concentric

Concentric?  with center.
Seems like i always check in here when things are reeling.   er, wheeling. tee hee.   So, it may just mean that reeling is the status quo.  Why ever does a body believe otherwise.    And, fact is, my life reels much much less than most lives.  of that i'm sure.

Drama queen.

This pix was taken in the Bicycle Thief restaurant on the waterfront in Halifax Nova Scotia a couple weeks ago.   We had a 2 week trip with Murdoch Johnson and Dianne Tuff to Cape Breton Island taking in the Celtic Colours festival.  An unforgettable sensory experience.   I though Peter and Deandra might like to think about the lights.   New home owners and all that...

and why here today?   Looking for sparkly bits to hang on to, to retreat to, perhaps to shape life around RATHER than what has in past felt like life's structure and life's trappings.   A paradigm shift as they say.   I'm the one who supposedly is fed by angles and shades.   Ok, show your stuff Karen Anderson Hannah.

The parts that used to stay put:  weather, temperatures, the ocean, the pine trees.  presidential leaders. harvests, respect, dialogue, learning, tolerance.

And which would be the parts that now stay put for me?  What can I count on until I'm gone and lean into, expand?

• fierce love for my kids, their spouses and their kids.
• the beauty in things, all things
• the inspiration and company of certain people I know
• words, books
• music 
• creating things
• learning

My immediate task is this:  Distance myself from despair and the immutable, expand the sparkle and question constantly how ELSE I can use my talents.  I likely have 20 years to make a difference.  I'm willing to commit day in and day out from morning to night if I can figure out my way.   Perhaps writing will help...

from Jayber Crow by Wendell Berry

so, i'm back to my assorted blogs.   i miss writing.   will see about this resolve because now not only do i have a shelf full of pretty spiral books and logs, now i have many blogs going.

" For a long time then I seemed to live by a slender thread of faith, spun out from within me.  From this single thread I spun strands that joined me to the good things of the world.  And then I spun more threads that joined all the strands together, making a life.  When it was complete, or nearly so, it was shapely and beautiful in the light of day.  It endured through the nights, but sometimes it only barely did.  It would be tattered and set awry by things that fell or blew or fled or flew.  Many of the strands would be broken.  Those I would have to spin and weave again in the morning."

Herbert's Bird Psalm.
rebuilding.
things that fell or blew or fled or flew.
thank you Wendell Berry.

Scotch Sound Recording Tape

Can't put these old recorded recital tapes in the garbage without noting it somewhere.   This place is the cyber version of the pile of logs, blank books, file boxes etc. that fill a different shelf.  I write.  I mark passages, I like to remember.  Stuff gets talked about before disappears.   (Actually all stuff gets talked about visible and invisible, tangible and intangible.  good grief.)

I'll never listen to the tape of my junior piano recital at St. Olaf.

Nope, check signals.   one of the tapes is something i sent to a competition when i was in jr. high.  good grief.  Arensky, Suite in Canon Form for Two Pianos (I suppose Mary Larson is playing with me), Grieg, Sailor's Song, some Mozart Viennese Sonatina mov'ts.   Guess I can't get rid of these.....

For the record the other tapes are an audition tape for grad school which i couldn't bare to listen to now. My senior recital at St. Olaf and a St. Olaf choir concert.  Reel to reel tapes????  They are just a form of history now.  They are likely completely quieted.

I miss this spot.
k

only checking in

almost may.   it's been so long since i stopped in here.   i don't want to let this go even as i vow to letter-write to deborah, keep up the "understory" and postcard admin.   this was *my* place for heart to hearts.   currently - seemingly perennially - in need of a heart mender.

or maybe i'm supposed to be that person.

mis-communications from the visit w. megan.  she has some valid points, funny, i always think i'm the one all tuned in.    i'm stepping back to see that my only models of extended family visiting were obviously jim/joyce and my parents.   i'm new to this game of long distance family.   i really only want intimate, deeply connected on my terms.  

it won't be my terms.   not w. ken, not w. megan and her family, not w. ken's family.   broaden the terms.
that would be the smart way.

Ceremonials of Common Days

by Abbie Graham.   I finally just bought a copy of this beautiful book.   I hope to remember it as my companion through my Season of Honor and each coming season.

I want to remember this october ceremonial day though, or ceremonial anyway.   The days of the geese passing through the shire.   Maybe after the geese pass through there is a marking in someway.   I have to think about it.   I love the idea that the "holiday" is fluid depending upon an event and not a date of any kind.

just how could i mark this late autumn time?   i'm looking at the ferocious goose picture from the Reichsmuseum in Amsterdam.   she represents sheltering, guarding, protecting, rising up to take care.  hmmm.
 the geese have a difference significance.   what?

paths pages steps everywhere

ok, ok, ok. here i am again. checking this place actually because i need to launch postcards. it's the kind of thing i didn't even explain to ken knowing he pretty much just humor me. he did. somewhat i deserve it in truth. ideas. paths, pages. they're strewn everywhere. somewhere somehow they are going to collect into something other than a trail though. they will aleign [?weird, can't find it] themselves into a path, really they will. slightly bent, slightly uphill works.

i don't want to delete things here inorder that it may meet the public eye. some of what i have stashed here needs to stay expressed. since i ask the "who am i" question so constantly and repeatedly it's valid to keep the words.

i likely will open a new postcard blog. i hope to keep coming here too. lapses are history. as sue says, "just keep showing up for things".

i almost bumped into a piliated woodpecker as i walked to the quilt garden. i've gotten pushed into this lowest loneliest place again. i'm trying not to let ken steal days from me. today and yesterday were to have been the days i honored mom. these are her birthdays. wrung out i walked to the garden thinking maybe a big vase of flowers in one of mom's vases would be the thing. that giant bird called to get attention and flitted from tree to tree in the front yard.

that is one big bird spirit. could it feel like the strong women touching me today? should i be paying attention to such a thing? mom would handle this. can i honor her by feeling strong instead of flattened?

i question this time if we can have any kind of marriage anymore. words mean nothing now. trust and integrity? values? to think we were on the surface talking about money and spending.

i will try to feel some company and spirits with me from somewhere. i can only think the help has to come from inside somewhere.