reverse threading

the path back is the path forward


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to practice and to be. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

there are small house sparrows that make themselves at home under our awning. they perch and flit about and, every so often, attempt to start building a nest, from which they usually fly off after a bit. but they are clearly at home by our back door and we can see them through the window and across the deck as we sit on the raft and write.

as we entered the back door the other day – home from the market and with bags in our arms – i saw the feather, tucked into the old screen door. a sweet i-was-here…maybe a little we-are-all-in-this-universe-together symbol of reassurance, hope. this tiny grey feather – stuck on our back door – a tiny sign of encouragement, perhaps a nod of being watched over in distressing times. any way you look at it, we won’t remove the little feather,

distressing times. i’d say so.

from the smallest concentric circle in to the furthermost concentric circle, these are distressing times.

and, in the middle of reading tarana burke’s book unbound i read this sentence: “indeed, i don’t believe you can practice love and be in community with folks without an incorporation of accountability as an ethic and a practice.”

her book – all of it – was profoundly moving. she is the originator of the #metoo movement. her story resonated with me over and over again. accountability. accountability. i read and re-read it, this simple statement of ideology.

particularly in the context of this country as it is right this very minute, i stopped re-reading and snapped a photo of this sentence.

for there is not much more infuriating than to be in community with others who stress their transparency and, thus, following, their accountability to the others in the community but who are the least transparent and the least accountable. there is not much more infuriating than to see those who have wronged others – regardless of the community, the institution, the organization – big or small – get away with it, to take in those silently complicit, to watch the fallout, to bear witness to the lack of ethics indicative in letting others “get away with it”. there is not much more painful than being the victim of a lack of accountability, the dust – radioactive gossip, the decimation aimed and fired, the shock long-lived.

to practice love and to be in community would suggest holding each community member as important, as a cog in the wheel, as contributing, as morally obligated as the next.

to practice love and to be in community would suggest a set of expectations – rules, bylaws, laws, moral codes – that would reign supreme, guiding the steps and actions of the community.

to practice love and to be in community would suggest holding the fragility of love and its mutual obligation to each other as paramount. it would suggest leading with love, leading with respect, leading with support.

to practice love and to be in community would suggest holding to truth, to honesty, to responsibility and, thus, to accountability.

to practice love and to be in community would suggest that not taking responsibility, skipping any kind of ethical standard, having zero expectation that all in community would be accountable to each other and to the bigger picture would be the very antithesis of practicing love and being in community.

to be in community – in a freeforall devoid of moral compass – in a lack of answerability, no effort of liability, a structure without structure, without compassion or empathy, without the abiding of laws, sans checks and balances on the collective or those in charge, a governance with leadership lacking virtue – this is not a practice of love nor is it being in community. this is here and now.

grey feathers are said to be a sign that there will be a period of calmness and clarity. it is a buoying keep-on-going.

it will stay on the door as long as it stays on the door. and tarana burke’s words will echo in my mind as a north star message.

*****

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the real. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

104. in the moments i am writing this post – a couple days ahead of today – my sweet momma would have turned 104.

i wasn’t sure about using this photograph. it isn’t something we stumbled across when we were out and about; instead it is a photograph i took in my studio. but, it is an effort to continue an effort we are making – which, i might add, is a big effort considering the here and now – to list over to presence and gratitude for the other parts of the here and now…the real…the stuff that i simply cannot imagine that the rabid purveyors of cruelty ever notice. for, if one can see the stunning in the falling dusk or feel the heart-stopping of a simple james taylor song or taste the fresh basil in the stockpot of sauce, one cannot also relish the sheer and abject depravity of current events.

my sweet momma – always – her message to me, “live life, my sweet potato.”

and to that i would add – as i stood in the kitchen – his arms wrapped around me, with our birthday dog at our feet – “never, never, never give up.”

