reverse threading

the path back is the path forward


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

the woods are different out east. the rhododendron is en masse and the scratchy underbrush is minimal, so you can walk in the trees, weaving your way in and out of the stands of these tall towers.

we had a bit of time before the sun set to walk on this special retreat land, stretch our legs from roadtripping, sit on the balcony with a charcuterie we had prepared ahead of our drive, watch the sun go down.

it was peaceful and – truly – just what we needed. the wind sailing through the pine trees near us was soothing, the scent of spring in the allegheny-appalachian mountains would bring us down from the drone of the interstate. it was the perfect stopping ground.

our accommodations were simple and inexpensive – a small studio above a garage – but with a kitchen so we could warm up the dinner we brought with us and make breakfast in the morning. we were thrilled to have such a serene setting as we knew the next day would bring the hectic chaos of the city, the bridges and the cross-bronx-cross-island craziness.

early the next morning with our coffee we strategized about how calmly we would approach the traffic of the day. we took back roads to the interstate, learning a bit of how rural-mountain folks are living, wondering where the grocery store was, wondering what the roads are like in the dead of winter.

we hadn’t gone too far that morning when on the side of the road were two wild turkeys. just as we approached one turkey decided to take off and fly right in front of big red. i slammed on the brakes, determined not to hit this very-slow-to-get-momentum-flying creature right in front of my windshield, like a lumbering skyvan. thankfully, the turkey made it to the other side of the road safely and we continued on. i felt a bit shaken. but d looked up the significance of this large grounded creature – particularly when one flies right in front of your vehicle. a reminder of abundance, of courage, of tenacity, of openness and readiness – all these attributes of new beginnings and changes were positive trade-offs for the frightening close-up of a turkey in flight. we chose to adopt these meanings and i quietly thanked the turkey for the good omens.

we left behind the forests, sandstone outcroppings, striated vertical walls, and the mountains, trading it for the shore, forsythia, stands of woods, sand and bluffs. and though we didn’t wake up the next day in a sanctuary forest, we sipped our coffee watching the harbor, its water still, perfectly reflecting sailboats and skiffs moored, buoys out past the dock.

a different kind of peace, i felt like i had come home.

*****

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shimmering too. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

this place. these shimmers of light. these sounds. this air. this salt. this place. this magic.

in the days we are there, taking it all in. i am reminded – once again – of owning it all – in the days of my growing – in the days when anything felt possible and nothing was necessary.

in the days we are there, reconnecting to plank under my feet, waterfront air in my hair, soft ink falling on the dock, clanking masts.

in the days we are there, the pride of where-i’m-from returning, the tethers of heart, sand in my shoes, salty waves at my horizon.

in the days we are there, revisiting, reclaiming, restoring, recognizing the waters of before and after and – then – in the same way the waves of the inlet and the sound meet, allowing it all to mesh into one.

in the days we are there, standing in the sun, standing in the dark. it is night and it is day. and this is my town and i am wrapped in it.

in the days we are there, i become the wake – following all that has come before, choosing to ride the triangle of waves behind the rest of life. and i discover – it’s all one.

and then.

i am shimmering too.

***

night dock (jan 12, 1977)

clanking of metal-rigged sails / politely interrupt the still evening. /

the water below is soft, shadowed chasms away, yet close and quiet.

orange and pink hues fade from the night / and are enraptured by the hushed harbor.

faint strums of a guitar revolve in the mind / and in the silence of dark.

white starry sky fills the air.

men ready a boat and set sail.

the waters part to let them go.

the wake follows, alone.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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

i have listened to this song – rascal flatts’ stand – just shy of a million times. on every trip back and forth across the northern part of this country – driving from the midwest to the east coast to perform, sell cds, do a radio or tv gig – it would be blaring on the stereo, this song from the me and my gang cd on repeat.

because we have all discovered life IS like a novel with the end ripped out. every bit of careful planning, every end result we purport to know will happen, every time we are sure of it all, something else happens to throw an itty-bitty wrench into things, to wreak havoc on our tidy landscape, to make the horizon a tad bit blurry, to utterly decimate what we thought would happen.

i suppose we can take it all as it comes, lie down and let the steamroller roll over us – succumb – in any and every arena of life.

but the chutzpah that has come with listening to this song almost a million times – the chutzpah that comes with, well, just living itself – changes that succumbing-to-the-steamroller tune.

