I can actually make a writing post.

I have actual wordcount.

Not much, in the grand scheme of reality, really, but 337 words beats the hell out of recent [lack of] progress. Finished section 116. Need to contemplate 117. ...ah, I should pick up that plotline, perhaps.


Talking with ibnfirnas reminds me I still need to write the love letter to a city that I developed a need to write the day I went to Fenway with yehoshua. This speaks volumes about my level of organisation. (I haven't designed my scorekeeping sheet either. Heh.)

Also, I have no butter. Gromph. Will have to get cash from teinedreugan or scrounge.

And took them quite away.

A while back I was talking to jenett about some of the things that she was preparing for an important ritual (perhaps her initiation?). She needed, if I'm remembering right, some bones; she had gotten a chicken and was boiling it to extract them.

And afterwards she had soup stock. Such are the fruits of the spirit: they feed us with their leftovers. (The ka is fed with the offering, and the food remains.)

There's a thought in there, a particular way of looking at the world, an angle of approach. About the way one uses things, about the way one nourishes oneself through interacting with the world, both physically and spiritually. A completeness to it.

One of the things that one does when making some sorts of brews is boil fruit, or at least soak it for a long time. Then one takes the juices released thusly and goes and ferments them.

But what about the fruit left over? A soggy mass of material which has given up some of its essence to the boil, but which is still good, still has something to offer.

I couldn't throw it away.

So I made tarts.

(I've never been primary on tarts before -- or indeed, I think, any pastry -- so we have no way of judging yet if they're any good. But I made them, and I will bring them to where people are and offer them this strange gift of the spirit of completeness, of not wasting anything which is yet good.)