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the path back is the path forward

Category Archives: goodness


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

cattails feel like home to me.

i grew up on long island – which is, quite obviously by definition, surrounded by water. i spent the vast majority of my time outside at the beach. winter, spring, summer and fall. pebbly beaches along the sound, sandy dunes along the ocean, beach grasses and willowy reeds dominate the vegetation and, so, seeing cattails is like seeing home.

the next time we go there i’ll spend a good bit of time at those beaches. it will be time to reclaim them, to reclaim that place.

it is no surprise to learn that these plants that pull at my heart – cattails – are resilient and adaptable, persistent and resourceful, able to flourish in all kinds of circumstances and under adverse conditions.

spiritually, they symbolize peace and tranquility – the very things i always felt at those beaches back in the day, the same thing i feel as we hike through portions of our trail where we are dwarfed by the cattails surrounding us.

i slow down in those sections, soaking up the denseness of these stands on both sides of the trail. seagulls and red-winged blackbirds elicit the same when i spot them – they zip around and i stand – transported back in time to the marshland on my way to crab meadow or the dunes surrounded by sand fencing on fire island. i stand in memory. no wonder i love this trail.

we arrive back home after hiking – a tiny bit sunburned, our legs tired. the grasses and daylilies in the front yard greet us as we pull in. they are robust and their greeting is in chorus. and i realize that these, too, are the plants of the island. these grasses, these daylilies, spilling-over hydrangea, the ferns in the back, the hosta, sweet lavender…they are the plantings of the waterfront; they are familiar.

we surround ourselves purposefully – and sometimes unintentionally – with things that help us, things that feel good, things that ground us. we sink roots deep and move in the wind like the reeds in marshes, like cattails in a summer storm. we are resilient and flexible, making do with workarounds and chutzpah. we survive and have unlimited ability to thrive.

we are just like the cattails.

those plants that feel like home.

*****

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

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

there was a tornado watch. because i am pretty storm-averse, i was vigilant about checking whether it would become a tornado warning. i have things prepped for such moments and have put them into practice each time a warning has come our way.

some storms, though, are not forecasted with such specificity. these – the ones we can’t prep for – are the stuff of bootstraps. these are the ones that test our levels of fear, our anxieties, our outrage, our limits of patience. we try not to imagine the worst as it all starts to shake out. we struggle. sometimes we simply flail and tread water, wondering when it all might stop. we are surprised by the people around us – in both good and not-so-good ways.

we’ve all been through these storms. to be human is to encounter them. health, relationships, work – the storms come and test us, buffeting our attachment to things-staying-the-same, our cling to the season.

and after a bit of time – and some mussing of our lives – we emerge.

and the pilot light* is still there. it’s still lit. the job of pilot lights, it hasn’t dimmed nor gone out. it’s just simply waiting. a tiny flame. waiting. and burning. and waiting.

and then, eventually, after a great deal of time or a very little time, the new season begins.

“…for some things there are no wrong seasons. which is what i dream of for me.” (mary oliver – hurricane)

*****

*crediting mark with this superb expression – “the pilot light”

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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we kept on going. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

of course it would have been easier to turn around and go back to the car.

but the signs “caution: trail damage ahead” are familiar to us and we just kept on going.

then we saw the first of it. the river had overflowed its banks and covered the trail. i took a few pictures after we decided to keep going. i don’t have pictures of the worst of it. we were too busy navigating the water.

but, yeah, we could have turned around.

we didn’t.

it was a stunning day – really, remarkable out – and we had on sandals that were fit for the river. so we kept going.

we have watched countless pacific crest, appalachian, continental divide, colorado, arizona trail videos. and in all of them hikers are forging streams and rivers, slogging through water and mud. watching, i have wondered – in a mildly curious and very respectful way – what it feels like to encounter these water crossings and to keep hiking with wet socks, wet footwear. not that i haven’t ever walked through puddles – i’ve done that deliberately – but because continuing to hike means also trying to avoid blisters and such. twenty miles plus with wet feet is nothing to sneeze at. big kudos to those thru-hikers.

