reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Category Archives: goodness


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at home. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

a few years ago we watched a show about housing in the bay area of california. the housing crunch was producing outlandishly high rents, making it impossible for workers – particularly younger people at the outset of their careers – to live anywhere near where they worked. an answer – it seemed – was to offer sleeping pods – bunk bed pods stacked upon each other or next to each other – in a communal living space. with very mixed reviews to these confined space morsels, people moved in and made tiny personal space within communal living their home.

in the many years that our girl was working in the snow industry of the high elevation mountains, she – like every other professional snowboard or ski coach or instructor, every other industry worker from restaurants, boutiques, ski shops, etc – was faced with the impossible task of finding a place to live. costs far outweighed earnings and, so, either these dedicated employees shared spaces (often questionably-worthy of passing basic health standards) renting the rights to a bedroom and a shelf in the refrigerator or they drove extended commutes in all kinds of treacherous weather. it was nerve-wracking, to say the least, as a mom – ever concerned with the daily living conditions of her child (who was far more tolerant of the living conditions than i might have been). post-pandemic exacerbated these circumstances and rentals are scarce or aggressively priced.

for the longest time we have watched house hunters on hgtv. though there are many fix-up kinds of shows, our favorite is the basic house hunters where you watch people select a home to purchase from three homes you virtually-visit with them. you are aware that there have been many other homes considered before this ultimate decision, but you are steeped in the choice between three – with the information of their purchasing budget, their desired amenities and location and a walking tour through the house. it is astounding to us – over and over again – how much a basic house costs these days. we watch – totally immersed – and try to decide which house will be chosen, always blown away by what that choice will cost the buyers.

and each day – for a multitude of reasons – we thank our own home. its old house juju suits us. it is our sanctuary. it looks like us, feels like us, buffets us from the world and renews us. every one of its quirks – that we love – reminds us to love our own quirks. every one of its tiny beauties reminds us of our own tiny beauties. we find peace there and we find a jumping-off place for challenges and self-exploration.

and as i write this, i am aware that – if we are lucky enough to have any physical place we call home – we each make it into what we need. we embrace whatever its circumstance, its location, its imperfection or perfection. we find the space where we feel comfort and reassurance and the ability to be exactly who we are.

some day we would love to travel in an old vw minibus (or one of those amazing converted vans our son-in-law creates), carrying with us all we need for extended periods of time, seeking home in high mountains and canyonlands, deserts or meadowlands, atlantic or pacific beaches, northern forests.

some day we would love to thru-hike one of the national trails, carrying all we need in backpacks on our backs.

either way, i’m pretty certain – even now, even before we have tried either dream – we will feel at home, at peace, in our skin.

“remember, the entrance door to the sanctuary is inside you.” (rumi)

*****

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all that potential. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

it exudes potential.

so many clay pots and assorted planters, i drew a sketch of them all and began to list what plants and herbs and flowers we wished to grow this summer, sorting plants to pots. and we began the dreamy conversation about stepping off the deck and snipping basil or parsley, making ann’s jalapeño poppers, gazing at colorful flowers scattered on deck’s edge or along our gardens of grasses.

we are not well-versed in plants. we are most-definitely not well-versed in growing things to eat. and we truly don’t know much about different annual flowers – so we depend on the tags at the nursery and research. a few days ago we were drawn to two tiny-bloom flowers, though we didn’t know anything about them. it was a heart thing.

last fall my sister-in-law sent me two peony roots. we carefully planted them – exactly as the directions stated – making sure that the “eyes” were facing up and the root wasn’t too deep into the soil. in the miracle that is spring, peony shoots have risen from the ground – and you would think we’ve given birth – our wonder, our level of excitement are off the charts. it is a joy to think of these new beauties – with gorgeous big white blooms – growing alongside two established peonies, many ornamental grasses, wild geranium, day lilies, hosta, and healthy weeds of many varieties.

we have much to learn…about all of it.

gardening, we see, is like the joys of being an artist. experimentation and not being able to determine an outcome ahead of time – both are important in the process. we give over to the mystery of it all. we know that it all is steeped in potential and we embrace it. it’s a giant responsibility – a gift of nurture we can give – to our artistry, to our garden.

it would be an easy segue to connect the dots of this kind of potential – this kind of responsibility – to the governing of this country. it would be easy to speak of the glorious mystery of our melting pot, the growth that is possible in the garden of humanity. it would be simple to believe that there should be wonder and great excitement in nurturing all the people of this country – whether or not they are different than those we know well – learning and growing together. it would be natural to depend on research and heart in moving forward all that we – in these United States – can be.

but no. i won’t go there. it all just seems so obvious.

a country – a first-world democracy exuding potential beyond belief.

why wouldn’t you tend that garden with great care and embracing respect and intelligent research and nurturing love?

why would you wish to crush or annihilate or suppress or obliterate all that potential?

