Three weeks ago, when the rambutans had all ripened on the vine, we witnessed an astonishing display of tender love. We spied a pair of monkeys perched upon their private bough. Oblivious to the rest of the world, they snoggled like a courting couple. Sweet.
It reminded us of our time when Grandma matter-of-factly offered us her m
ature gardens for our private use. "No need to venture too far," she said,
probably thinking it was much safer than necking in the woods surrounding our reservoirs like MacRitchie's.