we looked at each other on the edge of the first flooded area – this particular day we had chosen this particular hike – and we kept going. we needed to. we’ve navigated worse trails in real life – a little water didn’t seem so daunting.

there were some bicyclists on the trail – they had already been through the worst of it. they gave us looks, asked us how we got through, told us they were turning around to avoid it.

but there is nothing like wet feet to cool you off. we hiked about seven miles or so that afternoon – through a lot of water – that reached our mid-calves. it was more than a little water. we were one with frogs and fish – all sharing the trail together. it was all pretty glorious.

keeping-on-going is something we’ve gotten pretty familiar with. not just on the trail.

you don the right sandals and the knowledge you can do it and most crossings are possible. going slow, keeping your balance, not minding discomfort, sloughing off the looks you get – when you are following your path – diligently aware, capable, trying your best – you can dog-with-a-bone keep-on-going.

it doesn’t mean you’ll not stumble. it doesn’t mean you won’t get wet or that you won’t get blisters from the experience. it doesn’t mean you’ll get to the other side without some surprises. there are no guarantees. edges are like that.

what it does mean is that you gave it your all.

we didn’t know how the flooded trail would turn out – how our hike would turn out – but we kept going anyway.

and that day it made all the difference.

*****

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

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the meadow. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

we have a front seat to the meadow. each time we hike, we are witness to the lace and humbled by powerful nature, its resilience and rejuvenation.

the lace is tightly wound in the spring, fresh, straining to burst. we watch it as it then gently opens to the sun. we watch it embrace full sky. we watch it as it folds in on itself in the fall, storing energy. we watch it as it releases seeds for next.

the lace is transcendent. it does not push back against this progress. it somehow knows that moving through phases are, indeed, all part of the journey. and nature’s lessons are clear. life is not linear. there are cycles. there is next. there is much interdependence in the meadow to sustain all life there.

and through it all, the lace is empowered. to trust the process, to keep going, to stand strong, to gracefully be open, to share in the synergy of all – all the wildflowers, all the underbrush, all the weeds, all the trees, all the insects, all the wildlife – in the meadow. to survive.

not so different than a country.

*****

THIS PART OF THE JOURNEY from THIS PART OF THE JOURNEY ©️ 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood

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read DAVID’S thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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here and now. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

to get out of our heads.

to be in the here and now.

to breathe.

…reasons we play rummikub.

if you haven’t tried it, don’t knock it. it’s a fun game and it totally makes us unplug.

next up, i think he is going to teach me how to play cribbage – which, for his family, is kind of a rite of passage. to say i have trepidation might be an understatement.

i’m thinking we need to pull out the scrabble game. or maybe yahtzee. (yes…thank you, i’d like games-i-usually-win-for-1000 please lol.)

regardless of the game, these summer evenings of late we have been seeking ways to step out of what’s happening right now.  in no uncertain terms does that mean ignore what is happening. it does not mean sticking our heads in the sand. it does not mean we won’t research or ask questions or be informed or suggest ways for others to learn the truth of what is happening.  it just acknowledges that we all need a break.

so, for just a little bit of time, we will step away from the merciless news, away from the computers and the phone apps, away from the polarized politics, away from the frightening thoughts of peril we are feeling, away from the ever-present question what-can-we-do.  for just a little bit of time, we will step out of the present – step to the side – to a place where we might rejuvenate – rest – so that we can reinvest our energy back into this world as best we can.

a little mango sorbet and a few games of rummikub may not sound like a vacation, but it gives us a bit of headspace, something else to focus on – a breather.

there’s nothing quite like a board game at the bistro table on the deck on a hot summer night with dogga under our feet, sorbet at the ready, garden lights on – to bring us back to here and now. even for a moment.

and that, my friends, is the one thing of which we are sure.

here and now.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

INSTRUMENT OF PEACE mixed media 48″ x 91″

the prayer featured on david’s INSTRUMENT OF PEACE painting: Lord, make me an instrument of your peace: where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy. (prayer of st. francis)

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y to the third power. [kerri’s blog on flawed wednesday]

and it’s time again. two years have gone by since the last time. it was two years prior to that.

and now, another. another Y. the third one.

appropriately timed, i’d say.