*****

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mustard seed stewards. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

like big red, it was an old truck – a pickup that has been around for awhile. in front of us driving down one of the main arteries in town, i was hoping that they would pull into the grocery store parking lot so that we could stop by their truck and tell them how much we liked their bumper stickers.

they kept going. so i never had the chance to tell them.

i feel like they don’t need to be told. they know. they know how important these gestures are – the reminder – in pride rainbow colors – that “equality hurts no one” and that we are all “human”. equality for all persons – regardless of gender identification, sexual orientation, race, ethnicity, nation of origin, religion, economic status. human – bones and flesh and organs and a heart and a brain. breathing in and out the same way, we are all human. well, maybe.

for the things we are witnessing these days – the cruelty and chaos – are most definitely subhuman, far below any expectation one would have for an administration that actually cares – read that again – cares – about its populace, cares for its populace.

today is cinco de mayo…a day to celebrate mexican culture and its rich heritage. though you may find yourself at the local watering hole having a margarita or donning a sombrero, it is a holiday more celebrated in the united states than in mexico. often misunderstood as mexico’s independence day, it is simply a local holiday in that country.

if you are having a margarita or some fish tacos or steak fajitas on this day i am hoping that you are also honoring the people of this country that runs along our southern border. courageous and hard-working, family-centered and wanting opportunity for a better, safer life – just like you or me – we must be careful to extend a helping hand, just as we would wish for in like circumstances.

if you have held a “mass deportation” sign in your hand or voted for someone who did i would ask you just exactly where your ancestors came from – for the vast majority of us, our family tree did not grow from seeds in the dirt of this country. our melting pot country’s origin is that of diversity – good grief! there’s THAT word!! we have all assimilated into this country, but we cannot forget that as humans – humans – we came from somewhere else.

it seems incumbent upon us as humans – humans – to be compassionate, to be benevolent, to be humanitarian. to buoy our fellow humans in the populace of this nation with intentions of equality and love.

i hope we see that old maroon truck around again one of these days. i just want to thank them for their tiny public statements, mustard seeds in a land where we – now, especially – need reminders and stewards of the potential for the growth of goodness.

*****

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

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your place in the sun. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

“cause every day invites you to find your place in the sun…” (pablo cruise – a place in the sun – cory lerios, bud cockrell)

it’s a lot.

these times are a lot.

we venture out of the mind-boggling absorption of what’s really happening out there every now and then. and sit in the sun. or browse plants and flowers at the nursery. or take to the trail. or pet the dogga.

because we all need a break from it at some point, this devastation that wracks our hearts…just a few tiny moments away from thinking about it.

the rest of life is going on. people are working and sleeping, having babies and leaving this earth, healing and fighting disease with all their might, doing real life. right smack in the middle of horrific – – real life.

and sometimes that is enough.

really.

enough.

the rest of all of it is just too much.

“…well, everybody’s heart needs a holiday some time…”

*****

PEACE © 2004 kerri sherwood

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the storms. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

there are 6186 photos on my phone that – in some shape or form – are photos of the sky. there are 2400 that are of clouds. i’m pretty sure there’s some overlap there. but that is a lot of photos looking up.

with yet another storm watch in the state – on an unusually warm late april night – we sat out on the deck with 20 watching the sky. i took pictures. it felt like a summer night – minus the mosquitos – and we adirondack-chair-sat for quite a while, intermittent conversation and laughter punctuating the quiet.

as i’ve previously written about, we pay attention to storm watches and warnings. we use our weather app to track the arriving front systems, to watch the hourly forecast. we depend on it to make good decisions for our safety.