there is a visceral response – breathing – i have to seeing the wild horses in the documentary, the dueting voices in the music video. there is a fascination of the munching-munching caterpillars on our dill plant, the finch drinking from our birdbath, the tomato plant’s explosive growth, the jalapeños becoming peppers from tiny blooms. there is an appreciation of the eye-to-eye contact of our amber-eyed aussie, the feel of flipflops on a hot summer day, the wafting scent of basil on the air.

we didn’t go to any celebrations on the fourth. we did not feel that this very moment in time was aligned with commemorating the democracy and freedoms as written into the declaration of independence for these united states. this moment – instead – feels like the antithesis of all of that – the un-uniting of this country, the dismantling of freedoms, the fall of democracy. so we stayed home, away from the carnivals and the parties and the bands and the fireworks (though our neighbor set off fireworks right above our backyard for hours late into the night).

and this morning, while d was picking up the vestiges of those fireworks which, thankfully, did no harm to our home, i watched the caterpillars on the dill. while he brushed away the chalk marks of firecrackers landing on our patio, i watered the herbs. while he made doubly sure there was nothing pyrotechnic-like left that dogga could ingest or could cause him harm, i watched and listened as the birds returned on a refreshingly quiet morning.

we have a list. i mentioned it the other day. it’s simply a list – not far away – of places for us to go, to visit, things to immerse in. to do the best we can, right now.

to the top of the list i am going to add “never, never, never give up.”

because momma was right. live life. it is not unlimited.

sweet potato out.

*****

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it is time. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

it was rafiki who said, “it is time.” in a pinnacle moment of the movie the lion king, mandrill rafiki – an insightful spiritual guide – discovers that simba, the lion, is still alive and declares that he must return to the pride lands and restore order and balance. simba’s life force – to defeat evil, overcome adversity, to perpetuate a legacy of the interconnectedness of life – the circle.

it is time. it is way past time.

order and balance, goodness and kindness. the concentric circles of connection.

yes. way past time. already.

in these moments – the anguish-filled, agonizing moments before the figurative return of simba – we might turn to others – next to us – near us – far away though connected with invisible filaments of love and care – and say, “i am glad for you.” the tiniest message.

in these times of so much uncertainty, so much angst and pain, so much loss and grief, so much frustration and anger, it would seem that uttering five words might be a powerful salve. thought it may not change the heinous circumstances of our current world, it will wash over the person upon whom we whisper – or shout – these words.

it may be in the post “i-am-glad-for-you” moments that one is able to – once again, tirelessly, with great courage – reach deep inside to pull up bootstraps of bravery and pushing-back, bootstraps of protest and protection, bootstraps of generosity and altruism, bootstraps of humanity.

i am glad for you.

so, be weird – extraordinarily heart-on-your-sleeve weird – and tell all those people for whom you are glad that you are glad for them. i can’t imagine that not feeling good in your soul and i can’t imagine a response that does not carry the extraordinary, raw power of this message forward.

it is time.

way past time.

*****

“i see you. you are beautiful. i am glad for you. i am glad you are here.” (michelle obama)

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most definitely not ho-hum. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

“literally incredulous at the “ho-hum” behavior of those all around me.” (m.d.)

i passed by these words on instagram while scrolling the comments of a profoundly relatable post. i scrolled back to them. and sighed.

another comment read, “if one more person tells me i’m overreacting, i will lose my sh*t.” (k…) yup. sigh.

and another: “more people should be really angry about everything that’s going on. if not, they aren’t paying attention.” (b…)

john pavlovitz wrote: “you know who I’m talking about: those friends, family members coworkers, classmates and social media acquaintances who tone-police us for surveying the monumental destruction being inflicted upon our fragile republic and its people and being livid…”

he continued: “there is a time and place for self-control, for tolerance, for listening and bearing with people, for breathing and being still.

but there is a time and place when the gravity of the moment calls for something fierce and unwieldy; a wildness of heart. i suggest that now is such a time, and here is precisely the place.