“cause when push comes to shove you taste what you’re made of/ you might bend ’til you break, cause it’s all you can take/ on your knees, you look up, decide you’ve had enough/ you get mad, you get strong, wipe your hands, shake it off then you stand, then you stand…”

and so, i find myself driving again – across the northern part of this country – from the midwest to the east coast – standing.

because when you can do something about that which has the potential of undermining every single thing, when you can do something about that which is life-arc-havoc-wreaking, when you can do something about that which has been too much – when you have decided you’ve had enough – when you are mad – when you get strong – then you must stand – in any and every arena of life.

“every time you get up and get back in the race/ one more small piece of you starts to fall into place…”

we blasted the song over the external speaker our boy gave us – because big red doesn’t have a cd player or any capacity to play music that is not on the radio or a cassette. i sang along. loud.

d listened to the lyrics. over and over again.

and suggested that this song be our theme song now.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY

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abundance. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

for reasons we will not elaborate on, we are writing these blogs ahead. and, in true fashion of the times we are living in, there are zillions of things that have happened or are happening between now – as i write this – and now – as you read this. in the chaos in which we now exist, it is impossible to stay afloat of all of it…

because we care about the littlest creatures around us, we have several surfaces we line with birdseed, in addition to our birdfeeder. barney, the upright piano in our backyard, is one of them. another is our potting stand, these pieces of barnwood that stretch beyond our deck, sitting on metal piping, waiting for planting season when it will sport our basil and jalapeño, dill and chives, rosemary and cherry tomatoes.

our birdies love dining on these flat surfaces and gather together on the piano or the stand or off to the side, waiting their turn. the squirrels are zealous about these flat surfaces, as the birdfeeder gives them a tiny run for their money, a small challenge that is, however, most definitely not insurmountable. either way, they fill up to run off and provide food to the others.

we try to keep these surfaces with food, replenishing them to help these little creatures, particularly through the winter. we want them to feel abundance, not lack.

because helping others – people or creatures – to feel abundance seems like goodness, kindness, the right thing. and, in a world where we all unintentionally do things that are right and things that are wrong, it is a good thing to intentionally do some right things.

last week the administration of this country declared in unconscionable screeds that he was going to obliterate an entire civilization. that he was going to make them live in hell. there were moments – after that particular weekend of his screed – that i could not breathe.

in a really stunning opening to his show the night that the administration decided on a two week reprieve before reconsidering his big obliteration, lawrence o’donnell called it what it really was – an obliteration of OUR nation – THIS place – every ideal for which we have EVER stood. i could not agree more.

we sometimes intentionally do things that are wrong – start an argument, go over the speed limit, fail to put recycling in the correct bin. we sometimes unintentionally do things that are wrong – step on someone’s foot, push the grocery cart into the back of someone’s ankle, cuss in the wrong situation, cough suddenly without covering our mouth. most of these things are presumably forgivable, solved by apologies or decisions not to do it again. sometimes there are wrongs that are bigger, that require grace, true humility, olive leaf amends.

we sometimes intentionally do things that are right – give a bigger tip than recommended, donate money or food or other staples to a person, an organization, a pantry, help our neighbors, friends, family without being asked, pick up trash on the trail, listen when someone needs a listener. sometimes there are rights that are bigger, that are stunningly altruistic, that set examples.

we wish those around us to feel that we are generous in those things – the right things – that we hold abundant love and care for those around us.

we watched the rescued hearts film. it is an incredibly moving piece about the heart that horses hold in space with humans. with abundant love, these big, beautiful creatures reach across any boundary of language to extend love – in heart-opening abundance. these horses are catalysts for healing. it is not a film about control – it is a film about connection. it is a film about transformation. it is a film about sheer potentiality of what we – with all of nature – can provide each other.

this film is the antithesis of the threat of obliteration. it is not about lack. it is the epitome of abundance.

the rescued hearts film and this squirrel on our potting stand also make me catch my breath. because goodness is all around us.

and how anyone could not choose goodness over the worst cruelty is beyond me.

to hell with THAT.