i remember a roadtrip – crossing through the state of wyoming – trying to outrun a giant dark greenish sky that seemed to be chasing after us. littlebabyscion has never zipped along as fast as it did that day. i remember d carrying dogga downstairs to the basement, with supplies and important papers, all while the tornado siren was sounding outside. i remember – way back in the day – laying in a ditch in the middle of rural illinois somewhere while vacationing at my big brother’s, his vehicle parked on the grassy shoulder of the county road on which we had been driving. i remember – not too long ago – just last june – sitting in littlebabyscion literally tucked up against a brick restaurant after-hours as we tried to evade the tornadic wind that had lifted us up off the open parking lot.

each time we made efforts – to use caution, to think-it-through, to be reasonably safe – and we took action. each time survival was the end goal. the storms of climate change are becoming apocalyptic – severe, with devastating consequences. we do our best to be knowledgeable, alerted, constructive.

the gale force winds of corruption are whirling around us. we must use caution, must think-it-through, must be reasonably safe, must take action. survival is the end goal. the collapsing of democracy is apocalyptic — severe, with devastating consequences.

we must all do our best.

*****

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the exquisite. [kerri’s blog on flawed wednesday]

in these days we are waking very early. our old dogga is hungry, maybe a little stiff, needing to get up and get us moving. and so we do. we open blinds and let the sun rise through our windows. we sit with our coffee against pillows in a bed we have now lowered closer to the floor for dogga. we listen to the birds and our pond gurgling. it is quiet. really quite exquisite.

we wake to the beautiful barebones of this universe – and sit in appreciation, silent as we listen and absorb the dawn of this next day. we are both very, very aware of this gift of time, this gift of stillness. we revel in the simplest of things for it is the simplest of things with which we surround ourselves; our budget is squishy-tight and we try our best to abide by the premise of ‘less is more’.

and it is in those moments – the moments of rays across our quilt, coffee in our hands, dogga at our feet – the moments of listening – that i can’t understand.

i can’t understand how anyone – particularly any person in any influential position of leadership – can wake up in the morning with evil-agendized intent in their heart. i can’t understand the superficiality of wanting-it-all, needing-it-all, having-it-all. i can’t grok the indecency of plotting against persons, peoples, missions, goodness.

i wonder how it is that one can wake so conversely differently, full of dreadful scheming. i wonder how it is that those people are of the same humankind. i wonder what twisted them, what broke their connection to morality, what tore the silken filaments of the recognition of unconditional beauty from them. what maelstrom enveloped their souls and trapped them in an eddy of cruelty.

we sit on the deck and look to the sky through the mixup of branches above us to the north. dogga lays nearby and the sun is sinking lower, the dusk sky an ombré canvas.

and – like many of you, i suppose – i still can’t understand. and it still doesn’t feel real.

but it is. and there are those – waking up yesterday, today, and – with nothing stopping them – likely, tomorrow – the textures of our woven universe unimportant, their own needs driving corrupt obsessions of power and control, their view of the world – this country – dark, their actions ruthless and cavalier, each of them impervious to the exquisite.

and the barebones of the universe sigh deeply, grief spilling into the technicolored chiaroscuro sky of dawn, the ink of dusk.

*****

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my mom. still. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

every time i turn a shampoo bottle over and empty the remains into a new shampoo bottle – each upside-down tap of the bottle, drawing the last vestiges of shampoo to the top, makes me think of her.

every bird in the backyard, every endcrust of bread, every leftover dinner, every time i do laundry or make lists, merry morning sunshine.

every time we use the wire cheese slicer, every time i pass by the snake plant, every time i tend our houseplants, every time i thank someone who has generously served us in some way.

every time i see a dachshund or a hosta, every time i think of Long Island, every time i write in my calendar, every area rug on a wood floor, sweet potatoes, math.

every time i make do, every time i save something for ‘special’, every time i turn a few specific phrases or use a coupon, collect rocks or driftwood, every time i make – or have – french fries or iced tea.

every time i see liverwurst or have rye toast, catch the aroma of roast beef in an oven or see a jar of ragu sauce.

when i see beets, when i have onion dip, when I devour crumb cake or chips ahoy, when i coffee-sit, when i repurpose things, when i think about baked ziti or darning socks.

when i defend how to pronounce “sauna”, when i see the “sisu” sign in my studio, spiral notebooks and scrap copies, when i hear “wowee!”, when i stood at the edge of the grand canyon.

every time. i think of my sweet momma. and I wonder how it is possible that she left this world ten years ago today. ten. ten years without her. ten years of not being able to pick up the phone and call her. ten years without mom hugs. ten years without a mom who would listen to any story i told her – any number of times i told it – knowing that my biggest fan was this woman, who was ahead of her time in so many ways.

