Electric Grandmother

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

-- Lon Prater
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It's the usual sort of Friday morning. Avi doesn't have school, and it's been a long week, so we sleep in. Finally I get up, take care of the kids, eat a boiled egg with salt, some fruit, some vanilla honey chamomile tea. I play with the kids. When they decide to do their own thing I do mine. I check the email, the blogs. I make the bed. I write. We play some more. When they get really involved in their own things I'll lift some weights, upper body today. I'll get some studing in -- some Latin, I'll do some research into ancient Hebraic poetry. We'll play more. I'll make a stir fry or a winter vegetable stew. I owe the Spots a cheesecake, so shopping and baking will be involved. I'll do some laundry. Rice will come home, and there will be much rejoicing. I may read more of Alan DeNiro's Skinny Dipping in the Lake of the Dead, which I am really quite enjoying.

There's comfort in habit, in familiarity. It's interesting to me that familiar and family have the same root.

I am comforted by the sage green couch and rocking love seat in the living room, the comfy old orange chair that has almost considered coming back into fashion again. It has a cream shawl draped over it that was made by Rice's great-grandmother. There are books on all the walls, a fireplace, and a keyboard I bought when in grad school and was making actual money teaching that I'd play if the kids would ever let me.

The bedroom has a warm, satisfying bed. If one were to die, this would be the bed to die in. It's firm, yet soft, is dressed in German Flannel sheets, warm blankets, and a smoke blue down comforter. There are, of course, more books shelved by my side of the bed, primarily paperbacks.

The next room over is my "office", with writing desk, laptop, more books, a weight bench and an exercise bike. It has a nice view of some of the climbing roses and the tree with the sage and white leaves. And it has a world map over the writing desk. I lose myself in that map all too frequently.

And then there's the boys' room, because Avadore wanted them to sleep in the same space, and the pink bathroom, which needs some remodeling ... someday, and the kitchen. I love my kitchen. It's large with lots of counter space. Two or three people, if set up right, can cook comfortably -- it can be fun to cook together. If we keep going we loop around again to the living room with the couches and books and orange chair.

And there's a downstairs, too, with the TV, and my computer, and more books, and Rice's office, with his computers, and computer parts for just in case, and more books, and the laundry room, and the spare room, that maybe I could turn into a library, and a garage, and an outside shed, and a cherry tree, and apple tree, and garden space, and raspberries and roses.

And it's all familiar, all comforting. Well lived-in through the years, well-loved. It needs some work, certainly. A lot of things were planted that aren't appropriate for the environment, e.g. the sandy soil, the shade, etc. The carpets were worn before we moved in, as was the linoleum. We've done some remodeling, but more needs to be done when the kids aren't running around, underfoot, trying to help. But it's a good home, with a good feeling. It's a good place to hole up and just be.

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