Dying for some fruit but being in the wrong part of town to find a store that would let me use food stamps without a hike or an extra fare, I bought a mango drink at the anti-food stamp grocery store, and some instant oatmeal that will not make me sick.
I can go shopping on Thursday. And basically buy nothing but fruit and vegetables.
On the train, I was very tired (I can’t remember the last time I slept well: it’s been months) but appreciative of the mango drink. We shared it (however that works) and he was delighted by it. I said that I tend to avoid the particular company because unfortunately they donate to conservative and Republican things, and then I drifted into thinking of mango lassi, which I’ve made at home before, and love just as much. I can’t make/handle/consume any of his traditional offerings, but he likes mangoes. And I like mangoes. This could work out well.
I was also thinking about my financial straits and beads and the poring over the beading catalogue we’d done recently due to how picky I am about malas and Brand wanting to upgrade his to a stone his father particularly liked.
I was going through things in what I thought was an appropriate color range and wondering how expensive they would be, and he said, gently, It doesn’t have to be expensive to make me happy.
My background, such as it is, states very clearly that you should spend all of your money on sacred things, and forgo various things so that what is on your shrine can be as nice as possible.
No, he said.
On the walk home, we stopped to look at everyone’s crocuses, which were especially beautiful in the late morning light. I foolishly didn’t bring the ipod, so I had no way of taking photos, and tomorrow, the light will be very different, since I will be coming back around 6. The colors and shadows were outstanding.
It was very simple. Looking at things that most people barely glance at. Admiring their beauty.
We were both very happy.