It's fun to read a book and expect from its descriptions a fairly faithful portrayal of historical reality in nineteenth (?) century Mexico. And then, when the gypsies come and they're riding a flying carpet, I'm expecting some kind of explanation, some kind of trick. All of this is done, and only later, when many more magnificent things happen (and cease to happen) that I realize that what's possible didn't matter back there, but simply what happened.
The question mark above is also a consequence of that realization. For a while I was also concerned with the historical time (the title, after all, describes a century), but I've stopped worrying about it beyond the fact that time is passing and things are changing, and they fuzzily resemble what I know at this point in the book, and I could try to tie them to a date, but I would be missing points. Not the point. Lots of them. All over. And many times they're not points at all, but rounded curves, that lead you in a different direction, even if only for a moment. No locus of concentrated revelation. Sometimes perhaps not even revelation, but that moment of seeing something sparkling, not new, but good.
What I have to look forward to in the next month (that I know of):
Wii party/zoo with Diana, Katie, and Scott - next week?
Visit Leslie again - June 22
Cox family reunion - June 30
Independence Day (or singed fingertips in the joys of rocketry and shiny colors day) - July 4
Vacation - The week after that
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