neighbor religiously gives us a giant  white box of oranges for Christmas each year. And for as long as I can remember, I have found an orange stuffed in the foot of my stocking Christmas morning. I asked my mother once why we always received an orange, to which she told me about her parents growing up during the depression. She told me that oranges were considered a great and expensive treat. I had never thought of oranges that way before.

As a child, I played a lot of soccer games. Half time seemed to always include orange slices. I remember putting the soft side of the slice in my mouth and sucking out all the juice. I would discard the rest and reach for another. My mother told me I was wasting the orange that way.  

Oranges are apparently the cure to all sickness. Whenever I felt a cold coming on, my mother would tell me to eat lots of oranges. I know it is because of the vitamin C, and to this day I grab an orange when my throat is feeling itchy. Whoever said "an apple a day keeps the doctor away" must have mixed up his fruits. 

Wintertime is orange time. It is the fruit I assume to be in season during the winter. Why is that? Do oranges grow well in the winter? All I know is that oranges and apples were my affordable produce purchases during those winter semesters. However, I remember a specific summer night watching the meteor shower out on the tramp. There were oranges and grapes, blankets and stars, and life was perfect for one evening. 

They are simple things, oranges. Rarely anyone's favorite fruit. They aren't even my favorite fruit, but they are a constant. They are reliable. Sometimes they are a pain to peel, they get stringy fibers all over, and sometimes they are sour, but I guess we are all like that sometimes. Perhaps if we are willing to dig deep, pull away at the strings, and endure the occasional sourpuss, people can be our ambrosia.