reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Monthly Archives: March 2024


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9 to 5’ers. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

she said it: “we’re 9 to 5’ers!” and i laughed. “so are we!!” i replied. and, most days, it is pretty much true. sleepynightnight time comes earlier these days – with exceptions – and so does the first coffee in the morning. much earlier. and i like it this way. there is nothing like the sunrise streaming in the window, spilling onto our quilt, dogga at our feet and hot coffee in our hands. perfection.

in life, though, neither of us has spent all our time as a 9 to 5’er – in the traditional sense. though we have both had positions in professional arenas, we have mostly spent our lives either working for non-profits or in entrepreneurial projects and ventures. neither of those are 9 to 5 jobs. they are whenever-wherever-however-you-are-needed jobs.

from an earnings point of view, these are usually not spectacularly paying positions. they are not laden with benefits; they generally do not provide any kind of annuity or retirement.

from a practical point of view, there are often not enough hours in a day to do all the work you invest in when you sign on with a non-profit. it takes a big heart and an absence of calculators and time clocks to keep moving the soul of an organization forward. one would be saddened to divide salary paid by hours worked. instead, it takes true joy and every good intention. because it is about service and about passion, patience and resilience. from indeed, “when working for a nonprofit, the work you’re doing is meaningful. instead of working to grow a company, you’re working to make a difference.” the bottom line is mission. 9 to 5 flies in the face of nonprofit anima.

it is what it is.

we drove – early morning – to milwaukee a couple weeks ago. in the thick of commuter traffic and travelers, i was reminded that this was somewhat unfamiliar for me. it was a little hard for me to grok the unhappy faces of drivers around us. maybe they were heading to the 9 to 5. maybe they were tired of the grind. maybe they were just tired. i don’t know.

it prompted conversation between us about the kind of hours we worked in various service organizations and institutions over the decades. always on some kind of salary, those hours weren’t etched in stone. there weren’t time sheets and – likewise – there weren’t end-of-year bonuses. there were giant ideas and creative collaborations, camaraderie developed through shared interests and abilities, dedication with real-live love at the core. that stuff isn’t etched in stone. it’s soul.

i laughed when kate said they were 9 to 5’ers, for they are now retired and volunteering up a storm. but i agreed. for we are as well.

early to bed and early to rise. we are – at long last – real-life 9 to 5’ers.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

SMACK-DAB. Šī¸ 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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bricks and boundaries. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

the snow fell in a not-so-unexpected twist of march. it was heavy and wet and, in its stickiness, made the world around us beautiful. we were both glad for it. now, a few days later, we are ready for tulips and daffodils. but for those days that it stuck around, it was perfect.

the old wall out front is one of my favorite things about our yard. it is far from perfect; its mortar is shedding. but it is gorgeous old brick and divides the upper yard from the lower yard. when the water company did their thing out front, i was worried it would topple. my fears were alleviated when they dug next to the wall and i could see that there was a four-foot footing deep into the ground, at least holding up the structure in a basic way. not that some of the bricks would not individually separate from the wall, but the wall itself would remain stable.

boundaries are kind of like that. weather – or things – or people – can try to undermine them, but a good solid foundation – and some sisu – will ultimately keep them standing.

this is something i have needed to remind myself.

in a time when finessed narrative and the non-telling of truth has been rampant, i need remember to stand firm, to hold fast, to grit my teeth and trust what i know to be true. i need remember that people are all fallible and that gossip is a more powerful force than truth and that anyone who doesn’t ask questions – seeking truth – should be paid no heed.

i have discovered – painfully – that people will attempt to knock all your bricks down for their own purposes, whatever those may be. i have discovered – shockingly – that people will declare their own righteousness and – yet – will fabricate whatever it takes to be right, to be more powerful, to be better. i have discovered – disappointingly – that people will betray others for agenda.

i haven’t really understood completely why i love that old brick wall so much. we could have our yard smoothed out – level the higher and lower portions – or smooth out the difference in a gentle slope. but i truly do love the wall. the old bricks – which have endured decades of time and the changes and challenges that weather brings. the old bricks – with a patina that no tumbler would be able to attain. the old bricks – worn in just the right way – bits and pieces broken off, yet still standing.

mostly, i have discovered that old brick walls have a real purpose in life.

as do boundaries.