america is on the brink of authoritarianism…”

we talk about it a lot. we read the news, fact-check religiously, study a variety of opinions and historical footnotes, watch video footage, debate between ourselves – the two of us.

because there are so many – so, sooo many – people who just simply don’t want to talk about it, who prefer to talk about positive things, who exclude politics from their menu of conversation options (though i’d beg to differ on this – this is not politics anymore; this is real-life america now!it is what is happening on a daily basis.)

you know the instant you even try to bring it up – there is a moment when a look crosses their face, there is an extra beat or two before an answer, there is an instant pushbacky “don’t you think about anything else?” or various conversation deadenders “i can’t go there” or “i am not gonna talk about it!”

and i wonder what – exactly – one does when one’s country is being decimated and a buncha people aren’t really willing to discuss it because – well – it’s uncomfortable.

it is heartbreaking to wish to have hard real-life conversations but never be able to get to the nitty-gritty of it all. not talking about it will not make it go away.

there is nothing – nothing – ho-hum about what is happening in this nation. it is staggering.

because we are both empaths, we unfortunately can pretty much feel the vibration frequency of fear as it swirls around this country. i keep wondering how low “they” can go. i keep wondering when some of the people – the ones hip-hip-hooraying all this, the ones whose dark souls align with this abject cruelty, and, yes, the ones who just don’t wanna discuss it – might catch on to the plot. i keep wondering how we might be able to stop this twisted administration from destroying all we know.

i am anything but ho-hum. we are most definitely not ho-hum.

…we need a lot more fire and a lot less calm. right now, it’s a sign of your humanity, of your sanity, and of your soul, to look around at it all and say, ‘i’ve f**king had it.'” (john pavlovitz)

*****

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choose radical love. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

chosen family.

“the powerful, loving bonds formed between individuals who are not biologically related but who choose to be family…highlighting the strength of these non-traditional family units and the unconditional love they provide.”(the trevor project)

so, dna ain’t everything.

i, for one, have found it personally shocking at times to be related to my similar-dna-stranded relatives. particularly now. for one – incorrectly – assumes that one is aligned with those in one’s family – with values and love and respect leading the way. this, however, is not always true. and – shockingly – families, like friends or colleagues, are quite capable of throwing others under the bus. shocking, indeed.

so we seek those who support us, who support our world view, who challenge and push, who protect, who encourage others to be their best and most authentic self.

in this – incredibly the 21st century – with a twisted administration – we are faced with making decisions of estrangement – boundary setting that is squarely focused on the upholding of each other and our rights and freedoms. it is impossible to pretend to be “family” if members have chosen to undermine the rights and freedoms of other members. dna schmee-n-a.

a week ago we spent the weekend attending milwaukee pride events at which our EDM artist son performed. his friends welcomed us with hugs and dancing and conversation. we were embraced and felt the love. i cannot imagine why anyone would reject or endanger such a community – LGBTQIA – so inclusive of all. it is incomprehensible.

one of his friends came up to us while we were dancing and drew us close in to talk above the music. “if i had parents like you, i’d have everything,” he said into our ears. i cried as he walked away.

my grown children have a wonderful father. they have a generous-of-spirit stepmom who cares about them. they have me. and they have david, who has been supportive in every way that a caring father can be. they are every much his children in this last decade. we all share them and join together as the circle of one-generation-previous people around them who want them to be their best and most authentic selves. isn’t that what parenthood is? they are just lucky enough to share dna with two of the four of us. but we are all their parents.

these are days of non-traditional. we are fortunate to live in these days – days of wisdom and cultivated illumination – when love is simply love and the bonds of family extend beyond ancestry lines. i can only hope that we all celebrate each other – in our differences and in our sameness. we can seek family with bonds based on unconditional love and support. if we can look at our biological families and freely choose each other, we are lucky. if our own families endanger others or refuse to see or value them, it is incumbent upon us to draw lines in the sand. this life keeps ticking. it would seem infinite love – acceptance, inclusion, belonging – would be the way to live these tiny lives we get.

be the people whom others choose. “chosen families have helped queer people survive and experience radical love and joy at a time when their rights, and in some cases their very lives, are threatened.” (alex welch)

radical love and joy. life is too short for anything else.

