reverse threading

the path back is the path forward


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apparently. [kerri’s blog on flawed wednesday]

it was frigid out that day. really, really frigid. a good day to bake cookies and make a big pot of pasta sauce. we added water to the old radiator pans to put a little moisture in the air. we set up the humidifier in the bedroom. we hunkered down.

we’re still in clean-out mode. we will be for a while, likely a long while. cookies mid-day are a perfect reward for keeping-on.

we are making discoveries as we go, so the going is slower than if there were no stories whatsoever, if there was no personalization. it would definitely speed things up if we felt no attachment whatsoever to any of the stuff, if we were decidedly ruthless about cutting all threads to any sentimentality.

but we can’t…well, mostly, i can’t – since most of the things in the basement are related to me. d didn’t tote decades of belongings with him when he arrived well over a decade ago. his physical baggage was simpler – a budget-truck-full. though he still willingly participates in the sluggish crawl through bins and boxes and closets and storage rooms.

so we move slowly and give credence to all the stories, the memories, the narrative, the life that whispers from each thing we unearth – short or long, loud or soft.

we read an article about the historical united states – pre-lincoln – when the mud-sill theory was rising as a way-to-be in this place – caste system heavy, subordinating women and those of non-white races. ugly and cruel, the system disregarded the stories and lives of the ‘regular’ populace, of any working class of people. not that it ever really went away – despicable stuff – it has risen its brutally hideous head once again. right here. right now.

this administration would much like to speed things up. this administration would much like to be entirely ruthless. they are honing their merciless skills every day now. there is no ‘slow’ in their vocabulary nor in their agenda, for it would seem that slow might elicit accountability or conscience and there is neither.

we don’t really understand how one gets there – to a place of such depravity. despite the somewhat-constitutional-pom-pom-waving-somewhat-marginalizing-sordid history of this country and its arc through time, we do believe that most people would like to live in harmony, most people would like to live in peace. they are the ingredients for a democracy, the recipe for the sweet life.

they’re gluten-free, these chocolate chip cookies. but you’d never know if i didn’t tell you. they are just as delicious as tollhouse cookies with wheat flour. they are just what we needed in the middle of the afternoon.

apparently, right now, the sweet life is limited to what we can create together with others who are like-minded in their desire for goodness, who are not callously embracing the unrelenting horrific.

yeah. that and these cookies.

*****

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the wheel. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

in the back corner of the storage room – up on the concrete ledge, behind the boiler and the hot water heater, in a bit of cobweb – sat this the metal wheel. next to it was a plastic exercise ball for small rodents and a water dispenser from a habitat used decades ago.

we took them off the shelf and i washed them all off, thinking i could give them away to someone who might have a gerbil or a hamster, saving them from purchasing these items.

but it had been decades since i’d used them – our children were little when we had these tiny pets.

so i decided i’d best do a little research to make sure these were still safe.

they are not.

come to find out that the plastic exercise balls don’t have enough airflow and the metal wheel has been the source of injury for these tiny creatures. into the trash they went.

that wheel, though.

both d and i looked at it and then at each other, rolling our eyes. the wheel – the subject of one of our flawed cartoons – a statement piece.

as artists we are used to less. it’s built in to our dna, it seems. we have stepped to the side of the wheel – choosing something different than the norm, different than the 9-5, with a different imperative, with different rules, different expectations, and with clearly different financial rewards as well. without the security of tenure in an institution or corporation and its advantages (particularly in remuneration, advancement, healthcare plans, retirement), we have forged a different path. we have avoided the faster-faster-faster of the wheel, but not without sacrifice.

most of the populace, however, have chosen more traditional routes and now we are watching the administration destroy those, destroy their stability, destroy the respect due each of them.

at the time of this cartoon’s drawing, my own interpretation of it was more of a boss-worker cynical take.

in these times, one quick look at it in the cartoon files and it took on a life of its own:

the oligarchy vs the people.

because – well – it’s obvious, isn’t it?

the haughty, condescending, inflated, pompous hubris – standing around in their opulent affluence – rolling in it – their plenty – while the rest of the people – the real people – work ever-ever faster to get nowhere – to have not-enough.

i’m glad the wheel went in the trash. it’s where it belongs.