*****

YOU MAKE A DIFFERENCE © 2002 kerri sherwood

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no time to waste. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

we have two sets of flatware. forks, cake forks, knives, teaspoons and tablespoons, i (and we) have purchased neither set.

the first set has been with me since my very first apartment. my grandmother, mama dear, gave me this set – subsets of it were incentive gifts for deposits into a local bank on long island – so mama dear made enough deposits for a whole set. it moved with me everywhere i have moved since that first apartment. i added wooden-handled steak knives to it – also incentives from a company – and, later, baby spoons and forks, but i never replaced the flatware set.

when my sweet momma died, her flatware – the stainless steel stuff not her silver – became mine. it was familiar to the touch and welcomed, particularly since many pieces of the first-apartment-floral-pattern had gone missing through the years.

so now we have two sets. sort of. there are pieces missing from both. maybe someday we will purchase a whole new set together. we’ll see. it doesn’t feel like a high priority.

in going through basement bins, i’ve found various other pieces of flatware. there’s a spoon thingy with a place to hold tea leaves, a couple of ladles, silver demitasse spoons with a gold wash from finland, vintage souvenir spoons from florida. we haven’t used any of these spoons or other utensils, though it might be nice to include a piece or two in everyday life.

momma had a box just like the one in this photograph – it was red mahogany in color. it was felt-lined and all the silverware fit neatly into slots or into the shallow drawer underneath. we used the silverware on christmas, on easter, on special occasions. but not every day.

sometimes i think that if i were the current owner of her silver i would consider using it every day. i mean, it’s flatware – designed for use, not for saving or just hoarding with other memorable valuables.

it would seem that my sweet momma would smile from that other dimension if she saw people eating mac and cheese or eggs and potatoes or spaghetti or fried rice with her treasured silver/silver-plated forks.

because, after the fact, i’m sure she realized that saving it for good – and you wonder where i got that from??? – is really silly. indeed, i feel like i would hear her as i stood – hesitant – near the wooden silver chest – insisting, “it’s a fork! it’s just a fork!”

in these days of what seems like peril for this world, i’m thinking i would open up that silver chest and pull out the forks, knives, spoons, all the utensil thingies in there. i’d serve them up with homemade pizza or tomato soup or pasta sauce or tikka masala or whatever.

though i don’t have the silver chest or the silver, i do have the lesson.

now, instead of small dollar-store bowls holding our happy-hour snack-time snacks alongside individual-sized select-a-size paper towels, i pull out the cut-glass vessels, the fenton hobnail serving dish, the small china plates, the cloth napkins.

we have no time to waste.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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beauty on its way. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

in what feels like a moment of gardener glory, i suddenly noticed that the peonies are rising. because they are sooo utterly gorgeous, it always feels like great success when they return, when nothing i have done or not done has dissuaded them from coming back. these reddish-maroonish sprouts – full of promise – are growing and, one day down the road, on a warm late spring or early summer day full of sunshine, we will have stunning peonies again. beauty is on its way.

i stumbled onto a social media post with photographs of a variety of women who are now part of the current administration or somehow peripheral to it in a meaningful way. there were before and after pictures. photo shoots of women who had looked, well, like normal women living life, with faces that had faced whatever challenges or successes had come their way to date.

you know, like ours….faces that have grown up with macaroni and cheese, with petticoat junction and gilligan, with phones connected to the wall, with studying into the wee hours of the night and term papers on typewriters, with apartments or houses to decorate and upkeep, with childbirth or the hurdles of adoption, with middle of the night feedings and fevers and teenagers breaking curfews, with illness and recuperation, with job discrimination and grievances, with the loss of our parent or parents, with our bodies ever-changing. faces that have reflected back the tens of thousands of suns we have seen, the tens of thousands of moons we have stared at – wide-awake, the hundreds of thousands of stars we have wished on. faces that have aged through time, every laugh line, every wrinkle, every worry line earned.

the photo essay i saw depicted women who then changed their faces. they erased the laugh lines, the wrinkles, the worry lines, the jowls. they puffed up and exaggerated some version of youth that, in the end, escapes them. they no longer look real. they look plastic, even like the scary dolls you see in antique shoppes. and maybe that’s their point. that feels sad, but seems accurately reflective of the ideology they are choosing to embrace. which makes it even more sad.

because every day we live – we women AND we men – we are gardener glory of the universe. every day we live – we women AND we men – are great successes of endurance, of keeping on, of facing what comes.

and because every day we live – we women AND we men – are beauty on its way.

just as we are.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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the opened closed-door. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

i recently had a conversation with someone i haven’t seen or spoken to in almost fifty years. we held space together on the phone gently, tenderly. for this wasn’t a social call where we spent time reminiscing about lovely memories and silly anecdotes. instead this was a call that transcends mere words, that was opening doors long-closed, turning metaphoric knobs for access into painful times and angst-filled recollections. i was shaking and weepy when i got off the phone, but grateful to have had the chance to meet together on empathetic ground.