*****

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the right. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

“you have the right to be yourself.” (aclu wisconsin)

there are few places with more evidence of this than PRIDE festivals. the wholehearted acceptance of one person to another is a theme on loop. it is a gift to attend such a celebration of people loving people.

and isn’t that the way it should be?

and yet, persons in this country, in some warped and perverted place in their brains and hearts – have decided that erasing the right to be oneself is their calling – leading with hate, placing the LGBTQ community under siege – people all complicit in the marginalization, disenfranchisement and endangering of this community with their hurrahing of rolling back protections of freedoms, mandating discrimination, and weaponizing federal law against transgender people.

when there is precious little time to start with in our mortal existence, how is it that so many people have so much time to spend on reviling of and cruelty to other people?

the american civil liberties union fights to protect, defend and expand civil rights and liberties.

because everyone has a right to be themselves.

the aclu of wisconsin “envisions a just society in which the dignity of every person is respected and our collective liberation is realized.”

imagine. a place where we simply love one another, support one another – as best we can.

to take every moment and maximize your time in it. to have compassion. to exercise kindness. to extend goodness. to embrace each other. to push back against oppression.

to generously allow each and every person to be true, to be authentic, to be themselves in every respectful and loving way.

“be yourself. everyone else is already taken.” (oscar wilde)

you have the right.

*****

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the weirder, the better. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

“you are a child of the universe. no less than the trees and the stars, you have a right to be here.” (desiderata)

i don’t suppose i ever really fit in. i was the youngest in my family – separated by a decade – while most of my friends had siblings their own age. i grew up in a neighborhood where the kids were somehow athletically gifted, while i took organ and piano lessons and sat in my tree writing poetry. an early entrepreneur, i pulled a wagon around our neighborhood selling baby cactus cuttings and candles i had made. i didn’t go to – or get invited to – wild parties or cut class or skip my homework. i took bike-hikes and walked on the beach in the winter while everyone was at the mall or the bowling alley or the movies. i didn’t listen to the stones or grateful dead or led zeppelin (with the exception, of course, of stairway to heaven – everyone’s prom theme). i listened to john denver and gordon lightfoot and the carpenters. i wore off-brand clothing and didn’t keep up with fashion trends. my momma bought me less expensive boy-pants and found the offbeat stores for shoes-that-look-like-trendy-shoes-but-are-not, like my cherished construction boots. my first car was my dad’s vw beetle, nothing fancy but beloved. i had numerous part-time jobs through high school and then in college and knew the joy of serving corn flakes to both me and my dog missi for dinner. i never thought of myself as weird. but i suppose – if one considers the definition “may have unusual habits, interests or ways of thinking that set them apart” it could be true. i don’t see that as negative, though i also suppose that – depending on the way you see yourself fitting into the world – one might consider it such.

so the sticker “stay weird” hung upside down and backwards made me laugh aloud. somehow my laughter summoned mary oliver and she and i enjoyed a good chuckle about the infinite extraordinary of the insignificant and the everyday, the value of seeing the usual through a filter of unusual.

weird took a very long hiatus – it was safer, less vulnerable, and kept me out of trauma i had shelved. i pursued the inevitability of having to make money, to help support a household in a more meaningful way than the way of an artist. for this society – though its love for the arts is profound, its support of the arts is less so.

