Friends and Magic
The morning started with a mango. I'd found out at Whole Foods that hadn't looked too bad, it looked like it might actually be ripe and while there was a little green on it, it wasn't bad, and the fruit itself felt like it was ripe. That texture that gives just a bit to the touch but isn't mooshy. I cut it open this morning, slicing one side off, then the other right close to the pit and then cutting it, within the skin, into a grid and then popping it so that it flowered out into cubes that could be eaten right off the skin. I gave John one of those and I ate the other, and then skinned and chewed off the edges around the pit.
The flesh was sweet and creamy, much like a peach but with that extra richness that only a truly ripe mango can have. Green mangos have their place, in chutneys or other cooked things; but the only way to eat a mango is purely and entirely ripe, where there isn't any of that acidity or near metal tang when it's green. I hate unripe mangos, really.
It was Ray's birthday, today, so we went out, after work, to Chiji's and John, Joan, Ray and I all had babyback ribs and then added a dessert on top. Ooof. We pretty much rolled home.
I looked at things, looked at my Covey-Franklin planner, which I hadn't used for a while, and just started planning tomorrow. Today wasn't too bad, but it was bad enough. So I just started figuring out what was important and writing it down. I really think that the only way this thing is going to be a habit is when I really figure out if I get more effective of just more depressed when I can't do the lists of things.
One thing that I did do today was finish a story. A Faber story that I'd been working on since the Balloon Fiesta last year. I'd dreamed the end while riding the miles to the Array, and wrote the rest in the two years since with Genevieve's work in the middle. It was good to finally get it out, and some folks have already said that they like it. Genevieve remembers nearly all of it, of course.
Now I want to get Sephar's other story out.
The other thing was that we got potting soil for the begonia, which was really unhappy with the really moisture retaining soil that we'd packed it with. So we bought soil at McGuckins before dinner and then repotted things after dinner.
Got home not too late, which was probably my downfall. If it had been any later, I would probably have just gone to sleep. As it was I picked up a book. One of the ones that Cera recommended and I thought I should read it while she was gone, as it was a good way to think about her and her tastes and what she liked. It was The Changeover, a Young Adults book, with teenage protagonists, and it was by Margaret Mahy, whom I'd vaguely heard of, so I thought that it couldn't be depressing or at least not too harrowing. Or something.
I was... not exactly wrong, but not at all right, either. I guess I was expecting less because of the 'label', but I should have remembered how harrowed I was by Taran Wanderer, or the Dark is Rising series by Susan Cooper, or some of the Duane books or... or... or...
This one grabbed me in the places where I live, now. I hadn't expected that. It's a beautiful story, sweetly detailed about a life that was made believable through that intricate web of daily sensations, celebrations, and small victories. There was good horror and very, very, very interesting characters that just made me close my eyes with how complex and wonderful they were. Their histories, motivations, feelings, everything was just so solid and real and it reminded me of why, for most of my life as a kid, I hid in my bed with a flashlight to read and read and read. I reread it twice, and then, of course, it was 2 a.m.; but the emotions from the book stayed with me afterwards, filling me with wonder and shaking me with an emotion that may well be as much terror as love as rememberance.
That was a magic I haven't touched in quite some time with the books that I've been reading.
I got a lot out of it, and some of what I got was simply that some parts of me that I've been shutting down due to disappointment or hurt were parts that I should wake up again. Keep because they really are a part of me and the lack of those feelings might do me more harm than I really thought. That I'd stopped really letting others affect me, on purpose, and that it might be time to open that up again.