It was a good day after all

Today began a little poorly, a slight hiccup in certain expectations. But never mind, the day got better. I had a nice lunch with DSD, as in nice conversation but not so nice food. I should have ordered what she did, the rosemary chicken and herb rice instead of poached fish with papaya sauce. I now know that I must never doubt DSD's culinary opinion.

Later, I went to Scotts Road and got a little retail therapy (some small silly things, which happen to include a minute panda). Then I dropped by Borders even though I had no plans to buy anything (what's a trip to town without entering the bookstore?) and it was nice to walk around the store without being jostled by six dozen customers. I was about to leave and head towards Tangs to meet my mom and her friend visiting from Toronto when I felt a punch on my arm. It was my own good friend, one whom I hadn't seen in nearly two years.

Mogan and I have the kind of friendship that withstands these lapses. We always pick up where we left off with no awkwardness, no accusations, no wishywashy talk. Several years ago when I noticed how a few friends had grown distant and eventually disappeared, I told him I hoped we would be friends for a very long time, for always, I said. And he, good fellow that he is, didn't laugh; he saw how serious I was and he told me I need never worry where he was concerned. Later, he was emcee at my wedding, and he and my brother rehearsed till they got the song "She" in place as the surprise entrance song. I also remember how he'd single-handedly taught me two years of Math in a few weeks so that I got my A at "A" Levels (how bad was I? I had 19% on a re-exam in year 1.)

We went to Wine Network on Dempsey Road where we tossed tradition out the window and had dessert wine at four in the afternoon. It was a sweet 1997 German ice-wine and we had a cheese platter (no blue cheese, thank you very much) to go with it. We talked till the sun set and then I walked by myself around the old warehouses, staring into the darkening sky. I loved those quiet corners and I thrilled at the emptiness of the long, low buildings. I walked alone because I wanted Mogan to write something in a book he bought me as a isn't-it-great-we-saw-each-other-after-so-long present.

I'd picked out the book at Borders that afternoon, something by Jane Smiley. It's called 13 Ways of Looking at a Novel, the title wittily fashioned after the poem "13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird" by Wallace Stevens (a staple in college poetry anthologies).

After Mogan's inscription came the epigraph Jane selected for the book, which I hadn't noticed earlier. I'd like to put it here because I think it's terrific.

"We are not told of things that happened to specific people exactly as they happened; but the beginning is when there are good things and bad things, things that happen in this life which one never tires of seeing and hearing about, things which one cannot bear not to tell of and must pass on for all generations. If the storyteller wishes to speak well, then he chooses the good things; and if he wishes to hold the reader's attention he chooses bad things, extraordinarily bad things. Good things and bad things alike, they are the things of this world and no other."

~ Murasaki Shikibu, The Tale of Genji

And this is how the day ends: I collapsed in bed - very buzzed - opened my book to those words, and then let the wine do its work. I managed to wake up a little past eleven o'clock to wash my face and brush my teeth, and to write this.

Posted by Monoceros at February 6, 2006 11:26 PM