These diaries are named for my great grandmother Anna who came from the Harz Mountains in Germany. When we were children my brother and I took to calling her Danke Omi, or “thank you grandmother” because she was always saying danke. Her gratitude became her title. I am not a mother, so I will never be a grandmother. Entering my crone years without children has been painful and bewildering, the worst feeling of my life. I don’t know where I belong anymore, where my place is. So I’m going to do what I’ve always done and try to write it out.

My desire is to gaze backwards into the archives of language, myth and folklore and share some of the wonders I find. I’ll also include love poems and the occasional prophetic ramble. I wish for my words to provide encouragement and clarity, to help break the spell the modern world has cast over our lives.

This will be a rewilding of sorts, a rough and tumble dance with mystery. I hope to emerge a wiser woman, one who has earned her elder’s cloak. Luckily, the guides I’ve been given have embedded gratitude into my compass. Danke, Omi. Danke.


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