it was after my children were born, after the imperative was too loud to ignore, after the perils shushed a bit – when it was time to start releasing music. writing, practicing, recording, performing, marketing, booking, hawking – none of this is necessarily standard-work fare – it is unusual, it is tenuous, it requires a bit of courage. it doesn’t have the same parameters as a workday in corporate or structured america. it has no guarantees of reward, no regular paycheck. it is steeped in personal challenges, the need to be scrappy and the sisu to put it out there.

in the time that was the heyday of my recording career i would call absolutely anyone, regardless of their position. as the owner/artist of my label i have talked directly to vice presidents of sales of barnes and noble and borders books and music, owners of publishing houses, the personal managers of ridiculously successful recording/performing artists. i’ve sat in j. peterman’s messy office chatting (of the j.peterman catalog and seinfeld fame) and in the spare chair of radio program directors. i’ve danced across the stage at qvc-tv under a disco ball and played songs live over phone conferences with oncological pharma higher-ups. i’ve stood in the rain on flatbeds playing, embraced boom mics over my piano on theatre stages of all sizes, sang in front of 35000 people in support of cancer survivorship in central park. pushing the boundaries, carrying a little chutzpah along with belief in my own artistry was everyday life – and necessary. and i’d remind myself each time i picked up the phone or stepped into the unknown the very fact that we all breathe in and out the same way. this thing we have in common, i would tell myself – breathing. surely i could connect on that most basic of levels.

as outside the conventional box as it all seems, i didn’t feel weird. i felt in my skin.

and so, apparently, the weird continues. we know we are different than others. we have a certain run-and-jump into vulnerability that others do not. we have a certain pull towards creating, experimenting, learning – all in the public eye. we share because we have to, not because anyone has to receive it.

so, yes, the “stay weird” sticker really spoke to me.

though my life – and our life – is quite a bit different than the traditional lives or retirements of lovely people we know and care about, it is somehow just right for us. i never forget the corn flakes and he never forgets the sleeping bag in his studio space. every everything counts and we are reflexively careful about not being frivolous. for us, weird has granted us a certain appreciation of the littlest things, honoring simplicity and leftover pasta, redundant black thermal shirts and a shared bin of socks, used notebooks and repurposing taken to a new level.

what one does with one’s “wild and precious life”*…

the weirder, the better.

*****

(*mary oliver)

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now is the time. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

thirteen years ago my sweet poppo died on memorial day. his very last day on earth, it was during the wee hours of the night into the very early morning that he changed planes of existence, devastating those of us left behind.

my dad – at that time – was 91, with baggage he had dragged behind him for over sixty years since his time in the army air corps, shot down during the ploesti oil field raids in romania, taken prisoner-of-war in bulgaria.

he had been a somewhat quiet man during much of his life. he didn’t share – in detail – of his time missing-in-action or as a prisoner in a dank cell – until i was in high school. it was a lot to carry and, once home from the war, the post-traumatic stress was impactful on the rest of his life. post-traumatic stress is like that. it takes a toll in so many ways.

as i think about him today – and honor his dedicated service to this nation and the lives of those who died in service – i know – without even a singular doubt – that he would be horrified at the present state of affairs here and now.

his commitment to bettering others’ lives – fighting fascism – preventing human misery – was steadfast…enough so that he folded himself into the engineer gunner position of b-24 boomerang betsy and fought against all that was trying to destroy that which he believed in – the values of democracy. he would not align himself with anything that would not defend or advance these ideals. he would push back against any and all attempting to subjugate dominion over the freedoms for which he had fought.

my sweet poppo – were he to be here – would be sickened to watch cowardly leaders capitulate to the corrupt agenda to dismantle democracy. he would be heartbroken to watch people he loved abdicate all decency and conscience to a singular man whose grandiose narcissism seeks to vindictively avenge his enemies and instill an autocratic state.

my dad – even from wherever he is – would never tolerate such vileness. he had seen enough suffering to last him forever. he would be disgusted by an administration that is glorifying the richest – lining their pockets with the needs of the poor. he would remind, “you can’t take it with you.”

no. you can’t take it with you. power and control and ultra-wealth and digital coinage and oil and mining fields and real estate and gold-gilded accoutrements and fancy cars and 747s – the stuff of cold-hearted greed doesn’t make the cut from grandiose living to that other dimension.

but legacy follows you everywhere.

eleanor roosevelt asks, “when will our consciences grow so tender that we will act to prevent human misery rather than avenge it?”

now is the time.

and my dad? well, he reminds us all. “remember the little engine that could?” his words inscribed in a copy of the book, “you can too.”

my dad. my hero.

