Walking through the Super Fresh during a normal Saturday in April, I saw all the radiant colors of the fruits.  The apples blushing a sweet shade of red, the oranges glowing, the multi-colored grapes dancing on their vines, and the bananas- yellow with a tint of green, their aroma following my nose.  I thought of all the reasons why springtime is such a wonderful time of year.  It's a time when the flowers start to bloom, their colors blending so brightly and cheerful, they put the colorwheels to shame.  As you follow the trails in parks and gardens, you cannot help but to stop at each gathering of flowers, to admire the gorgeous hues that nature is able to mix together on its pallet creating works of art on an endless canvas.   I saw myself at age 6, grabbing dandelions from the ground, not knowing that they were weeds.  For how can weeds be so beautiful.  Running towards the little purple flowers, never knowing what they were, but deciding that whatever the case, purple was pretty.  As I continued my hunt through the park, I would find other plants that had berries on them.  I couldn't tell if they were poisonous or not, they didn't look like the berries in the store, but the birds liked them, and they were colorful too.  I gathered all those flowers, bunched them up, and joyfully ran back to my mom, to give her just a tiny piece of nature as a gesture of my love.  My mind continued to trail to times when my family sat around on a Sunday morning in Ecuador, talking about life, children, and peeling fruits; papayas, pineapples, pomegranate, apples, bananas, strawberries, and so many other tropical nectar to mix into a bowl and enjoy after church.  You could smell the different aromas mixing in the dining room and trailing out the front door where 2nd and 3rd generations of children ran around,  while their mothers cooked the midday meal.  My grandmother was amongst them.  She was the matriarch, the grand Puma, who would direct the sauces, measure the amount of every spice and seasoning, with a wooden spoon in her hand, and a stool.  As if following a magical silent drum, they would spread through out the small kitchen and create a meal that fed an army.  I could recall loving every moment that I spent in that kitchen, and how much my grandmother meant to me.  How I would tell her to hang tight just a little longer because I wanted her to meet her great grandchildren.  I was little then, but I was selfish, I couldn't imagine such a strong influence in our family not blessing my children. In June of 2006, after trying so hard to make my wish a reality, my grandmother gave up waiting for me.  She knew I was happily married, and knew that one day I would have children of my own, but her time was up.  She lived a long, prosperous, love-filled life, and even on her last days, she reminded my mom that she would always be proud of me.  She passed at home, on a Saturday, the family gathered around her, her granddaughter miles away in Jersey, thinking and praying for her.  The fruit salad days of the past, slowly dimming away. I grabbed a cart and started gathering my fruits: apples, oranges, bananas, grapes and some Dole Orange, Strawberry Banana juice, and took the ingredients home.  Happily, although without the same gathering of people, I peeled all my fruits, put them in a bowl, mixed them together, and smiled. i explained to my husband how important it was to pick the right fruits.  My babies were coming soon, my little prince Joshua and my little angel Emilia would get to enjoy the same fruit salad that their great grandmother enjoyed, and Emilia would know how special her great grandmother was, and why she was named after her.   Born on April 5, 1914 and passing on June 3rd, my grandmother was the true meaning of Spring, bringing together the family, spreading joy and spreading the pallet of beauty through her teachings, helping everyone understand the true meaning of family, love and one great fruit salad.