reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

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maypole dancing. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

wearing a traditional scandinavian jumper, i danced around the maypole. holding a ribbon tethered to the pole, i danced to and fro with other young girls also holding ribbons. it was an ancient spring festival – at an arboretum on the island – and my sweet momma happily got us involved in taking part in it.

may day – the first of may. it seems impossible that we are already at may. time has a way of zipping by while at the same time taking-its-sweet-time. langsam – slowww – one of the few german words i remember from six years of studying the language.

but the return of spring it is and we are both grateful for it, despite its exceedingly stormy arrival.

we wake in the morning even earlier now, the sun streams in on our quilt, the breeze through the open window. everything is greening…gorgeous new-green crayon tones against easter-egg blue sky…tiny buds bursting into leaves, stalks of peonies growing taller before our eyes. the aspen is filling out, the ferns are unfurling, the daylilies are daylilly-ing – they require no help whatsoever.

and the birds and squirrels and raccoons are taking full advantage of our zeal to keep the feeders full. they linger on the top of barney, on the top of the potting stand. they gather in the pine tree next to the birdbath, waiting turns at the water.

and we can hear the call of the cardinals – beautiful song punctuated by sharp chirps. they stick around during the winter; their presence is always reassuring…a sign from the universe reminding me that my sweet momma and poppo are nearby, just on the other side, having slipped from this dimension to the next.

we’ve sat on the back patio a few times now, on the back deck in the sun. we’ve watched these creatures of our yard, narrating for them as they move about. wanting a photo of the cardinal at the birdbath, perched on its side, getting a drink, i grabbed my phone. but i was, regretfully, too late and he took off as i snapped the picture.

it wasn’t until much later – hours, really – as i looked at my photos of the day when i saw this photograph, the cardinal taking off, flying away from the birdbath.

so much better than a static perch photo, the cardinal taking flight – its may dance – its own celebration of the arrival of spring, of renewal, of new life.

we sit in our adirondack chairs and plot out our spring. we talk of our gardens, of an annual flower or two we might choose, of the herbs and vegetables we will grow on our barnwood stand.

it is hard not to feel passion for our very earth watching it come back alive all around us. it is impossible not to take deep, cleansing breaths, to turn our faces to the sun. it is time – for all good things – to dance around the maypole, to take flight.

*****

TAKE FLIGHT © 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood

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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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abundance. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

for reasons we will not elaborate on, we are writing these blogs ahead. and, in true fashion of the times we are living in, there are zillions of things that have happened or are happening between now – as i write this – and now – as you read this. in the chaos in which we now exist, it is impossible to stay afloat of all of it…

because we care about the littlest creatures around us, we have several surfaces we line with birdseed, in addition to our birdfeeder. barney, the upright piano in our backyard, is one of them. another is our potting stand, these pieces of barnwood that stretch beyond our deck, sitting on metal piping, waiting for planting season when it will sport our basil and jalapeño, dill and chives, rosemary and cherry tomatoes.

our birdies love dining on these flat surfaces and gather together on the piano or the stand or off to the side, waiting their turn. the squirrels are zealous about these flat surfaces, as the birdfeeder gives them a tiny run for their money, a small challenge that is, however, most definitely not insurmountable. either way, they fill up to run off and provide food to the others.

we try to keep these surfaces with food, replenishing them to help these little creatures, particularly through the winter. we want them to feel abundance, not lack.

because helping others – people or creatures – to feel abundance seems like goodness, kindness, the right thing. and, in a world where we all unintentionally do things that are right and things that are wrong, it is a good thing to intentionally do some right things.

last week the administration of this country declared in unconscionable screeds that he was going to obliterate an entire civilization. that he was going to make them live in hell. there were moments – after that particular weekend of his screed – that i could not breathe.

in a really stunning opening to his show the night that the administration decided on a two week reprieve before reconsidering his big obliteration, lawrence o’donnell called it what it really was – an obliteration of OUR nation – THIS place – every ideal for which we have EVER stood. i could not agree more.

we sometimes intentionally do things that are wrong – start an argument, go over the speed limit, fail to put recycling in the correct bin. we sometimes unintentionally do things that are wrong – step on someone’s foot, push the grocery cart into the back of someone’s ankle, cuss in the wrong situation, cough suddenly without covering our mouth. most of these things are presumably forgivable, solved by apologies or decisions not to do it again. sometimes there are wrongs that are bigger, that require grace, true humility, olive leaf amends.

we sometimes intentionally do things that are right – give a bigger tip than recommended, donate money or food or other staples to a person, an organization, a pantry, help our neighbors, friends, family without being asked, pick up trash on the trail, listen when someone needs a listener. sometimes there are rights that are bigger, that are stunningly altruistic, that set examples.

we wish those around us to feel that we are generous in those things – the right things – that we hold abundant love and care for those around us.

we watched the rescued hearts film. it is an incredibly moving piece about the heart that horses hold in space with humans. with abundant love, these big, beautiful creatures reach across any boundary of language to extend love – in heart-opening abundance. these horses are catalysts for healing. it is not a film about control – it is a film about connection. it is a film about transformation. it is a film about sheer potentiality of what we – with all of nature – can provide each other.

this film is the antithesis of the threat of obliteration. it is not about lack. it is the epitome of abundance.

the rescued hearts film and this squirrel on our potting stand also make me catch my breath. because goodness is all around us.

and how anyone could not choose goodness over the worst cruelty is beyond me.

to hell with THAT.