*****

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y indeed. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

and why wouldn’t nature – this universe – ask Y?

WHY?

why wouldn’t nature – in all its magnificent glory – wonder what in the hell is going on?

why wouldn’t nature – in its most minuscule and its most vast – its most discreet and its most deafening – stare down humanity, shocked at the impunity?

why wouldn’t nature – in its chugging-chugging ability to keep on keeping on – shake its head as the people, living within its generosity, destroy it?

why wouldn’t nature – working around its infinite challenges to maintain a healthy and centered balance – be infuriated at so many unresolved conflicts, so much bigotry, so much extremist agenda?

why wouldn’t nature – in its symbiotic synergy – be aghast at such lack of cooperation, such disregard to interdependence?

why wouldn’t nature – in its innate ability to BE love – drown in tears of devastated sadness?

why, indeed.

Y?

*****

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heavy hearts. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

“you are not weak just because your heart feels so heavy.” (andrea gibson)

every friday we look at each other and say, “wow. it’s friday again.”

it’s astonishing. the fridays come and the fridays go. it seems that they come and go ever faster.

this has been a long week. so many of them are long weeks now. despite the fact that the fridays arrive in a moment of surprise acknowledgement, the weeks themselves are laden with difficult, burdened with sadness, whelmed over with the horrific.

and we get to friday, panting with others in this hyperventilating country. we are exhausted. we are frustrated. we are frightened. our tender hearts break with the others, shattered by the vile betrayal by leadership.

we feel weak.

but we are not.

our hearts are heavy.

but they are no less fervent.

we are empowered.

the joining of hands, the extension of kindness and care, the shared value of each other, we are connected.

the spirit of this country beats steady in each of us who push back: when your heart is too heavy for your chest, i will firmly hold it. when your heart feels frail, fragile beyond the pale, i will handle it gently. when your heart is feeling timid, i will bring you courage. when your heart just doesn’t know what to do, i will quietly stand with you.

we are in this together. with our hearts. in every long week. in every friday that finally – and suddenly – arrives. in every storm that is raging around us. in every day.

and those without hearts – without love – without conscience – can just stand back and watch how utterly powerful having a heart really is.

*****

WATERSHED © 2004 kerri sherwood

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falling is falling. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

and many have come here before us.

we are the not the first on the trail after fresh snow. there have been many. boots, deer tracks, dog prints, raccoon hands, horseshoes, even something with tire tread. many.

but it is of no less value to us – this trail – because others have walked it before us. and it is of no less import.

often, after a snow or a melt, there are indications of the alternate trails hikers have taken – to avoid icy snow or slippery mud. we follow those sidetrails, grateful for the wisdom of those before us. their experience suggested to us a different way to go – a decision point. often, we have been grateful after following that which seemed to help mold our choice. and, often, we have seen the impact after not following. falling is falling.

the trail – and how to deal with ice or mud or other tricky impasse – far less potent than the things we now must muster up from helpful hints on the trail of life, learnings of the past, from lessons and decisions of the wise before us.

now we must deal with the dastards and dastardly all around us. now we must make informed decisions about the future – with history as our guiding force, discerning. now we must act with conscience – pushing back against any sway of the temptation of quiet, pushing back against any catalyst of evil. now we must empower ourselves with knowledge – with the vast volume of perspectives that can ground us in truth and integrity, that can point the way to holding this democracy.

many have come here before us.

we need remember that – in any shape or form – falling is falling.

and we must choose prudently.

*****

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the river. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

and the river runs…

i’d say that each time we see it, it looks different.

the des plaines is not a raging river. it is not a major water thoroughfare. it bubbles out of the ground a little north and west of here and flows south, through the rest of southeastern wisconsin and into illinois where it eventually – through joining with the kankakee and the illinois – becomes a tributary for the mississippi. its origin is from glaciers long ago, a heritage it carries in its current, in each bend.

it is a treasure, this relatively unknown river. we have hiked many of its miles, getting to know it in all its different seasons, its river-ness unflailing even in drought.

a place of solace, the trails that have developed around this river must be wrapped in the magic of the flow – for it is there we go (as we have written time and again) to sort, to ponder, to laugh with abandon and to cry.