it’s not common to come upon a branch that is a literal letter y. most of the time it’s a stretch. but this is pretty obvious – and it gets my attention.. again.

like those previous two times – mid 2020 and mid 2022 – there is just as much reason now for nature to be asking “why?”. truth of the matter is – there’s more.

sometimes, there just isn’t time for a long, belabored, ponderous “why?”

this is one of those times. there isn’t. the time for this country is running out. we are accelerating down the pike toward the november 5 election day and it feels like things are beginning to spiral out of control.

i am truly having a very hard time grokking the current political state of affairs of our country. every day now it feels like the fabric of our democracy is on the verge of shredding. in extremist-agenda-riddled moves, at best, the destruction will be a demolition of this republic, at worst, it will be a hellish bend to authoritarianism. and the words of the declaration of independence “we hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” will cease to exist for all men and women. full stop. period. what is the united states if not united? what is this democracy if not a democracy?

baffling me beyond reasonable comprehension, it’s being facilitated by people whose evil intent seems obvious and it’s supported by those who are not asking “why?” it’s downright frightening to watch others rabidly embrace any and every single thing that will ultimately destroy this nation as we know it.

now, don’t get me wrong. i’d love to write about something lighthearted, something trivial, something that doesn’t feel like the weight of the world is hanging in balance.

but it is.

and – before november 5th, i hope you ask yourself “why?” for who? for what? why?

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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

i can’t think of a better subtitle: if it’s not one weird thing, it’s another.

in these ‘new’ days of gettin’-a-teeny-weeny-bit-older we’re thinkin’ we need a good measure of flexibility. or at least a good sense of humor. “goin’ with the flow” is kind of an understatement.

we wake up and check in with each other over coffee…did you sleep/are your ears ringing/how’s your neck/back/hip/knee/shoulder/pinky toe/do you feel achy/why do we keep waking up at 4??

dogga patiently listens at the end of the bed. he knows our list o’ woes will stop soon and we’ll joyfully have breakfast – which means he gets the treat of bites of potato. he’s familiar with our waking-up process and knows we actually do wake up happy most of the time and – so far – we are pretty good at fording the ever-raging river of … ummm … aging.

nevertheless, it does seem to be an increasingly weird list.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

SMACK-DAB ©️ 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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rigged. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

“live life as if everything is rigged in your favour.” (rumi)

it’s when you go back – look at things in retrospect – that you are able to grok it. tiny details that had to align, mistakes and successes you experienced, things you regret and things you celebrate, things that brought you huge satisfaction and things that brought you great disappointment, things you found and things you lost – all were present in the story – to bring you here.

and you look back and realize that in all the positive, the universe held you – skimming the waves, floating with elation, so sure of the moment and yourself.

and you look back and realize that in all the negative, the universe held you – treading water, shaken, downtrodden, so unsure of the moment and yourself.

and, if you are fair, you notice that you are mostly steady. any wobble you carry from back then – whenever back then was – has eased up a bit. you are more resilient than you knew. you notice your grace, your balance, your deliberate, unceasing step-by-step.

and even on days when you are under great pressure – under the weight of everything you can still see in the rearview mirror, everything that worries you ahead – there are reminders of your strength.

this wisp felt like the touch of an angel’s wing. i don’t know which angel – there are many beloveds who are now angels – they have presence in some other plane; they are just over there, just on the other side, watching.

i suppose that from that place they can see that with which we struggle, that with which i struggle. but, having experienced both life and death, they are filled with perspective. and so i imagine them tossing the dice or rock-paper-scissors-ing to see whose turn it is, whose turn to summon up a cloud.

and then, whosever-turn-it-is waves their arm through the blueness of sky gathering up tiny sparkling glittered molecules – like mica – and the wisp forms, floating off to find me – knowing that i notice such things.

and i look up in the moment it happens by. and feel reassured.

right now i am here. right now i am alive. right now i am.

everything must surely be rigged in my favour after all.

*****

ANGEL YOU ARE ©️ 2002 kerri sherwood – this piece is not jazz nor is its copyright or publishing right owned in any capacity by rumblefish.

