Maybe I need a flock?

Maybe I need a flock.

That would be a wished for luxury k. flowery, interesting but don't you just need to get to it?

Fluidity.  Honking loud encouragement.  Challengers. Company. Identity.  Beauty.

Where to mention fear.  I’m very afraid. And desperate.  Where are other fearful desperate birds?   How can we fill the sky, turn, twist, go. In what direction?  

Possible birdies.   Don’t know really. I can only list maybes.  Sue. kitt. Heather. Dwight. Lee. matt edwards.  Jerry kitshop?
Nettie? Steve g/h. Carol mckinney.   Marianne. Chrissie. Jackson hayes. Someone arn might know.   Tubby. Chuck bradsford.

A mate?    One person at a time?  

I actually think no one i know wants to join me on the quest i think i have ahead.  Does that matter?
The question isn’t really what others can do, the central part is what I can do.

What would Mom have done?   Aggie? Olga? Run a campaign, underline a Bible, study an outline?

Somehow I’m a little solo-ish.   Less about joining someone with their project, more about launching one.  
 Is it an ego thing? In all honesty, it could be. My ideas the most interesting, the most novel.   
Be careful here. Reinventing the wheel doesn’t do much.

such a poem

http://www.dailygood.org/story/1189/beannacht-a-blessing-for-the-new-year-john-o-donohue/

cloudy and rainy inside and out

this is harder than i thought it would be.  account for my day? my time? my head and heart?   most of a normal day has a normal routine and rhythm.  it that what i'm fighting?

i'm trying not to think only of myself most of the day and i'm trying not to let DT weigh down my soul.

remember the "bring beauty" intention.   can only count launching people into their postcard writing mode as i do each Monday.   that will be resting on my laurals.  ok, will count it for today.

ate reasonably, played the piano a little.   no writing other than this.  upstairs to read about China.
good night olga.
k

1/22. 1 of 100,000

women people marching in St. Paul.   I'm in the green.

Even tonight, now 3 days after the Inauguration I'm too weary to talk about this change.  Even after what should have been an inspiring event, an action, a step.  "Action #1 after the Women's March" -- write your Senators what matters to you most.   Check.  My Senators aren't the problem.  My other Minnesotans -- thankfully -- aren't the problem.

An article about the rural south that Jana Vey sent to me talked about the problem.  It's big and it's real.  Tribes, ignorance, poverty, bigotry.   I know nothing about the South and the Fundamental Christians there.

This isn't what I want this daily diary to be. Not a rant about politics.

I wrote a couple nice letters over the weekend, I played Bach.  Touched base w. Mahaffys who are like family but not with the kids.I liked David Brooks Inauguration column.   May need to look that up again.

4 good posts this week.  7 new states.
Reading about China.
good night

Sliding back in here.... a much needed shelter.

the underpinnings!

I wonder what kind of a political person you were Olga with a brother-in-law deep in MN politics.  Got a lot of Republicans in this family but I might wonder if you had a different take.   It doesn't matter, really.  We're not clones. tee hee.  You might have been marching tomorrow.  You would have been disgusted by Trump.

So, here's the family tree wall.   I'm quite, quite sure that you would like this.  Muddie is the base, a large strong serious picture of a tiny strong serious matriarch in the family.   I'm very pleased with the essence of it, have more shaping and hammering to do and then I need to be resolved to add to it.  It's funny and really apropos that the "trunk" and the branches surrounding and supporting the kids and their kids is so full and thick that I almost don't have room for the littles!   They were the inspiration and they were the point.   That underneath stuff; determined to be solid and to matter.  Amen.

Back to Donald Trump.   Today is Inauguration day and it's a very sober, difficult day for me.  Even writing this sentence brings a tear to me eye.   I won't need to explain all the colors and nuances of what this is here, but I am hoping that my coming back to this blog, I can find a peaceful personal place to sort through the emotions I have.   My aim at this point is to write here like a diary and to learn all the Bach Preludes in Bk. 1.   It's the most unTrump-like behavior that I can imagine and a pretty solid expression of who I am.   I'm going to explore it.s 

Mostly, I can't carry this feeling of despondency for very long.  I won't let him ruin my days and I will think through how I can take steps to respond to this.   The Posting Project is a step in the right direction, I know that.  Maybe I have my fingers in a few other things.  

I'll try to record here -- minimally -- the way I "brought beauty" each day.   Oh, will mention to you as well that as if this summer I had a paradigm shift.  I'm clearly much closer to the end of my time here than I was registering to myself.   Maybe I have a good 10 years.   That's not very much time.  Marley will only be 13.  hm.

I expect most entries will be shorter.  I hope most entries have a picture for the day.  I'll feel good about those two pieces.   Regards Olga.  

a new shade of love and stability

What do you think Aggie?

hm.    The new puppy is chewing the wheels off my dad chair.   Whatever can that mean.... tee hee.

We have new life around here: welcome, licky, waggy, trying, over enthusiastic, ruleless.    Having a hunting dog may just pull my thinking around to Dad and Grandpa more often.   We've always been a dog family (who the heck ever picked a Weimaraner)  although I guess I never remember hearing about a dog when Dad was little.   That's silly, I never heard one word from my Dad about when he was little.  Aggie was the one devoted to her dogs though, those stories came down.  The dog doorstop came down.   The Steiff dog named Peter came down too. ;)

I finished a book called Stalin's Daughter a week or so ago.  It was  quite a record of quite a life. Quite a commentary on quite a world.   Her mother's suicide twisted her life about for 80 years.

What did your choice do to my dad.  Who was he before and who was he after.   And more after as in serving as a surgeon in France in WW II.    No one knows that kind of stuff.   I expect even though I dwell here, there's not much need for me to really know.

Svetlana just kept looking forward, in her case relentlessly moving and uprooting. Seeking love and stability.

That's the bones of the journey each of us has, yes?   Headliners, bit players and walk-ons alike.

Little Tilly, Thunderhill's Chantilly Lace actually, is a shade of love and stability for the next 10 years.   Welcome Tilly.


and....who the heck trained Rocky, Lady and Dutchess?   Are you just totally oblivious as a kid? good grief.

roots

tucking these here today.   working on the my wall tree project which is involving making copies of our roots, our angels, our lithe strength and talent.

don't want to forget some of the names although every name won't matter.   we blend and mesh.

Magnus and Ingrid Augusta Svensdottir:  grandpa's parents.  
Carl, Paul and Hannah - grandpa's siblings

Ingrid's picture will be a strong big part of the bottom.  She looks diminutive but i have no doubt of her strength of spirit.   Her shoulders will hold us all.   Her wings are understill.  I hope that you and she got along.  She died in 1930.  She and Muddy (for the record we all think it would have once been Mutti which is German) would have had both been part of Dad's life but i don't know if they lived close by.    Most of the family lore spins around Muddy and your sisters.   That's how it works now too.