Living With Integrity

"Live with integrity."
He stated it in a tone that was so serious. I was about to leave for the first year at college.
It was so different from the other "advice" I had gotten as I said my farewells, and to this day is the only advice I remember ever receiving from my Papaw.
You see, anyone with my last name is held to a higher standard in my small, western-north carolina town. The standard being very much so because of my Papaw and his honorable and generous brothers and sisters. You would be correct in saying that they are people with integrity. However, he did not give this advice to me as if I were an heir to the respected name, but as if all people should count integrity as the backbone of their moral values.

Live with integrity.
Do the right thing, always.
Know what you believe.
Be honest.
Love others.

Two years later, I held his big, scared hands. They were farmers hands that had received much damage from pulling at weeds and thorns to receive a beautiful crop or bud that he always was willing to share. They were my Papaw's rough-skinned hands. The same hands I loved to watch hang bird-feeders, or pet that bobbed-tail cat that had picked this dog-loving person as "her" person. The same hands that could make the best apple stack cake you ever tasted. These rough hands I held were the same hands I had always expected to grasp as a "congratulations on your marriage" finds my ears.  Or maybe the same hands that would once more place a train-track around the Christmas tree just to make a future great-grandchild jump and laugh when the whistle sounds.
Holding his hand that day in the ICU, I realized there was a lot in the real world that I didn't know, but in that moment I knew enough.

Live with integrity.
Do the right thing, always.
Know what you believe.
Be honest.
Love others.

We had just finished praying and were about to leave. I look down, so filled with emotions that I.. I don't know exactly what made me say it, but I do know that I'm glad I did. With such hopeful-joy I hear myself say, "Bye, Papaw. See you later." Even though I knew this would be the last time I ever saw him this side of heaven. Death would no longer be just a name.

Live with integrity.
Do the right thing, always.
Know what you believe.
Be honest.
Love others.

Steps to Marriage

Today is the day. The girl in the church is nervous because it's time for her to take the steps to something new.

First step: Lace it up.
Intertwine the ribbon along the back to hold up this pale cluster of material that weighs heavy on her chest.
Intermingle the thoughts of a lonely life before today with dreams of what may be.
Pull together the fabric of sparkling wishes.

Second step: Breathe and listen.
 Breathe. A song she knows by heart plays. Did you ever realize there is only a slight difference between the soundings of the words "musician" and "magician"? Quiet ironically so, for there is magic in melodies. Even now it is felt in this old song she hears.

Third step: Open doors
Large wooden doors swing open, revealing to her a multitude of people there to support her on this day. Another deep breath before committing to the descent down the aisle. Everything will change after passing through these doors.

Fourth step: The heart
It beats faster with every step. Her pulse rushes bringing a pink-ish tint to the flesh on her cheeks. Suddenly, her legs freeze and she stops. All eyes focus on the halted figure. The magic leaves as the music stops and tears cloud her vision. The air in the room chills and all is silent as a lion waiting to pounce it's meal. With nothing to listen to, nothing to see, and nothing more to feel, she knows.

Step 5: The eyes
More specifically: his eyes. Those deep-colored eyes that were once where she could find dazzling constellations were now reflective glass, proving nothing more than an illusion. She knows her own sapphires are beginning to resemble lakes as one tear escapes.

Step 6: Standing
She wonders if she has any more steps in her. Standing resilient, she knows she can go down the aisle no more. She looks up.
Up.
Up the aisle, she runs. Through the doors, down the hall, out of the building, across the street, her feet press into the ground and the material of her skirt bobs around her hips.

Step 7: Walk
She slows down when she has found a quiet road with a forest on either side. The birds whistle in the trees. They, unlike people would, do not stare at her white gown that is muddy at the hem. The sun shines, but is clouded through a flood of tears.

