the confluences

why today?  my friend sue hedin posts the stillwater library FaceBook stuff and today she had this quote from the Little Prince.

“Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence.” 
― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Manon, Ballerina

today of all days?  

today when i am swirling and knotted about jami.   

today when i'm trying to decide if this blog site might somehow be a place to connect w. her.  

today when i'm wondering if the point of beginning this blog was to zero in on the sense of this life.   if not zero, which is pretty dang ambitious, at least ponder.  

Olga lost the sense of it.

i bought this small copy in Paris almost 3 years ago to the day.   i bought it because, most amazingly, my Dad had once said that the Little Prince was one of his favorite books.   REALLY???   "you ever READ the Little Prince?  you more than LIKED it?   i'll read it again and i'll treasure a French copy bought at Shakespeare & Company on the River Seine.     always working the threads of course, 

they give me sense.

something tangible?

ah ha!~!   figured out how to bring in some pictures.   there is she, now shared inspiration olga. classy. confident. fluid. lithe. sassy. 

too good to be true

brittle.

did you have a tangible stash of inspirational stuff?  things to lift you or ground you.  both?  i'm not quite there with such a go to pile.

i do though quite constantly wear your jewelry, or aggie's, or mom's as an amulet.  a connection, a shelter.   a touch point.   

who wouldn't.

attic treasures

had an envelope from your old home in Cambridge waiting for me one night this week after work.   how did they know i was writing to you???

The Ostrum family is insulting the attic in your home and a handful of old treasures were uncovered.   I had the highest of hopes as i opened the envelope; which bits and pieces, which keys would be handed to me~!   Treasure was stretching it.   a mouse eaten corn husk doll.  4 Christmas cards addressed to you and Grandpa in 1936.  what must have been your high school government or civics notebook.   That and a torn sheet with your hand written notes about nutrition and fueling the body.    A drawing of one very glamorous fashion model in a gorgeous flowing dress w. scarves cut out of a magazine.   inspiration?  

One take away for me was seeing your very neat h.s. script and your much more "affected" flowing grown up handwriting.   It was the kind of attention to every day detail that i love thinking about.   it is a link between us.   (oh, someday we'll talk about *between*) i think that small pleasure missed a generation although my dad's writing was exceptionally beautiful for a man come to think of it.

and pete has decided to change his writing.   funny coincidence.

The artistry of life mattered and matters.   It's a thread that lives on in the family tree.
Small beauties in life can be blown up whenever you need them.

connecting us

this visiting if harder than i thought it would be.... resolve again just to toss things out here until it hones itself.

The sparkles of the snow are Addie too.    She comes to me in warm weather  when the ribbon of sparkles on the wave tips  pours out to touch me across a river or a lake.  Dawn, dusk or a moonlit night. I wear a tiny Tinkerbell finger ring with her birthstone -- a peridot -- and a couple little diamond chips.   Find the sparkles there when I want to think on her.

Last night we had the sparkliest of all snowfalls and she surrounded me.

This morning, still, in the sunshine, she's everywhere.

I'm reminding myself to carry her awe today.  Manifest now in sparkles but residing in the depths of my being. Other families didn't touch holy.