i wonder how she is feeling now about the turn of all she left behind. i wonder if she has that certain stink eye she’d get, wishing to admonish this country’s current leaders and those following in lock-step. i wonder if the public deflection and distraction of some – avoiding the truth of their choice, avoiding taking responsibility for that choice, literally cheerleading this horror, loudly or silently – i wonder if seeing all that makes her crazy. knowing my momma – and her humanitarian and political leanings – i’m fairly certain she is pretty “irked” – as she would say. she is likely fired up and giving someone a piece of her mind somewhere on the other side. as high-road as she was (and, probably, is) she is not one to put up with the destruction of the country for which she and my dad sacrificed.

and so, every time i speak up or speak out i think of her. every time i voice absolute protection of the rights of members of my family. every time i express horror for the dismantling of this democracy and the cruel disenfranchising of people of the populace. every time i see another nail skewering women. every time i read about the dumbing-down, the elimination of history, the blunting of truth, the big-time grift. every time i stand up for what she taught me about kindness to people. every time. i think of her.

and every time i see the print “live life, my sweet potato” i think of her. and i miss her. yet again.

i think it will always be this way.

after all, she’s my mom.

still.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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pi(e) in the sky. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

i owe my love of math to my sweet momma and two amazing math teachers in junior high and high school (woody and bill).

so to look up in the sky and see ‘pi’ made me laugh aloud. of course i sent a photo to both of my kiddos with the caption “so is this what they mean by pi in the sky?” – to which neither responded a peep. oh well. i thought it was pretty funny – in a corny kind of way.

it did, however, make me think of all things pi-in-the-sky, er…pie-in-the-sky.

pi (3.14…) is a constant. it never changes. it is the ratio of the circumference of a circle to its diameter. it is used in many equations and – from the time you learn it – is a number you just never forget.

yeah, kind of like the constitution or the declaration of independence. once you learn about them, you never forget.

well, most people never forget.

well, some people never forget.

anyway, here we are – in the middle of a constitutional crisis – with the declaration of independence mouth-open-silently-screaming relevancies at us – and my pie-in-the-sky is that it will all just stop – with a happy hallmark ending where all rifts fade and all fighting ceases and people just love one another and live in peace and harmony and respectful, compassionate democracy for the rest of all time.

pretty pie-in-the-sky-ish, eh?

a dear old friend sent me a youtube video of the song beautiful city (from godspell):

“out of the ruins and rubble/out of the smoke/out of our night of struggle/can we see a ray of hope?/one pale thin ray reaching for the day… we can build a beautiful city/yes, we can/we can build a beautiful city/not a city of angels/but we can build a city of men/we may not reach the ending/but we can start/slowly but truly mending/brick by brick/heart by heart/now, maybe now/we start learning how/…when your trust is all but shattered/when your faith is all but killed/you can give up bitter and battered/or you can slowly start to build!…”(stephen schwartz)

i am hoping against hope that this is not pie-in-the-sky. that a chance remains for this country to rebuild – to stop this madness – to stop the evil and cruel extremism that is taking over – to stop authoritarianism – to stop the ruining of this democracy.

pi in the sky above me, i couldn’t resist taking a photograph.

i couldn’t resist sending it as my picture-of-the-day.

and i couldn’t resist hoping – at least for a little bit – for some pie-in-the-sky.

*****

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

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gnarly. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

“ooh child, things are gonna get easier

ooh child, things’ll get brighter

ooh child, things are gonna get easier

ooh child, things’ll get brighter

some day, yeah, we’ll put it together and we’ll get it undone

some day when your head is much lighter

some day, yeah, we’ll walk in the rays of a beautiful sun

some day when the world is much brighter…”

(“ooh child” – stan vincent 1970 the five stairsteps)

it is hard for me to avoid. i simply cannot help it. or maybe i just can’t resist the impulse.

we play rummikub every monday and thursday with 20 after we share dinner together. and – every single time – something one of them – d or 20 – says, makes me break into song.

we were talking about the obvious – you know – the state of our country. it was in an unusual fit of optimism. it was right after we talked about bernie sanders and aoc and the pushback of intellectually woke people against authoritarianism etc etc etc (i know you hear that line now – from the king and i – uh-huh, uh-huh – etc etc etc).