Step 8: Encounters
Many drivers of cars pass by her, all wondering why this bride is walking alone but none daring enough to ask.  She keeps walking, sniffling here and there, occasionally looking over her shoulder wondering if she should go back and explain the sudden escape, each time deciding to walk on finding peace near the trees. The birds sing her a hopeful morning song.  No one knows why a bride would be walking down the road alone.

Step 9: The Vow
Walking the road, she became glad. Glad because she had not promised her life away to someone who had proven himself unfaithful. She continues her walk between the hard road and the whimsical forest toward home. A promise burst from her lips that she will always remember this day.

(I do not own this picture.)

Dragon to the Knight

(Extended Title: The Discussed Dragon to the Knight in Shinny Armour. -Alternate Title: Armour for Amor-)

You come at me
With armor on your knee.
You're covered in silver
And shout, "I will kill her!"

I raise my scaly jaws
And ready my sharp claws.
We're to go through the motions
So you can smell the lady's lotions.

Or we could change it all!
T'would be quick, none would fall.
We don't have to fight,
For I'd carry you by flight!

The girl in the tower,
I, in my power, and
You with a sword and shield
Could avoid this battlefield.*



(I do not own this picture.)

*So I feel like this piece needs a bit of background so that the specific meaning is not lost in interpretation. This poem comes from my love for fairy tales (especially fractured ones) and a perspective of a girl who finds herself fancying a guy. His intentions for a girl surface, but she is not the one he pursues. His mission is for another girl. Since he doesn't choose her, it can make her feel ugly (much like a dragon in the human's opinion). The poem captures her begging to be chosen instead of having her heart broken.

Paint Chip Poetry!

    A friend of mine came across an activity called Paint Chip Poetry, so we had to try it.

    First, we found some paint chips in the store that had poetic-sounding names. Second, we cut each color separate from the others so we could share easily. Lastly, we wrote a short something for each color and tried to make it sound poetic (though not rhyming exactly).

   Below is my finished product and a picture I found to accompany it. If you want to see the colors that inspired the sentence(s), click on the color name and it takes you to a picture of that color. Enjoy!

She loves this Island View. Sitting on the steps of her coastal cottage and enjoying the serenity of the moment.

A ray of Summer Haze Light bounces off of the yard's flowers she watches dancing in the breeze.

Their Whimsical Green stems bending back and forth in the saline air.

The Marigold Petals are a cheerful sight in contrast to her lonely musings.

A Touch of Gold reflects from the flowers, making her house on top of this hill like the sun with the waves in backdrop.

Her Old Mahogany rocking chair creaks on beat with the waves which had become as familiar as her own heartbeat.

Smoke Gray is the colors of clouds far off which match her eyes. Eyes which have seen this view for over eighty years but never exhausted the pleasure it brought. She sighs peacefully. A storm approaches in the distance, but she will not be here when it rains.












(I do not own this picture.)

Clemency's Walk (part 1)

     It was the type of day that lightened the mood.  The wind blew just enough to rustle the tips of the leaves while the sky was a cheerful shade of blue.  In these woods, she would relax and just be herself, focusing on the growing oaks around her.  Observing everything, Clemency plodded along.  A feeling of contentment in the slowly alternating environment crept into her heart.  A light breeze ruffled the trees around her.  She spots a charming ladybug resting on a leaf in some of the underbrush.  Its wings were the most magnificent tint of bright red that she had ever seen, and its spots were perfection.  "How fortunate I am to see you there.  I'm sure you'd bring me good companionship," the young girl confessed softly.  The girl's slim, pale fingers stretched with haste towards the insect, fancying for its touch with the intent to entrap it in her palm.  The bug escaped just in time for her to grasp the emptiness it left behind.

A dragonfly passes by.* 

     Now, Clemency continues walking on the path through the forest, vaulting low-lying branches and bending under higher ones.  The effort of avoiding the obstacles in the path mucks her skin and clothes.  Onward she trudges, for she has never been this far along the path yet.  A feeling of the curiosity of what lies ahead grows inside Clemency.  She continues on, ready for an adventure and yet hindered by one solitary sentiment: the emptiness the ladybug had left.  This feeling of rejection distresses Clemency.  She wishes for someone who might hold her hand and encourage her along the path. "There's a chance we may meet later, down the path," she thinks, attempting to comfort herself.

