Blessed are those who hunger ….

Yesterday, A Curious Mango came over in the afternoon to help me clean and tidy my apartment.  By June, it seems to be Music Shiverian tradition to have accumulated much mess.

Before she came, I started to feel unaccountably dizzy, as if I was having vertigo like I had it during my last year in university . Mango called me to say she was running late, and suggested that I lie down till she arrived.

I had spent the morning already sorting, recycling, scrubbing … so I took her suggestion with relief.  I didn’t seem to feel any better when I got up, though.

I went down to let her in (my buzzer isn’t working) and saw (I wonder if this will ever stop being a surprise) the casual-chic style of the Mango dressed for a hot day with hair framing her face in a half-girlish, half-womanly way, slim legs shown to advantage in a simple knee-length skirt.  A part of me still thinks of the Mango and I as hopelessly badly dressed (all those baggy sweatshirts in high school … ).

For her part, the Mango made a comment about the relative trimness of my waist.  I have been going to a gym since September.  The results haven’t been quick or dramatic but they have … been.

Anyhoo, she had had to take a series of long busrides to get to my place, and the heat had made her feel sick.  I poured tall glasses of cold water and we slumped over the chairs that weren’t full of papers and books.

"My head hurts," the Mango said matter-of-factly.  I got out the peppermint oil that I’ve been using for headaches (from an all-natural bath product store I frequent) and we both smeared it all around our heads on our hairlines.  Sitting underneath my fan as the tingling sensation began was heavenly.

I made pancakes to take the edge off our hunger.  But we still were limp.

Then we made a list.  I said, "Let’s alternate breaks with discrete tasks."

So we did.  (Scrubbing the tub was the worst bit because I was so dizzy to begin with, and I began to feel sick.  But knowing that the Mango was in the living room sorting my papers into categories, and that we would have a flop-over break soon, kept me going.)

We timed our breaks using the Christmas music LPs from my collection.  We became puddles of laughter and exhaustion listening to Barbara Streisand’s rendition of Ave Maria.  Belt it, woman!

For some reason, after the vacuuming, I felt better.  The Mango looked better too.  We went to a nearby pub for stuffed yorkshire pudding.  Again: Heavenly.  I insisted on paying because she had come over to help me do mundane chores, and she said "Well, I’ll get breakfast tomorrow.  You know we always ping pong the payments anyway."

Then, when we got back home, what should appear?

First, our variety puzzle books we’ve been working at for years.  We worked independently yet fired questions at each other.  My literary and her scientific knowledge helped crack each other’s codes …

And then, "I already opened it.  Sorry," she said, handing me a DVD.  Mamma Mia!

She hadn’t seen it yet, though.   I had, and loved it.  Meryl Streep can make me cry by singing an ABBA song.  (Did I really once think that "The Winner Takes It All" was hilarious?)

We watched and softly sang along to some of the songs that were practically our theme songs in grade twelve (oh, by this time we were in pajamas).  One of the times I went to Montreal to visit her, we went on a road-trip to Ottawa and listened to ABBA all the way there.  So this movie was just poifect.

A bar of Brazilian chocolate that she’d been saving since her last trip found its way into our hands, too.

After the movie, cups of tea and talk late into the night, in spite of the fact that I have not been used to late nights for a long time now.

I took the seat cushions from the couch and my blue armchair and fashioned them into a mattress on the living room floor, just the right size for the Mango.

Set our alarms, said goodnight with simple fondness, probably both stayed up reading a little (I have started The Neverending Story again).

Woke up instantly at 7, and got ready to go out to the local cheap-but-good-and-serving-surprisingly-wonderful-coffee place.  Had the farmer sausage special.  Thought of Oma, had to blink back sleepy tears for a moment.

Talked sluggishly about things like how weird it was when we used to go to church camp and feel so out of place.

The Mango agreed to walk with me to work.  It was a beautiful morning, after all; and we took a back route that was quite scenic.  The walk turned comical when we both felt we had to go to a bathroom, quick, and we were right smack in the middle of a nature trail.  So the beauty was a little lost on us.  Once at the music school, we had a mutually embarrassing and giggle-inducing session in the ladies’ room, and then I was off to set up the classroom for baby/toddler music class, and she was off to enjoy a morning of relative relaxation before having to do a later shift.

I was reflecting on the sacrament of shared food today as I went about the rest of the day’s tasks.  I think that is what I miss most, living alone – the lack of shared food.  Making meals for only myself is perhaps the single most depressing thing I do in a day.

So it was funny, having thought about that all day, for one of my students to arrive around dinner time for his last lesson with me this school-year, holding out a Subway sandwich as a gift.  "I hope you like it," he said a little anxiously.

I had been so busy and topsy-turvy that I had completely forgotten to plan the food for my evening, and when I had realized this, I had shrugged to myself that I’d be okay, I’d make it … And then, a sandwich I hadn’t expected to have in my life appeared …

After his lesson, I had a twenty minute break.  I sat outside in the deserted waiting area, next to a window, overlooking glorious leafy trees, and savored the sandwich that was *exactly* the sort I would have ordered.

As I was eating this wonder-wich, the violin teacher whose recital I am accompanying for this Saturday appeared.  She said, "So rehearsals will start at 3:30?  Why don’t we go for lunch at 2?  Are you free?"

I said, surprised but pleased, "That would be lovely!"  Lunch with a colleague.  Hunh.

Now I’m getting things ready for tomorrow and I can’t help putting Mamma Mia! on in the background, a lingering echo of the Mango’s visit.  (There’s a few pieces of Brazilian chocolate she left for me on the stove, too.  I found them when I got home.  So this has been a very food day.)