Stream of Consciousness

What a Difference a Week Makes...

It's been one week and a handful of hours since Obama became our 44th President. Seven short days and climate change, torture, ethics, and a whole host of other issues have already come to the top of his agenda. This has been a long time coming, this change. This week it still feel strange and peculiar—will we wake up tomorrow and have Cheney-in-Wheelchair back and in charge of far too much? But then there is this speaking-volumes photograph.

We are the people we have been waiting for—and we're there. And now here. Now.

Photo of President Barack Obama riding the train en route to Washington, DC for his inauguration taken by ajac and found on Wikimedia Commons.

Obamicon...Me!

Thanks to a friend. We're all turning into Shepard Fairey's iconic image of Barack Obama, street art from last summer turned Smithsonian gallery art as of Inauguration last week. Yet another way we are all uniting, united, being the change we want to see in the world. 

The Wind, Wild, and Harry Houdini

The weather has whipped itself into a frenzy again. Predicted in the newspaper, of course, but the reality is always so different from the threat and the promise. So here we are now with wild winds and craziness on an otherwise ordinary Wednesday night as I try to think about entering the mindset of an eccentric, either Harry Houdini, or Frank Gilmore (father of Gary) who had more than a few compelling reasons as to why he may have been Houdini's illegitimate son. Johnson Creek rises as I type. The Gilmore family lived there not that long ago in the cosmic scheme of things. Today at the P.O., in a glass case, a brown stuffed bear with "Harry Houdini" emblazoned across his chest. Maybe it is impossible to write anything authentic in the 21st century...

Good Day Sunshine!

There may be another inch or so of snowy slush on the ground but I am seeing blue skies and high white clouds so already it's a better day than it's been in a long, long while. I have been feeling so light-deprived, a winter mushroom trapped in an inch of pine bark and peat. That, coupled with fighting off a cold or living with forced air heat-induced allergies has been less than fun. The weather this past two weeks really made we wonder if I can live at this latitude with its low-light winters long-term.

Oh well, it's 2009 now and I have nothing much new to say. I feel talked out, written out, worded out for a host of reasons that I can't blame on much of anything except me not having enough of interest beyond words and writing to occupy myself in my daily life. Maybe that should be on the top of my personal agenda for change in the new year? That and working to stop so much fretting.