  She spots a beaver working at the trunk of a tree. He gnaws one bite of bark after another until the tree begins to fall. Once the forest is slightly jostled by the noise of its collision with the ground, he must move the branches to his dwelling in the nearby river. He works hard, oblivious to the forget-me-nots and red poppies he drags each well-earned branches over.  Like the beaver, she busies herself by striding ever-onward through the obstacles of her walk, rarely stopping to simply admire the scenery.

The path stretches on.



*symbolizing change in both time and maturity.

Minty + Mango

I have had many people ask me "Why did you choose 'MintyMango' as your blog name?"
Well, as you might can tell, I've devoted this post to answering that very question.

(I also use "MiMango" because in Spanish "mi mango" means "my mango".)

    The first reason I chose to use "minty" is that I like mints. I have memories in eight grade sitting in a room with blue walls, staring out the window at the trees, sucking on a mint while trying to avoid the homework I had for the day. I spent a lot of my time day-dreaming and looking at the things around me, though I knew each object by heart. I would dream about all the conversations I thought I might have one day, though most are very unlikely to happen at all. Anyway, mints remind me of a very specific time in my life. (Peppermints are a different story, though. I still like them, but they remind me of a different memory.)

Aside from personal memories, I think of the following words when I think of mint and blogging:
-Spicy
-Flavorful
-Interesting

     These are all characteristics I hope to have throughout my blog. I want it to be thought-provoking, full of variety, and attention-getting. I know there are a few current issues that prevent it from being fully attention-getting, but I'm writing here for improvement and as a stress-reliever.

    That brings me to the last word in my blog name: Mango. I also love mangos, especially the good ones. Mangos may not be for everyone, and some people might be allergic to them (they are a cousin to poison ivy, after all.) I like the juicy, peach-textured, and non-stringy type of mango. They are very rare in the states and the ones that can be found have usually been picked green and are not as flavorful or 'meaty' as if they had been picked ripe. A good mango also reminds me of a time in the past. It was a happy time when I first started to decide who I was and one that made me more of who I am today.

   As far as what "mango" means for my blog, it is really there because it is something I like. Not everyone likes them and I understand that. Not everyone will like my blog, so I have to realize that, too. I am still proud of most of the stuff I do post. In summation, "mango" means it is personal and a little bit of who I am.

I hope finding out about my blog title has been entertaining for you.

Blessings to you, my lovely readers!