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read DAVID’S thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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***PLEASE NOTE: Both David and I are having WORDPRESS issues so today’s blogposts may look a little funky. Hoping we can resolve these tech issues soon. Thanks for your patience and – mostly – thanks for reading. xoxo


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beauty is not quiet. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

i hadn’t seen a pink daylily before. but one of our neighbors along the lakefront has a few in their garden. beautiful! i looked it up. i did not know there were so many varieties. the things you learn…

our front yard has come a long way. there is a lawn now, with many thanks to our dear grassking. all along the old brick wall are orange daylilies. along the side fence in the backyard are yellow daylilies. and along the west fence are maroon daylilies. they all came from our friend sally’s garden – she had a few too many and, years ago, we wheelbarrowed a bunch from her house to ours. clearly they love it here. they have multiplied and filled out the gardens. they are simple flowers, nothing fancy. but we aren’t too fancy ourselves, so it seems fitting.

these are stalwart flowers, particularly the ones along the front wall. they had much upheaval during the great water line replacement project. they prevailed – even in the midst of the chaos that followed – our yard ripped up and salad-tossed with all kinds of excavated and project debris. we transplanted them as we reconfigured the garden along the wall. they stuck it out. we seeded and fertilized and watered and tended the grass. we didn’t pay that much attention to the plants, assuming we might lose them as they also took the brunt of the big equipment. but the low-maintenance daylilies kept on keeping on. and now, their abundance is stunning.

i’ve tried fancier flowers. but they have stubbornly not cooperated. it’s like our yard is telling us – no,no…these…these grasses, these daylilies, this hydrangea, these ferns…these are good…these are right.

there is a simplicity.

and there is a steadfastness.

and the daylilies stand now – side by side – with the ever-stunning peonies out back. they languish next to graceful grasses and across the yard from the tall ferns. along with wild geranium they frame barney and the chippie condo this old piano has become.

and they rock and roll in front of the old brick wall – a mass of orange and green.

even in the midst of chaos, the midst of upheaval, the midst of the unexpected, the midst of the disappointing, these simple flowers have been tolerantly intrepid. they have been resilient. in tutti, they have withstood and they have come back healthier, more robust, reverberant.

because beauty is not quiet. it always finds a way through the messy.

*****

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

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today. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

i just scrolled past a winnie the pooh meme. “what day is it?” asked pooh. “it’s today,” squeaked piglet. “my favorite day,” said pooh.

we went back.

we bushwhacked through the overgrown woodsy area to make our way under the big fallen branch and onto the beach. “our special beach” we called it. we couldn’t wait to get there – to this spot of sand and pebbled shoreline that rarely had any visitors.

we emerged from under the big fallen branch and stepped onto the sandy overlook to see a beach full of people, full of jetskis and motorized rafts, boats anchored in the water, waverunners zooming in and out of the new jettied cove.

wow.

we stood for a moment, taking it all in.

for this was the place we went to for quiet. this was the place we searched for hagstones. this was the place we sat on big pieces of wild driftwood, watching the waves come in, the waves retreat. the place to reflect, sort, breathe.

we stood for a few more moments, trying to grok it, decide what to do.

we took a walk on the shore where the waves meet the sand. it was clear a lot of work had been done on this beach. and we had to agree that it was truly beautiful, even in its changed state. we walked south and then back north. and we found that – all along – there was a parking lot that led to the beach. all along there was an easier way in. all along there was access. go figure.

as we walked south, with the waves lapping our feet – in the exquisite way that feels on a soft sandy beach – we remembered the other days we had spent there. beautiful, peaceful days. we talked about how grateful we were for those days.

and then we walked north.

we took the road past the marina and stepped onto the boardwalk. we hadn’t ever gone this way before.

the boardwalk wound its way past all the slips, around the yacht club, past the charters. on a most gorgeous day we delighted in this new place to stroll. the sting of the busy-ness of the beach faded and we planned on returning to “our beach” later – maybe a late evening, maybe in september. in the meanwhile, this stroll was the loveliest thing.

“what day is it?” i asked david, a little lost in time having been under the weather for over a week and just starting to feel better.

“it’s today,” he replied.

“ahhh…our favorite day,” we agreed.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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