and even in the moments when it is frozen, when all appears still and fallow is on the calendar, it is still moving. it is a living and breathing river – a body of water that continues.

i suppose that could make me feel the slightest bit less panicked about this country. this is a living and breathing democracy. though it appears frozen and at inordinate peril, i suppose there are tiny streams of constitutional law that are still bubbling up, pushing their way to the surface from aquifers deep in the earth. i suppose that the river’s origin 14,000 years ago should speak to me about tenacity through challenge – both natural and manmade. i suppose that the import of this simple river on the places through which it flows should remind me that every single impact counts, every effort to eradicate invasive species makes a difference.

and so, with no small measure of hope, i honor the uprisings of those who protest against the cruelty being dealt to the people of this country. i applaud the efforts of those who push back against the authoritarian rule that has surfaced in plain sight. i acknowledge that under it all – flowing underneath the vileness of this administration – are steady, solid, compassionate, reasonable voices. the people who stand firm on the principles upon which this country’s democracy was built – not silent, not still.

and the river runs…

*****

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the trail comes to us. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

ahhh….i miss this place.

as i write this, it is a feels-like of -41 degrees outside. the actual temperature is -14. we are staying inside.

this is one of the bends in the trail i really love. as we come around this outer perimeter of the trail – a section beyond which we have explored with good boots and warm weather – i know that the stand of pines is coming. and with those pines, the scent…

we stocked up before the big freeze. going to the supermarket is astonishing each time we go, so this time was no different. we had a list – and shopped to the list – though we did buy a small bag of cape cod chips not on the list – but it was still a small fortune. we didn’t want to have to go out to resupply in the frigid arctic blast.

not to mention the fact that this time – this time in this world – oddly and horrifyingly suspended – feels overwhelming.

it’s a little bit risky writing a post ahead of its publish date, particularly now. anything could happen, it seems. and we don’t want to seem – or be – tone-deaf.

in the moments of stepping away from all that is happening – and they are merely slight moments – we seek any source of reassurance, any source of comfort, any source of grounding. we try to get good sleep, eat well, drink water, exercise. we try to find things to laugh about, things that take us away from the chaos. we hug the dog. we listen – still – to george winston’s december album. we hike when we can. we plan distractions.

but we’ve cancelled some meaningful plans, things we had on our calendar for months. things we’d been looking forward to. it was disappointing to do so, but we recognized our limits – physical and emotional – and decided to be adult about it.

yesterday, sitting on the old deck glider in the living room, looking out the front window, i tried to reason with myself about it. cancelling plans and tickets and such is not just a nod to the weather or to our personal limits.

it is a deep sigh of the exhaustion we feel as we navigate – with the pummeled populace out there – the current world, the devastation we feel about our country, the shock our hearts register each and every day as we stay as plugged in as we can manage about everything that is happening – rapidly, with no brakes.

sometimes, i guess, one just has to stay still, to sit still, to stare out the window.

and sometimes the trail comes to us and wraps us in it, hoping to assuage our fears, to calm our hearts, to stoke our courage.

*****

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our moment. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

it bears repeating.

“this is our moment … to meet a whole lot of hate with a whole lot of love.” (minneapolis mayor jacob frey)

truth be told – as far as i’m concerned – it is never NOT the moment.

i am horrified to see footage of the minneapolis neighborhoods under siege, horrified that – in these days in this country – homeland security is taking over the homeland and decimating any security people might feel, horrified to think about the actual people walking those streets, living in those conditions, horrified at the violence, horrified at the lies. our daughter went to the university of minnesota. she loved the university and minnesota, both. though i must say that i am grateful she graduated long ago and is not now in those terrifying conditions, i am heartbroken and enraged for those who are.

just as horrified as i am as i think about our son in chicago – walking the streets where this country’s government rabidly storms around, terrorizing anyone who falls in their particular we-hate-you list.

just as horrified as i am to think about family members who live scattered about this country who continue to cheer on and revel in the insanity and vileness of this administration, the brutality of the actions taken against real live people.