it had been a week since we had seen 20 (which is also unusual) and much had happened – on both sides – so there was a lot to talk about.

in that week we had found a different trail. it wound its way through a rural landscape and we enjoyed its newness. and then there was this tree. one sturdy old gnarly oak in the forefront of a blank field. stunning. perhaps a hundred years old. perhaps more. its silhouette against the sky so intense, strikingly gnarly in a good way.

we have such an appreciation for these lands of space through which we hike. we have hiked out east, down south, out west, up north. we’ve hiked in county parks, state parks, national parks. we dream of thru-hiking one day on one of the national trails. we hold these places in high regard, grateful for the glorious beauty, the potential for peacefulness, the celebration of the wild.

and so our conversation of late and of that night – of course – is also about the threat to these places (in addition to all the other gnarly-extremely-twisted corrupt threats of the administration too long to list or even grok in any conscience-based way.) we talked about our new forest preserve hike and we talked about national parks. and it feels sickening inside to think of the decimation of any of this. and all for the wealth of the wealthiest.

in the middle of our rummikub game – me…stuck with gnarly chips – a double of black 13s and a double of 1s and the grasp of the plastic trophy seeming bleak – and in the middle of the accompanying punctuations of news-chaos-of-the-day conversation – it suddenly came to mind, rose to the top.

the song ooh child was written about times of strife.

i started singing.

and hoping.

that some day we – this broken country – will put it together and get it undone. and then we’ll walk in the rays of a beautiful sun – when the world is much brighter.

they rolled their eyes, poking fun at the records spinning in my brain. and, for a few minutes, we all laughed.

and then the lyrics sank in…

…sigh.

*****

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streamers. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

though we love-us (as they say) a familiar trail, we found a new trail to hike recently.

it was a really windy day and we set out knowing we would not-know what we might find along the way. that – in itself – is one of the gifts of hiking. even on trails we know like the back of our hands.

i knew being a minister of music like the back of my hand. and, as the easter holiday just passed by, i thought a lot about the 35 or so easters for which i had been responsible – the decades i had shaped the music of these seasons. i always believed it was my job to help people connect to that which they could not see – thus, ultimately, to touch faith, to touch love.

a dearest friend of ours retired this past week. with great joy, we celebrated his new freedom and listened as he told about the party his colleagues had thrown for him. he told of their stories, their comments, their appreciation – it was a powerful validation for him and for all the time and energy and life he had spent working in that place. he finished with a flourish – full of affirmation – ready to walk into next. one door closed, others ready to be opened.

it brought up personal grief.

for my very last days – of that career – one of the professions in which i used my knowledge of music – that spanned three and half decades – these days were not lined with validation or gratitude or even a nod of thanks. instead – for me – they were fraught with being fired, what felt like a plethora of undistilled meanness, full of unanswered questions, betrayal and shock and – then – absolute quiet. an assault.

i never finished. there was no brunch, there were no casseroles, no sheet cake, no jello mold. there was no t-shirt, no mug to carry off and use each morning, warmed by the memories of time spent.

this was an awakening.

i suddenly realized that i wasn’t done.

for all the sorting and cleaning and throwing out, there was still something incomplete.

there was no flourish; there was no affirmation.

this was an epiphany.

since i can’t go back literally, there is something in me that wishes to find a way to closure. maybe it is to go back to this place we found on this new trail. to this gate that stands in the messy field of wild grasses next to the birch tree just a bit back from the meadow. maybe if i lift up that gate and just step – even just one step – into what is past it – what is on the other side – maybe it might feel – in some metaphorical-retirement-party-crepe-paper-streamers-strewn way – like there was a little flourish. that i will grant myself the validation, the affirmation – the acknowledgment of a great deal of dedicated time of my life – that others tore from me, disregarded – that i will know – deep inside me – that i gave that place – and all the 35 years in that particular spoke of my sedimentary-layered life of music – giant pieces of my creative soul and that i can finally – finally – leave the familiar behind and get about the new. whatever their agenda or issues – in an end that was not of my choosing – it should not detract from my own celebration of me.

i will never be a minister of music again. that part of my life – that arrow of dedication of the music within me – has finished. and – i was damn good at it. i understood it. i knew it like the back of my hand.

and now it’s time for a new trail.

right after i pull down all the streamers and toss them out.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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