there are some doors – that in the turning of the knob, the opening of the door – are most difficult. i am learning – at this time in my life – that these doors, though they make me shudder, even squeamish – are worthy of opening. these doors will eventually lead to the place that will ease the constant butterfly-like-vibration in my chest. these doors will set free the ramifications of all that happened long ago. these doors promise new. they promise perspective born of process. they promise light – granted to the dark of way-earlier life.

this call – like others in recent times – was somewhat excruciating. it was hard to dial up – to open that slammed door. yet, i was grateful to feel the undeniable comfort – coexisting with deep grief – that came in its aftermath. profound.

not alone, understood, we both knew without saying that we ‘got it’ on its most cellular level, the granular place of shared traumatic experience, the inevitable sisterhood beyond the opened closed-door.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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to feed or not to feed. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

under the quilt, getting ready to tune out current events, domestic and global news, opinions dedicated to either side of the chaos, we cursor-ed the play button on mike wanders for a stunning video of him out west – a trip about which he literally oozed awe and gratitude. we were ready to no longer have eyes on what was happening in the world. it is all exhausting.

and then we heard it.

the distinct metal clinking sound of the birdfeeder outside our open window. too late for any of our birdies and definitely not helter-skelter enough to be a squirrel attempting to push down the little plate that releases deliveries of seed.

d turned on the back light so we could look out the window.

and there – quite happy for the extra lighting – was this raccoon, happily at what-would-seem our vending machine, designed just for him. standing and tapping the plate and then devouring, tapping the plate, devouring, tapping, devouring. we laughed at him – even with the window opened – and he just continued his munchfest sans interruption, maybe even happy for an audience.

we are not cranky about him eating our birdseed. this feeder holds a lot of seed and we know we will replenish it for the birds again.

instead, we delighted in the antics of this very cute raccoon. a bit later – without knowing we had seen him in our driveway, our dear westneighbors texted us with a picture of him sleeping on the peak of our garage roof, his full belly making him a bit tuckered out, i guess. he is doing his part as an ecosystem generalist.

i’m not sure what else raccoons do in the world – other than eat. though I’m guessing he may think the same about all of us. what we don’t know we don’t know.

it occurs to me – that at the crux of it all – making sure that all creatures – and, even more specifically, all people – having enough to eat should be paramount. to sustain life, to carry on with enough energy for all life’s tasks – the most basic of needs – we should be absolutely committed to the doctrine of keeping people fed any and every where.

and yet, here we are. eliminating nationwide emergency food assistance, snap and wic in our own country, eliminating food aid to the international sphere by usaid and the world food program. the rhetoric and propaganda around eliminating support of these humanitarian efforts are demeaning and literally beg vulgar responses.

what the hell are we doing here?

starving people is despicable policy. particularly when you are personally pocketing grift that could feed the poor, provide education and healthcare, take care of the populace and then some.

in the case of this – the very absence of compassion – the lack of soul of this administration – this shaw quote should instead read: “there is no sincerer love than the love of self.”

shameful beyond belief.

i imagine that now that our raccoon knows where to find it, he will be back for a snack tonight. we will be glad to hear him outside our window.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY

photograph credit to dear michele

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with and without the cord. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

i try to imagine people – nowadays – existing solely on landlines of the past. it makes me giggle thinking about it. though we still have a landline, even i would have trouble with it.

growing up we had a phone on our kitchen wall, by the table and just off the laundry room accordion door. it had a long curly cord on it, so that you could actually move away from the sound of the washer and dryer or change seats to get as far away as possible from others nearby. it wasn’t terribly satisfying.

so we also had a long cord from the wall to the unit on the phone in my mom and dad’s bedroom. once again, sitting in their room didn’t really afford you much privacy, but pulling the phone behind you as far as the cord would allow helped you escape a bit.

no texting. no email. no social media. no gps. no google.

just the phone and the limitations of the cord.

of course back in those days my mom and dad would talk about the party lines they were subjected to – where people could actually listen in to your call if it wasn’t for them and they stayed on the line. ewww. so i guess we had moved ahead in some way with individual – and singular – phone numbers and connections.

i was talking to an old friend the other day – we hadn’t spoken in 46 years, since the early days of those big answering machines with cassette tapes that collected messages from people who missed you when they called. a bit of progress by then.