The Magician

Anticipation gathered in the theater.
He could hear the nervous whispering and applause right before the announcer billowed his name as if the people in the plush, red seats had no idea whose show they had paid for not five minutes before.
He took a deep breath and tucked the tricks further into his sleeves. He raised his head and marched from behind the curtain and out onto the stage. He met the excited applause and the blinding spotlights with routine enthusiasm.
He was a preforming magician and this was just another performance on what he thought would be just another night.
Starting with the Chinese linking trick, he preformed a variety of enticing illusions. He was entertaining and joyful, so each audience member was focused on his practiced movements.
The whole show was some type of illusion: the position of the lights, the hidden compartments, or a flick of the fingers.
It was all going smoothly, at least, until he called for a volunteer.
The boy he called upon looked average enough: brown curly hair, sparkling eyes, and a blue jacket with a gold pendant of what looked like a dragon.
"What's your name, son?" he asked after the boy climbed up the stairs.
"Damarius," the boy shakily replied into the microphone held out to him. He looked nervous, though he knew something the preforming magician didn't.
"Okay, Damarius, come over to this table and have a seat. As you can see, I have a regular deck of cards. Look through them to make sure that's true." He paused while Damarius sat down and quickly looked through the deck and confirmed it was a regular deck. "Okay, now I want you to pick a number between one and ten. What's the number?"
"Four."
"Four? Great! Okay, now I want you to take the deck and count out four cards from the top and lay them down one at a time, like this." The preforming magician counted out four cards from the top of the deck and continued, "When you're done, pick up the top card and remember it, but don't let me see it." He put the cards back on the deck and handed it to Damarius.
Damarius counted out four cards and held up the last card to let the audience see the five of clubs.
"Can I shuffle it back in?" Damarius asked.
"Yes, do that. You remember the card?"
"Yes."
"Was it black?"
"Yeah."
"Was it a club?"
"Yeah."
"Was it the five of clubs?"
"Yes, it was." Damarius chuckled and set the cards on the table.
"Alright, folks, give it up for Damarius! You can head back to your seat now, boy."
Damarius didn't move but stared pensively at the deck he had just set down. "I have been practicing magic for a few years." He hesitated, "My instructor says I'm doing quite well. Would you mind if I tried a quick trick?"
The preforming magician blinked, considering briefly this possibility. He opened his mouth to deny the boy precious minutes from his showtime, but found himself assuring the boy that one trick would be allowed.  
A big grin crossed the boy's face. He rose from his chair and gestured for the illusionist to take a seat. "Thank you, sir."  The boy spoke evenly with no microphone, yet, everyone in the audience was able to hear him clearly.
"From the deck, please pick a card and don't show it to me."  The boy turned away from the table and took a few steps toward the center of the stage. "Memorize the card and give it to someone in the audience. I'll turn my back and close my eyes. Tap me on the shoulder when you're done."
The illusionist drew a deep breath then picked out a card and followed the young man's instructions. He pulled out the five of clubs. He then got up, walked off the stage, and gave it to an elderly woman one-third of the way down the fourth row. He walked back up onto the stage and tapped the boy twice.
"Alright. Stand here beside me and look at the remaining deck over there on the table. Stare at it, but think about the person you gave your card to."
The illusionist rolled his eyes as he turned to stare at the deck and think of the lady's peppered gray hair, bright green shirt and rimmed glasses.
The boy raised a hand toward the illusionist. All eyes were on the boy who closed his own eyes.  The audience could see the illusionist swaying slightly as a warm feeling came over him. He thought he was smelling peppermint.
"Don't forget to breathe." Said a voice in his head. He jumped, startled. The illusionist realized that his chest was tight and there was pressure in his head. Was the boy reading his mind?
"Breathe and focus on her. I almost could make her out. Come on, stop thinking about your grandfather. Did he smell like peppermint? Okay, I see the image clearer so that must be it. Now, I need you to focus and think about who you gave the card to." The illusionist blinked and tried to recall what the lady had looked like. The boy was reading his mind. "You're doing great," said the boy's voice in his head. The smell of peppermint faded as the boy lowered his hand and opened his eyes, which were searching the audience.
   The boy spotted her, jumped off the stage in the energy appropriate for a boy his age and raced to stand by the row that the lady watched from. He stared at her expressionlessly. She continued to stare at the table on the stage with a slight gleam in her bright eyes, pretending to be unaware of the card's location. She held the card between her finger and thumb of her left hand at her side, opposite the boy.
    Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a blurry, white image rise from her side. Her smile faded, replaced by an astonished look. The illusionist on stage watched as the boy had pointed a finger in the direction of the lady. He watched as the card he had given the lady rose and blocked the lower part of her face from his vision. He couldn't believe this trick., but this was not the end.
  The boy curled his finger and the card flew into his other awaiting hand. After catching it, he ran onto stage holding the card for the audience to see as they applauded fiercely. Damarius continued to smile as he gave the speechless illusionist a bow. He turned toward the the audience and gave a second bow. The people whistled and cheered as they still failed to reason exactly what had just happened right before their eyes.
The boy waved and tossed the card into the air. The illusionist and audience was suddenly aware of the smell of peppermint. As the card came down, the boy snapped his fingers and it turned into red and white confetti, concealing the magician's escape.