Electric Grandmother

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

-- Lon Prater
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this is me, and i am okay

It's been a good week. A really, really good week. I was a lot more social than I had originally planned, but the social functions were lovely and fun and fulfilling.

I ate Greek with Winter and the kids. I saw my parents. The kids and I went on a wonderful picnic to my favorite park.I spent time with the Spots. And tonight Rice and I had dinner with some old, old friends who were in from Salt Lake City at a fabulous little pub that serves things like Grog. (Grog, of all things! In Idaho!) We had a wonderful visit, and it was so refreshing. During our meal, another very old friend of ours showed up with his pitcher of grog and single glass in hand. He sat down with us and we had, again, more wonderful visiting about geology and zombies and such strange, strange things.

I am surrounded by people who put on false faces, afraid to slip for fear that the God patrol will turn them in for saying the wrong thing, for drinking the wrong beverage, or talking with the wrong people. And we're looking at moving to a place that's worse than here.

Really, you all probably shouldn't listen to me tonight. Overall it was a great evening, and then there were moments of frustration and apprehension for what surrounds me, and I feel so, so stifled and confined. And to go out with old friends and laugh and share and just have fun was so wonderful. And I ran into an old professor who used to adore me, and then he believed some rumors started by another professor about me and some other students (Rice thinks she started said rumors because I, and these other students, discovered she was falsifying data and she was trying to discredit us), and he was so cold and disapproving. Most of me says, "Eh, screw him. I didn't like him so much or have much respect for the man anyway," and another part of me is frustrated by it.

So I am embedded in a social dichotomy -- I know some fabulously wonderful people. I take great pleasure in their friendship and their pure utter existence on the planet. Then there are so many loud people around who completely chaff every portion of my body and spirit. My soul. And they won't go away; they won't be quiet.

And I'm so sensitive to everything anyway.

And I'm really opinionated.

I have structured my life in a certain way, in a way that brings pleasure to me. And this is not to say that I expect life to be perfect and go completely my way, that I expect to be free from all frustration and discomfort. But I have trouble with the idea of putting myself in uncomfortable positions consistently.

And maybe it's me that needs to change. Maybe I need to learn to look past so many of the things people do that bother me, trouble me -- their ignorant opinions and comments about people who are different than they in terms of race, religion, other cultural factors. We all do silly things, stupid things. Goodness knows I do silly stupid things all the time and need to be forgiven constantly. Maybe I need to look for reasons to love them -- their smile, the intentions, their wisdom, insight.

Wouldn't it be a different world if we could forgive and, even though we recognize people make mistakes and they drive us nuts, try to appreciate them anyway?


The kids and I went to my favorite park. They love it there, too. The park is almost like a liminal space, located between the modernity of the town and the town of 150 years ago, or so. The park is located next to an old replica of a local fort, complete with cemetery, school, and building supply. Not far away are bison, because there's a zoo there, too. The park is high up on a hill (we have so many hills and mountains here) so one has the view of the other hills and the southern part of town. I love to go there, play with the kids, dream, think, write, and read.

But I'd never seen so many parts of it; I haven't explored that much with the kids. LD ran away from the park, and I followed him. There's a point where the grass turns into hundreds of little purple flowers. You don't seen them until you're right on top of them and then they surround you on all sides. If you keep going you find yourself in the sagebrush, so fragrant and silver-green. After that there are trails that lead down to a lower part of the park and an area where one can rock climb the face of the hill. It was magical, wonderful, and just perfect.


I have three huge bags of fresh apples from my parent's trees. They're delicious. They also sent me home with a bunch of peppers, a huge bag of different kinds of tomatoes, sweet onions, and fresh carrots. We all went to the farmer's market today (which was a great time) and bought some red potatoes and a lovely loaf of sun-dried tomato, garlic, oregano, and asiago bread. We made a fabulous lunch. Is there a better time than the fall?


And I, of course, have lots of thoughts on writing. I've hit a point where I want more and am expecting more of the stories I write, but I'm not sure of how to arrive to the points I'm reaching.

I have two stories that have just sort of stalled. I know where they're supposed to go, but it also feels as if these points are too facile, that there's got to be more somewhere. I expect more of myself than just the ability to finish a story now -- I want to write better stories. And other than just writing them where they go, etc., etc., I'm not quite sure how to traverse the road to finding the way to make them better, to find the better path that leads to the end.

But it's got to be there somewhere. Maybe I just need new batteries for my flashlight.


In any event, it's been a huge day. Busy, busy. I haven't been on the computer today, or much this week, and I have the urge just to type and type and type, but I must go to bed. I need some good sleep, some rest, some nice dreams.

And I hope you all have had them, too.

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