Electric Grandmother

Maggie Croft's Personal Journal young spirit, wire-wrapped
spark electric grandmother
arc against the night

-- Lon Prater
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wholly cow, or he told me the eggs were rotton

Terrible title, I know.

This morning my breakfast seemed more like a dessert. I ate apples (sort of like applesauce only more cinnamon and you actually need to chew them -- it's how I like them) that seemed like they would have liked to have some whipped cream all over them, Godiva dark hot chocolate with 2% instead of the usual skim, which is a wonderful treat... I can only imagine what the whole would be like. And two boiled eggs, lightly salted. Except this morning while draining the eggs of their boiling water I got started and splashed the hot water all over my left arm. And it bloody well hurts, thank you very much.

Rice has warned me that all these eggs can't be good for me.

Soaked my arm and wrist in cold water, sprayed stuff all over it, took a pain pill and am currently holding ice on it. What a way to start the day.


For my own personal use, what I posted over at Kris Lundberg's artsy journal:

1) My parents were folkies. My dad heard Dylan play in New York, before Dylan was Dylan :). As a result, I grew up listening to Joan Baez, Bob Dylan (of course!), The Chad Mitchell Trio, The Weavers, and of course, Woody Guthrie. In my house, Woody was the man, followed by Dylan and then on down the line. My mother is an amazing singer. Twice a year we'd travel to Portland, OR and on the way Mom would always sing Woody's song about the Columbia River.

This morning I was looking up Cory Doctorow's new book, which, as he has done before, one can download it and read it for free under the Creative Commons license, which I think is a bloody fabulous idea. And in so making his novel available in such a way, Doctorow cites Guthrie's standard copyright notice:

"This song is Copyrighted in U.S., under Seal of Copyright # 154085, for a period of 28 years, and anybody caught singin it without our permission, will be mighty good friends of ourn, cause we don't give a dern. Publish it. Write it. Sing it. Swing to it. Yodel it. We wrote it, that's all we wanted to do."

If more people would do things like that and wouldn't worry about money so much, or could afford to not worry so much, what a wonderful world we'd have.


2) When I was eleven, in the spring of my fifth grade year, I developed a gigantic crush on this fourth grader named Luke. He was adorable and smart and sweet and fun and all those things that cause eleven-year-olds to fall in love in that crazy-innocent sort of way.

Things happened to us and with us and through it all, I remained, if not crazy about him, very, very fond.

When I was in the sixth grade I wrote a lot of short stories, and a lot of the time they were about Luke. I once wrote a twenty-five single spaced Star Trek/Harlequin Romance knock off where some guy, who was really Luke of course, and I were seemingly the only two people on the starship until it became necessary to have another character show up.

I also wrote a story where two characters (guess who), who were great friends growing up fell out of touch, but met later as adults and nice things happened.

Luke and I started hanging out again in college. I was talking about potentially going to grad school in Arizona, so he worked on going to grad school there, too. (I ended up staying where I was for grad school because they were doing projects I wanted to work on.) Luke was surprised to find out I wasn't going. Ooops.

And then I got engaged and married and Luke wouldn't talk to me for a year. And then he went to grad school.

But then we started e-mailing and meet when he came back home and talk on the phone.

I'll be 30 in February and Luke is 29 this month. He's currently in Guyana for the Peace Corps, living the life I dreamed of living, while, in a certain respect, I'm living his dreams. We e-mail all the time.

And we're each other's oldest friends.

One of my dearest childhood dreams came true; it's one of those precious, small gifts from the Universe.

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