*****

BOUNDARIES from RIGHT NOW Šī¸ 2010 kerri sherwood

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friendly with bears. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

the trees out front and across the street often filter the sunlight, depending on the angle of the sun. we are on the north side of the street and so, we have a southern exposure. gazing outside at the sun filtering through the limbs doesn’t always give me an accurate picture of what it’s like out. i am given to stepping out on the front step to see what it really feels like out there, to see what it’s really like, to see the real.

she said, “you can’t trust people just because of the mask they are wearing.” and she’s right. the masks – the titles – we make assumptions that don’t really depict the person. we grant pedestals upon which others have placed people wearing the masks, donning the costume, assuming the title, but all the while betraying authenticity. our view of others is filtered through their masks, whatever it is they want us to see. the sun through the limbs.

it all somehow makes me think of the song “return to pooh corner”, the hundred acre wood, the world of pooh and piglet. maybe it’s a yearning for that sort of innocence, that sort of blissful good intention. we didn’t wonder about winnie the pooh’s agenda or piglet’s loyalty. they were – clearly- a bear and a pig and they spoke to truth. winnie the pooh says, “i’m never afraid with you.” no filters.

i suppose that truth – sans filters – is like the hundred acre wood – the forest, though. like the sun, it’s always there – always available. a.a. milne states, “but of course, it isn’t really good-bye, because the forest will always be there…and anybody who is friendly with bears can find it.”

you just have to be friendly with bears.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

SURRENDER NOW mixed media 24″x24″

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

today i am 65 and this is my future.

it is full of seeds, full of possibility, full of tomorrows.

and it will all spin and float and whirligig – just like these maple seedpods.

though wrinklier now than in last spring or last summer – and, really, ever more wrinkly – these samaras are ever viable and will coax saplings from the ground once they disperse. with big breezes at their backs, the winds of change, the tug of relevance, in fields of gold and forests of native plants. though they have been dormant, though they haven’t germinated for months or even years, they remain alive.

alive.

resilient.

for placing samaras in a bowl of water, it is the seedpods that sink that have seeds likely to germinate. the others – the ones floating – are less likely, though sometimes it simply takes a little soak in warm water, a little good soil and a continued cold blast of air for some time – a bit of fallow – that will draw out the remaining life.

it’s funny. you’d think that the test for a maple seed would be it if floats in water – floating – the ability to rise above that which wishes to drown you. but the real test – for the likely viability of a maple seed – is to hope that it sinks. clearly, maple seeds hold their breath.

and then, the seeds breathe. out of the bottom of the bowl in which they have sunk. and the seeds sprout. even from the trauma they have endured, the inertia they have tolerated. and the seeds grow big strong maple trees, even though buckthorn and other toxic invasives would prefer them stifled. the maples withstand, persist, ride it all out.

so – for those of you out there who are thinking 65 is run-roughshod-over, washed-up, put-out-to-pasture, tested by toxins, no-longer-relevant, done – i have some news.

some good news.

it is the steadfastness of a drowned seedpod.

or, in the case of a wrinkled-up-old-floater, just a little warm water, a little good soil, a little cold fallow and then, a little sun.

either way, watch out. 65 is only the beginning.

*****

THAT MORNING SOMEDAY from BLUEPRINT FOR MY SOUL Šī¸ 1996 kerri sherwood

IN A SPLIT SECOND from AS SURE AS THE SUN Šī¸ 2002 kerri sherwood — PLEASE NOTE: This song is not “jazz” nor is any part of its copyright or publishing rights owned by Rumblefish.

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the fermata of snow. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

and somehow, the universe knew and the snow began to fall.

and everything became quiet and peaceful. all forward movement ceased. we sat in the pause.

this fermata was certainly needed. we had been feverishly working, working. emotions were high and our energy was almost depleted. but then the snow came.

though spring had made an appearance and our garden – peeking out – was circumspect about the snowfall, we welcomed its hush. every flake that fell received thanks from us. and it kept falling.

our fermata in the snow granted us a bit of rest, a bit of perspective. we took deep breaths and moved slowly through our day. we gazed out the window and watched as the snow covered all – everything – in a blanket of white. it erased all the writing on the page. it shushed the noise in our busy heads. it lent ease to our weary minds and hearts. it took the astonishing – disheartening – events of the week and buried them under inches of snow. it cleared the ugly like the swoosh of lifting cellophane on a magic slate.

and when the swirl slowed a bit and i stood on the deck – giant flakes gently falling – gazing out at the pristine world surrounding us, i realized that was pretty much all that mattered. we had been granted time. time to consider and rejuvenate, time to reflect, time to clean off the shields we held so tightly – the ones that protected us. time to grasp onto snowflakes – quickly melting – and realize – once again – that life is just too short.

the fermata of snow. well-timed.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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in fields of flowers. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

and soon, the world around us will explode with flowers. and spring ephemerals will rise out of thawing ground. crocus follow on the heels of earliest rising snowdrops. and then daffodils and tulips and maybe even hyacinths sneak into view. skunk cabbage joins the fray of the dance and trilliums send up their periscope stalks. jack-in-the-pulpit stands righteously in the savanna underbrush, sharing energy with jill-in-the-pulpit. and the mayapples…those mayapples wait to burst their canopy umbrellas up, protecting their delicate white blossoms. all together, it is a community of the transitory, sharing space. all thorns are set aside to regale the world with beauty.

george told us on the trail that many, many – most, he ventured to guess – do not look about as they hike. he said that it is rare to see someone stop on the trail to really notice, to pay attention, to ponder. he was pleased to see us – two strangers – standing and photographing.

for us, it is most-of-the-time impossible to hike and not pay notice. but, i can tell you, it is very difficult to hike – and really, truly pay attention – if there is something heavy on our hearts. i would think it impossible to hike – and wander in the fields of flowers – if there are thorns in your heart.

as far as i know, thorns in your heart may preclude your seeing of any beauty at all. they may predispose you, color your view, cloud your eyes to what-really-is, ruin any chance of you experiencing the ephemerally blissful moments of this life.

because – in terms of this world, this universe – we are really more like spring flowers than any other. we emerge and are quickly fading. we are gifted with ever so little time.

and, just like we are like spring flowers, we are also unlike spring flowers. we are not perennials. this moment – now – is our chance…to grow and bud and bloom.

how much better to wander in fields of flowers – of beauty – than to squander time and languish in thorns.

