So I am doing this reading challenge with my sister. 50 books in one year. 52 actually, since one of the categories is ‘a trilogy’. Either way, I’m doing not really well. I’ve read like 15 books or so and we’re already in June. I really got to start catching up with her. Anyways, Sundays are usually good book days for me. Already as a child, Sundays would be the day without tv, simply sitting down with family, playing board games, going for walks and reading books. I still like to spend my Sunday with a book. So yesterday I read poetry. From Mary Oliver. With this idea that one of the categories was to read a poetry book. Turns out there isn’t such a category. Luckily it fit with the category ‘a book published in the year you were born’. Tick that one of the list. Only 37 books to go.

That’s a pretty long introduction to something else I want to write about. That’s one of the poems I read in that Mary Oliver book. It’s called The Journey. I never read it before, but it really struck me. Since I think a lot of friends of mine, including myself, are experiencing exactly what is written in that poem. So I want to write my dear friends a letter like I did to mr. future husband, but then a little more serious. But it’s thoughts that need a bit more time. To ponder. To find their place from my heart to paper. So for today, I’ll just leave you with the poem.

And lastly, I need to remember this for the future: I just made the most heavenly banana-mango bread. I haven’t tasted it yet and accidentally poured in all the coconut milk, while I was supposed to save half for a frosting. So don’t know if it’s any good, but it looks fantastic. Luckily I have more and I’ll finish the coconut-lemon frosting tomorrow. Also I didn’t use frozen mango’s, but real fresh mango’s. You got to do something with those 5 kilo’s of ripe mango’s, right? Either way, it’s a Dutch recipe, but anyone should give this a try I think. I’ll confirm after tasting it tomorrow. For now, sleep well everyone.

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice–
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do–
determined to save
the only life you could save.

The Journey by Mary Oliver