The Furious Spinner

I find such great comfort in community, when I actually feel a part of it. Tonight we spent three hours at a planning board meeting. City hall was filled with citizens. We sat in chairs, on desks, on the floor. A developer wants to put in a subdivision just east of town. Eighty-nine dwellings on twenty-five acres. We don't do that here. We have bigger lots, with each house its own individual creation. Conformity and urban blight is not our thing.

To listen to my fellow citizens talk about how much they value our quality of life, how much they care about the birds, deer, raccoons, trees, as well as their neighbors was great. We talked about the ecology of our place. Quite invigorating. Not sure voicing our concerns to the planning commissioners will do any good, but there you are. When I spoke, my right ear popped and I could suddenly hear out of it again for the first time in weeks. I learn over and over that we must all find our voices. It’s part of healing, I believe. At one point in the meeting I glanced out the window and saw a three quarter moon—just gorgeous—and I had a sense of truly living my life.

Tomorrow evening we pull weeds at the elementary school. This will be the third week. Last week I was only able to work an hour. I had to leave because I was having trouble breathing. Very frustrating. I wanted to organize a vigil for Cindy Sheehan, but I already had the weeding commitment. I was going to try to do both, but my dear husband rubbed my feet and gently talked to me about stress and then looked at me cross-eyed when I was still contemplating it, so I decided not to do it. At 7:30 p.m. tomorrow night, Mario and I will light a candle as we pull weeds. That’s enough.

So much to do. Not enough time or energy. I've got to read two challenged books for the library. I'm not looking forward to that. My view is that we're not going to pull the books—I mean, we better not—so what does it matter whether I've read them or not? Sorry. Just kvetching.

I got my editor's notes on She Combs the Desert For Fallen Stars. I'm looking forward to doing some minor rewriting, but I'm always a bit anxious before I start any rewrite. I worry that I'll ruin the shape and beauty of what has already been created. I panic just a bit. So I need to breathe deeply and then just plunge ahead.

Serena is home from the hospital but staying with her boyfriend's grandparents since Linda can't take care of her. Tomorrow Linda begins the shots again, so I hope she'll start to improve. Tonight she was so exhausted she couldn't talk.

Sometimes it is so painful to love, isn’t it? Yet the alternative is not acceptable. C’est la vie.

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