just as horrified as i am to think about relatives in finland, in norway, in spain, in the uk, anywhere in this world under the sun – people living in other countries, countries that are finding themselves targets of the abuse of this country – OUR country – who are astonished by the power-hungry attempts at changing the world order – with the potential of forever-devastation, at eliminating any peace that might exist between nations.

just as horrified as i am to think about my parents, both of whom now occupy a different plane of existence, both of whom i am certain are disgusted with the hideous regime at the helm of a country whose democracy for which they fought.

what in the absolute hell?

if you are one of those people who believe that hate – this kind of hate, any kind of hate – is the foundation upon which you build your house, please do not contact me again. you have lost perspective. you have lost the whole point of living.

it’s about love.

life is about love.

it always has been. it always will be.

get a grip.

THIS is our – your – moment.

*****

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in the ant farm. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

when i came across the green plastic ant farm stashed on a shelf in the storage room in the basement – between two stacks of books – just innocently sitting there – i couldn’t help but immediately feel like it could be a metaphor to how this universe – in the biggest sense of the word – is now looking at us.

through a plastic shield, the universe stares at the goings-on on this planet – and let’s make that even more specific – in this country – and – without describing all the horror that meets the eye, the horror that is happening below the surface, the horror that is intended and about which we can only guess – so let’s cut to the chase – the universe groans in utter dismay, shocked beyond belief that we have screwed up OUR ant farm so appallingly.

because instead of ants – relying heavily on the importance and responsibility of connected community, with unselfish dividing up and equal sharing of work, with patience and problem-solving skills, their committed and unrelenting devotion to a positive and generative end result – we humans here on this earth seem to shun the values of equality or connectedness in community, lead with narcissistic and immorality-driven agenda, devote ourselves to divisiveness, cultural, status and caste, racial, gender, religious, nativistic dominance, drive toward a brutally suffocated powerless populace.

to think that an uncle milton’s giant ant farm could show us humans up is preposterous. but it’s absolutely true.

and that – to me – is pitiful.

*****

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anything that helps. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

it helps. this tiny fake lodgepole pine helps.

it’s dark when dogga’s cold nose wakes us; it stays dark while we sip coffee. we watch out the window and talk quietly, waiting for the sky to lighten and the sun to rise. we have happy lights on the windows over our headboard and those are lit as we wait for natural light to fill our room.

but now – in the middle of all the chaos happening, the middle of this dark period of time, the middle of sadness and disappointment and fear, the middle of divisiveness and rifts and anger, the middle of uncertainty and insecurity – now, we light this lodgepole pine. every morning. it is directly in front of us – through the single french door and across the sitting room. its light is a beacon for us, not even an exaggeration to say this mustard seed is like a lighthouse.

we’ve – of course – taken down all the holiday decorations. everything looks a bit drab in comparison to the sparkle we all add to the season. but we’ve added some more happy lights, cause, dayummm, we truly need them. on the ficus tree. on the old door that stands against the wall in the living room. in the sunroom. and candles at night – wherever we are.

you may tire of hearing of our happy lights – and i understand if you’re already there. we all have to do what helps keep us centered, keep us grounded, keep us vigilant, keep us hopeful. happy lights are what do it for us.

i remember, years ago, visiting mammoth cave. we purchased tickets for the tour that takes you down, down, down underground, where you walk the walkways of the cave, where they take a moment to turn off all the lights so that you might experience the darkness of that place. it’s bracing. i have decided i am not a cave person. i cannot imagine the intense difficulty of working in the mines; i cannot imagine exploring caves for research. some people have way more moxie than i do.

the things happening in this country are beginning to feel as dark as that immense cave system. no, that’s generous. they do feel as dark as that cave, as dark as any cave beneath any towering mountain, deep into the earth, without light.

it seems obvious we need to choose a luminary. we need to gather and stoke this light. we need to bring everything we’ve got. if we wish this sea-to-shining-sea to remain a democracy, we need to stand in the light, light up all the dark dank corners of vitriol and authoritarianism, shine light on that which is hidden, on twisted lies and untruths that protect the most powerful. we – bravely – need to speak up and speak out. we need to expose the shadows for what they are.

and if it takes happy lights to get there, then so be it.

*****

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