Why is the Curry community center still closed for "maintainence issues"? I never see anybody in there working on anything. Yet, it's been shut down and locked up for over a month now--depriving me of my convenient internet access.
So I sit here now, in the "great room" of the historically swank Ahwahnee hotel. Here amidst the underdressed and overdressed (there is no grey area) vacationers who pay the big bucks to stay in this odd-smelling establishment, I don't feel out-of-place. Oddly enough, I sense how out-of-place they all feel in this transient den of old-world luxury. To me, it's like sitting in the livingroom of a friendly neighbor's house... I don't know.
I've been doing more and more things with various new people lately. Climbing and bouldering mostly. We sit on the rocks and watch the tourists below. Millions of people flock here to get a taste of the beauty or to tackle the mountain. It's amazing that all of these adventurous opportunities are in my backyard.
I feel very much at home here after a couple of months. And I am so happy... but not entirely content.
While I have so much going on in what Mom calls my "new life", I can't ignore the things I don't have anymore.
I don't have anywhere to gather with passionate people and just SING the hell out of a great piece of music under the direction of such an incredible man(father, husband). Or a someone to teach me dance as only Molly can, with little noises and a casual silliness that somehow commands my attention and my respect. In fact, there are virtually no outlets for organized performance in the entire park. And it makes me sad. Makes me feel uncomfortable, almost, that living here means abbandoning something so important to me.
And there are certain other people that used to make life more. I am Here, and my best friend in the world is There. I miss her every day. And i miss a handfull of people that I was never particularly close to. Friends, of course. But I didn't realize how close I truely did feel to these people until I moved so far away. It's odd, I think.
Where is my pile of junk and string and beads? Where is my room full of tinkering and creativity? It's in Michigan because I couldn't fit it all in a suitcase. I feel kind of lame without my collection of knick-nacks from Grandma Marian's garage--my bits of string and boxes of buttons--my countless scraps of various art supplies pilfered from V's room...
When I boarded a plane with only three bags (two increasingly smaller than the first) it didn't occur to me that their contents would, in essence, be all that I'd have left of my "old life".
And I don't consider it my "old life' really. I'm just so distanced from it, that those things I left seem to only exist in the past. Not the people of course. I know they are still waking up and breathing and going about their business. I also know that all of my clutter is packed away in a few boxes.
But I know that Muskegon, Michigan is not where I'm supposed to be right now.
Knowing this makes missing all of it bareable.
And I know I'll have some of it back someday. And I know all friendships will not die. And I am positive beyond a doubt that I have not stopped singing.
I feel a silly ramble coming on, full of repetition and talking myself in circles...
I'll save it for later.