*****

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

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drive away. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

there are people who are immersed in negativity. they eat it, drink it, breathe it, live it. i have learned – that it matters not what truth is if they can convolute it into their own narrative, if they can spin it as negative, if they can lift themselves up by pushing someone else under water – or, in some cases – under the bus.

life

is too short for that.

is too much a gift for that.

is too interdependent for that.

is too precious for that.

has more potential than that.

and we can all choose differently.

we drove away from negativity. walked down the hill, got into littlebabyscion, drove out of the parking lot, made a right and a left and a right and drove on. away.

and behind us – far behind us – we left the scourge of scowling faces, of spinning stories, of agenda-riddling, of adversarial contention.

and we drove further, further.

away.

i opened the window of littlebabyscion.

the cold air rushed in and swirled around, pulling negativity out.

and i could breathe.

and my sweet momma – through the filament of dimension between us – whispered, “live life, my sweet potato.”

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

SMACK-DAB. Šī¸ 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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my nest. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

i felt it as we pulled in our driveway.

most of the time i can feel this. though sometimes, i am too busy or rushed. and though sometimes, i am frazzled with thoughts. and though sometimes, i am worried or distracted. and though sometimes, i have forgotten the simplicities in the midst of complexities.

i felt it though. and it was palpable.

the driveway greeted us as we pulled in – familiar cracks along its way. the wires overhead tugged and dipped in the wind. the leaves leftover from fall and winter blew in front of us. the house whispered, “welcome home.”

and this time – this time – i heard it. clear as day, as they say.

the whisper of a home – this place i have gone to for rest and nourishment, for creative work and rejuvenation, for the growing of beloveds and the gathering of friends, for belly-laughter and sob-filled tears, for refuge and solitude. this sanctuary. this place.

as we drove – on our way home – i could think of nothing better than to enter our home, hug on dogga, throw on my sweats and comfy boots, prepare a small meal. in this place.

my nest.

“this morning, in the fresh field,

i came upon a hidden nest.

it held four warm, speckled eggs.

i touched them.

then went away softly,

having felt something more wonderful

than all the electricity of new york city.” (mary oliver)

*****

THE WAY HOME from THIS PART OF THE JOURNEY Šī¸ 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood

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the green glow. life. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

and the deadened stalks of underbrush began to show signs of life. instead of the greys and browns of winter, its lack of light and its deep shadows, the sun has drawn out buds of newness and there is a slight glow of green in the woods.

soon, that green glow will grow and it will push out all the shadows of what had been, of the eradication that had happened in the preserve, of the fires and the heavy equipment’s tearing and grinding of buckthorn and other invasives. soon, the green glow will reflect back the warmth of the sunlight of spring and regrowth and we will walk in places that are not heavy with the press of toxic plants or trees. soon, the green glow on stems of underbrush, on trunked branches of trees will distinguish goodness from that which chokes out life.

walking – in the woods – last summer, last fall, early winter – it was hard to imagine – almost impossible – to really grok – that the beauty of the underbrush and the forest was being overrun by that which would utterly ruin it.

walking now – in the woods – in late winter/early spring – still with its juxtaposition of the echoes of the dark and the light, new vegetation and old chokemonsters, goodness and destruction – it’s ridiculously easy to see the difference.

the green glow. and the forest grows.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

INSTRUMENT OF PEACE mixed media 48″x91″

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

i’m on the side of the fuzzy-wuzzy.

there is never a time i will pass by a caterpillar attempting to make its way across a busy trail without stopping to help it, to aid it across the pathway, to shield it from harm, to literally pick it up and place it on the other side, to protect it.

i have gotten some funny looks doing this.

yet, i will continue to do this. i will continue to protect, to aid, to shield, to carry tiny critters that are in harm’s way, beings that are subjected to elements against which they are not equipped, creatures that are in the way of someone else’s forward movement – by foot, bike tires, four-wheelers, agenda.

because – if one has ever been the caterpillar on the trail, threatened – even debilitated – by someone else’s negligence, someone else’s inaction, someone else’s inconceivable agenda or apathy, someone else’s aggression – then one knows the importance of others, of their care and concern, of their help, of their doing-something, of their protection.

and because we never know when we might be the fuzzy-wuzzy.

*****

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

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