“o beautiful for heroes proved

in liberating strife,

who more than self their country love

and mercy more than life.”

(america the beautiful)

*****

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oh, the mayhem. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

oh, the mayhem.

the wind blows.

there are about 200 seeds in a single dandelion fluff. even in the gentlest of breezes, the dandelion field scatters everywhere – seeding, seeding – more dandelions, more dandelion fields.

oh, the mayhem.

88 keys.

the clusters of piano keys that might be in any piece of music. consider just a three-note composition. in the simplest of equations, assuming once the first choice is made you must move on to the second choice and then the third choice, one has 88 keys to choose from x 88 keys to choose from x 88 keys to choose from – merely 681,472 options for any given composer on any given day working to write just the first three notes of a melodic gesture.

oh, the mayhem.

choices.

for the painter and a canvas, a writer and a pad, a dancer and a wood floor, a potter and blocks of clay, a blogger and a computer keyboard.

it – the imperative to mayhem – calls us. to make something out of it all. to birth something out of the raw materials, to use our tools to create, to choose direction, to express artistic vision – what we see or hear or feel – a passion – that might – or might not – touch others.

there is no guarantee, no real proverbial “if you build it, they will come”. it doesn’t just happen that way. it is an imperative nonetheless.

the imperative to show up, to engage in the mayhem.

i’ve done much of my composing in-between other things, stealing time – minutes even – to write something – anything, something that might be universally understood, something that gives air to a thought, an emotion – something in my internal or external world. scraps of melodies, bass line roots, ideas only until i might make them airborne.

mayhem steals my imagination and lifts it past the stuff-of-the-day. it pokes and prods me, not allowing for passivity, foisting ideas and snippets of muse upon me.

it’s a bazillion seeds in a dandelion meadow, a bazillion pianos, a bazillion pencils and pads, a bazillion brushes and a bazillion paint pots.

a mayhem of bazillions.

*****

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tiny nails. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

“may i be the tiniest nail in the house of the universe, tiny but useful.” (mary oliver)

it was astounding. we were on a hike and heard a crack in the woods. we looked to our left – where the sound had come from – and watched a towering tree fall onto the forest floor. powerful. humbling. just stunning to witness.

naturally, we looked it up – is there meaning to being the sole persons witness to a tree falling in the woods?

in what would seem narrative written for the moment, these words: transformation, renewal, release, resilience, cycles of life, interconnectedness, impermanence.

we sat – later – on our deck – and talked about these words.

the experience of something so rare fell right in line with another experience we had this week. for the first time while hiking, we encountered a bobcat. the big cat was on the trail and watched as we approached. it didn’t take too long before it glided into the underbrush, over toward the river. but it left us just as stunned. such an elusive creature.

and…at a time when looking for meaning in what is going on around us seems so difficult…we wondered, is there any? we found that our very rare bobcat sighting was a reminder to acclimate to shifting circumstances, to embrace change, seize new opportunities, to thrive though all that is ever-unfolding.

now, that’s two stunning events in less than a week. i might say we are paying attention. we have been present to the rare; we pay homage.

so as we carry on here – doing the best we can to be tiny nails – to make a tiny difference, our theme song is one of adaptation. in variations on the theme we do what we can to seek new beginnings, to shore up our inner strength, to be useful, to be aware of the profound impermanence of it all.

to be witness in, to and with the universe.

*****

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