An excerpt from “The Rag Doll” in Where the Flame Trees Bloom, a memoir by Alma Flor Ada.
“My great-grandmother Mina was tiny, as time not only wrinkled but also shrunk her. She was not very much taller than the jasmine and the rose bushes she tended in her garden in the little house next to ours. Like the raisins she sprinkled generously in our arroz con leche, the rice pudding she made that smelled of cinnamon and cloves, her wrinkled form was filled with sweetness.”
And now for an imitation of Ada’s great work:
My grandmother Rose stood sturdy and strong, as time made her wiser and all knowing. She was not much shorter than her favorite bookcase and ancient grandfather clock that ticked away time in the living room in the house on Elm Street. Like the permanence of the big oak trees surrounding it, her presence filled you with a sense of protection and timelessness.