reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

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the so-called NYM. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

though they would have you believe that everything happens fast in new york city- that it’s all “in the flashiest flash”, that it’s all practically instantaneous – i would offer up driving across the george washington bridge or a spin on the cross bronx or the cross island or maybe the long island expressway – as counterpoint to that point. nothing happens fast in or on any of those places. it is slower than molasses and any pretense of traversing across the waterways to get to the other side – rapidly – would be dispelled as soon as you plant yourself in a vehicle somewhere near the gwb.

the thing about being on a bridge for a long period of time is that you are on a bridge for a long period of time. you can actually feel the sway of the bridge, the movement of the bridge, the other thousands upon thousands of vehicles on the bridge. it can be alarming if you are bridge-phobic, height-phobic, traffic-phobic, noise-phobic, phobic about going too slow, phobic about being late, phobic about big trucks surrounding you (if you are upper level), phobic about dark places that are underneath a whole ‘nother level of vehicles suspended on pavement and traveling above you (if you are lower level)…many phobias, so little time.

the problem is – this is the way there. to get to long island from new jersey – coming from the west, one must cross a bridge. you have a choice – the gwb or the verrazano. you can cross staten island or you can cross manhattan. the choice isn’t exactly favorable either way.

but – those are your driving-your-car options.

we thought about leaving – heading west – a different way…maybe driving north up along the hudson and crossing at the tappan zee, taking the ‘high road’ so-to-speak and bumping up into rockland county, taking a roundabout route to try and achieve that infamous new york minute stuff.

we chose not to, though, and went the “traditional” way, hoping we had timed it well, that – this very day, this very hour – the planets would align and conditions would be different and we would sail right through.

ahhh. no such luck.

maybe, in the end, the new york minute IS actually a thing. because anything – in comparison to the sloth-inspired-turtle’s pace on the roads to the city, through the city, across the city – would be faster. and a new york minute – that blink-of-an-eye-jiffiest-jiffy takes on different meaning.

*****

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

life in the fast lane

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wings in the harbor. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

“a ship in the harbor is safe, but that’s not what ships are built for.” (john a. shedd)

i daresay that any artist understands this. there is no pursuit of artistry without the taking of risks, the exposure of vulnerability, the stepping out of one’s comfort zone. our job – as artists – is to seek growth, to encourage growth, to open up vast space of potential instead of squeezing complacency.

our trip back reminded me of this. the sailboats, the cruisers, even the skiffs in the harbor are protected…from the challenges of the elements and any stormy surf. but these boats will not stay in the harbor. people will take them out on the sound, perhaps around the island to where the sound and the atlantic meet, perhaps further into the ocean. they will explore and adventure; they’ll follow a star they alone can see.

we followed the star here. this is my chance to reclaim it all, to find the 19 year-old i lost, to hold her and assure her that she is now safe and that i have taken on that which attempted to squelch her forever. ships weren’t built to stay in harbors.

i have found my way home – intentionally. and in that finding, i have found her. and in that finding, i hope that the so-many-years lost will come rushing forward – music in every star i can see, in every star i can capture.

and the ships in the harbor will bear wings and, all together – with me at the helm – will sail into next.

*****

the way home © 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood

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read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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my town. this time. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

the texture was different this time. being there was different.

this time i didn’t feel the same sense of deep sadness everywhere i went. this time i didn’t feel as disconnected, as unwilling to recognize the significance of these places in my life’s timeline. this time i didn’t try to stave off any feeling of affinity, any bond or relationship to these roads, the sand, the harbor, the dock, the salty air. i didn’t slink back from it all, didn’t hide instead in now, in after.

i still felt the loss. i still felt the trauma. i still felt pain.

but i also felt immense love for this place. i felt pride. i felt connection.

this time was different.

and as we walked around – arm in arm, as we do – i felt comforted being there. this visit put dots on the i’s, crossed the t’s. it gave me back my growing-up years. “i’m from here,” i kept saying.

what has happened in our lives will forever be a texture of our lives. i can look back and see how it all impacted me – really, forever.

but this time i was able to distinguish the place from the trauma. i was able to separate them out and not blame that which shouldn’t be blamed. i was able to love on my hometown while recognizing those who had tarnished it in my heart. and i was able to reclaim the place as my own.

the painted brick wall is over by the bakery. it’s gorgeous, an exterior wall of a big old long island lighting (LILCO) building built in 1924. beautifully peeling white paint, it is striking each time we walk past. the textures of this place are visceral for me.

we sat at the bar in skipper’s, sipping from wine glasses that state “since 1978”. the synchronicity is not lost on me. 1978 was the year. back then i owned this town, that place. all the world was open, people were mostly to be trusted, i was a sunrise/rainbows/poet-in-a-tree girl – a budding peony waiting to bloom, to burst into the rest of the world.

and then.

there is a reality to my trauma, like there is for anyone who has experienced the same. it has played a role in my health, my emotions, my relationships, my ability to trust others, every decision, every bit of the arc of my personal and professional life.

we brought home the wine glasses, holding onto my town and all the moments before – and after – everything changed.

*****

19 & 64

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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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.

*****

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

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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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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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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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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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what we want to see. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

every day he peers through the semi-opaque miniblinds, looking for any sign of his pals in the yard next door. the dachshunds are the object of his seeking shadowy movement through the blinds. we somehow think he even might be focusing through the small holes that each blind has through which the accordion string is threaded.

we can’t see anything but the darker shades of horizontal and vertical lines of the double hung window, maybe the fuzzy shape of a house next door, a chimney, the movement of the squirrel highway wires from the breeze – depending on where you are sitting and your angle on the blinds. but he is determined, our dogga, standing on the bed, staring at the window.

he looks to see what he wants to see.

eh, so, yeah, he might be a tad bit more optimistic than the rest of us here right now.

he looks to see what he wants to see.

we are different – david and i. he is more of a trusting, above-the-ground-birds-eye-view, esoteric thinker. i am more of a detailed, dubious, feet-on-the-ground, thready thinker. we make a good team. he tends to be more like dogga, encouraging me to have a more generous take on things. i tend to push back on him, insistent on connecting the dots or piecing together details of things or people of which i am wary.

i am aware of the shadowy shapes beyond the blind, but simply cannot ascribe to the dachshunds being right outside the window without seeing (or hearing) them there. i have a tendency to think about what’s-the-worst-that-can-happen and plan backwards accordingly. he tends to be way more confident in outlook, less suspecting, with less skepticism.

i do think, however, that we both tend to a bit of our dogga in us. there are times we do both look to see what we want to see.

and right now we want to see a future in this country that actually brings it closer to self-actualizing, a future where concern is for each other – despite any social identifier that makes people different from each other. we want to see a democracy that solidly commits to the equalities as delineated in its constitution and amendments. we want to see a place that celebrates people and lifts all so that each person living in this grand land might have a life of goodness and grace, fairness, security and prosperity. we want to see a nation that values truth, that rejects corruption, that does not normalize grift or the “isms” of hatred.

we are both looking to see it.

after the blinds have been pulled on this administration, after the wizard has been revealed for what he truly is, after so many have fought to maintain this republic, when the curtain comes up on this time, we are both looking to see america, land of the free and home of the brave, embracing every bit of diversity.

including the invisible dachshunds on the other side of the miniblinds.

****

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

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