he mentioned that we all just sort of lost touch. and it was true. it was much harder – back then – to maintain contact with people. you had to sit down and write a letter – and then wait for a reply – or sit down and call, still connected to the wall. i didn’t have a cordless handset until the 90s, so there still were a lot of cords in our lives in the 80s.

my friend and i talked about a road on the shore of long island, where one day – very late at night coming home from the recording studio – i was being followed by a drunk driver, swerving all over the road. i pulled over where there was some swale on the side and this person followed me off the road and slammed into the back of my car. it was late, it was dark, i was alone. it was actually fortunate that the person hit and run, for i was pretty unnerved out there and had no way to get in touch with anyone. the olden days. not necessarily all better.

fast forward to now and i can’t imagine life without our cellphones, without texting, without the ability to email or google or check the weather or scroll the news or social media sites, without the safety of being able to reach someone pretty much anywhere from pretty much anywhere.

but there is a downside as well, it now seems.

the other day we talked about toasters. our toaster is barely a toaster these days. it’s had a good life – a long life – likely about 18-20 years. so, sitting in our sunroom, we had a little chat about maybe – possibly – getting a new toaster. we laughed because we thought if a new one lasts as long, we would be looking for the next toaster in our mid-eighties. wow. that’s bracing. but i digress.

shortly after our little toaster-chat, i went on social media. lo and behold – and like so many other times and examples – there was an ad for toasters. it was a miracle!!

only it wasn’t.

and that doesn’t even begin to describe the nefarious stuff that our government has installed or is planning to utilize – between our social media, the cameras that are literally everywhere, the information provided on voter rolls, in our social security, health and tax records, on our doorbell apps, on our measly telephones.

yes. our measly telephones. our link to everything these days. to our parents, our kids, our friends and family, our plumber, our electrician, our mechanic, our sewer guy and all our contacts, the photographs we take and cherish, our appointments, our reservations, our train schedule, our insurance cards, the maps to the-places-we-go, our favorite stores, our streaming portals, weather predictions, notes of the things we wish to remember, our health and fitness, our music, our banking, our shopping, our inquiring minds. everything. accessible.

seeing the old phone in the antique shoppe stopped us both.

turns out maybe there was a lot more privacy – and, quite possibly, safety – when we were connected to a wall.

*****

CONNECTED © 1995 kerri sherwood

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how it’s supposed to be. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

the first fresh flowers of the year…these beautiful tulips. 20 gave them to me for my birthday in a vase he said he purchased at one of the local thrift shops. they have graced the bistro table in the sunroom and the kitchen counter for over a week now, cheering us in rainy, windy weather.

we have spent some time in the local thrift shops as well, browsing or looking for a specific item or two we need. the st vincent de paul shop in town is clean, organized, with clearly marked items and people to help. it feels respectful of all who enter, for whatever reason they enter.

last night, sitting at the table in the sunroom with these glorious tulips, we used the little china plates we recently bought at the thrift store. with a bit of cheese and bread and a few olives, we looked up from our mini happy hour and, once again, talked about how we really liked finding these sweet 99 cent plates and how proud we were of places nearby so dedicated to making life a little easier at a time when the tasks and obligations and costs of life have been made much, much harder by an administration that doesn’t care about the struggles of ordinary people.

this morning i read in a nextdoor post dedicated to our neighborhood and vicinity a post that a woman wrote looking for opportunities for food. i would have responded with places that generously offer staples and groceries, but there were many – many! – people who had already responded, listing food pantries or shelters that could help provide. it made my heart sing to read all the replies to this woman who had vulnerably expressed her need. people even offered to make a casserole or leave bags of food on their front steps for her to pick up. the woman wrote back, overwhelmed by the sheer number of suggestions and offers. another woman wrote back, “that’s how it’s supposed to be. people helping each other.”

that’s how it’s supposed to be. people helping each other.

exactly.

20 comes over on mondays and thursdays. we share meals those days, with us usually cooking on monday and him on thursday. it is not just for the chance to see each other. it is pooling our resources and sharing a dinner – one less to cook in the week, one less to shop for, one less to pay for. for three people accustomed to leftovers and simplicity, it helps. one concentric circle to another to another…

and every monday and thursday as we stand at the door and wave goodbye, we are reminded – once again – that that’s how it’s supposed to be.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

HELPING HANDS

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