*****

YOU MAKE A DIFFERENCE © 2002 kerri sherwood

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with and without the cord. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

i try to imagine people – nowadays – existing solely on landlines of the past. it makes me giggle thinking about it. though we still have a landline, even i would have trouble with it.

growing up we had a phone on our kitchen wall, by the table and just off the laundry room accordion door. it had a long curly cord on it, so that you could actually move away from the sound of the washer and dryer or change seats to get as far away as possible from others nearby. it wasn’t terribly satisfying.

so we also had a long cord from the wall to the unit on the phone in my mom and dad’s bedroom. once again, sitting in their room didn’t really afford you much privacy, but pulling the phone behind you as far as the cord would allow helped you escape a bit.

no texting. no email. no social media. no gps. no google.

just the phone and the limitations of the cord.

of course back in those days my mom and dad would talk about the party lines they were subjected to – where people could actually listen in to your call if it wasn’t for them and they stayed on the line. ewww. so i guess we had moved ahead in some way with individual – and singular – phone numbers and connections.

i was talking to an old friend the other day – we hadn’t spoken in 46 years, since the early days of those big answering machines with cassette tapes that collected messages from people who missed you when they called. a bit of progress by then.

he mentioned that we all just sort of lost touch. and it was true. it was much harder – back then – to maintain contact with people. you had to sit down and write a letter – and then wait for a reply – or sit down and call, still connected to the wall. i didn’t have a cordless handset until the 90s, so there still were a lot of cords in our lives in the 80s.

my friend and i talked about a road on the shore of long island, where one day – very late at night coming home from the recording studio – i was being followed by a drunk driver, swerving all over the road. i pulled over where there was some swale on the side and this person followed me off the road and slammed into the back of my car. it was late, it was dark, i was alone. it was actually fortunate that the person hit and run, for i was pretty unnerved out there and had no way to get in touch with anyone. the olden days. not necessarily all better.

fast forward to now and i can’t imagine life without our cellphones, without texting, without the ability to email or google or check the weather or scroll the news or social media sites, without the safety of being able to reach someone pretty much anywhere from pretty much anywhere.

but there is a downside as well, it now seems.

the other day we talked about toasters. our toaster is barely a toaster these days. it’s had a good life – a long life – likely about 18-20 years. so, sitting in our sunroom, we had a little chat about maybe – possibly – getting a new toaster. we laughed because we thought if a new one lasts as long, we would be looking for the next toaster in our mid-eighties. wow. that’s bracing. but i digress.

shortly after our little toaster-chat, i went on social media. lo and behold – and like so many other times and examples – there was an ad for toasters. it was a miracle!!

only it wasn’t.

and that doesn’t even begin to describe the nefarious stuff that our government has installed or is planning to utilize – between our social media, the cameras that are literally everywhere, the information provided on voter rolls, in our social security, health and tax records, on our doorbell apps, on our measly telephones.

yes. our measly telephones. our link to everything these days. to our parents, our kids, our friends and family, our plumber, our electrician, our mechanic, our sewer guy and all our contacts, the photographs we take and cherish, our appointments, our reservations, our train schedule, our insurance cards, the maps to the-places-we-go, our favorite stores, our streaming portals, weather predictions, notes of the things we wish to remember, our health and fitness, our music, our banking, our shopping, our inquiring minds. everything. accessible.

seeing the old phone in the antique shoppe stopped us both.

turns out maybe there was a lot more privacy – and, quite possibly, safety – when we were connected to a wall.

*****

CONNECTED © 1995 kerri sherwood

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stars-on-a-blue-field. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

we ordered small plate tapas. later, they brought birthday churros to our table. there was a candle – lit – and though the server was a bit shy – he seemed really happy to sing to me. it was totally delightful. we dipped our churros into the melted chocolate and sweet powdered sugar, sipped our homemade sangria.

there was just one thing.

i found myself grimacing at the blue candle with the stars. it felt a bit too reminiscent of the stars and stripes of this country’s flag. right now i, like many others, have a complicated relationship with that flag and what it supposedly stands for.

because birthdays are like that, my mind zoomed backwards to standing in elementary school classrooms reciting the pledge of allegiance.

“i pledge allegiance to the flag of the united states of america. and to the republic for which it stands, one nation, under god, with liberty and justice for all.”

and here we were. in the walker point neighborhood of milwaukee – a wonderfully diverse community – diverse in race, in gender identification, in economics. i was welcomed and, just as every other time we have spent in this community, we felt at home. one nation, under god.

sometimes, in our elementary music class, we would sing the patriotic ballad:

“my country ’tis of thee / sweet land of liberty / of thee i sing/ land where my fathers died / land of the pilgrims’ pride / from every mountainside / let freedom ring.” (samuel francis smith)

sweet land of liberty. with lyrics written 195 years ago, a children’s choir first performed this song. what would those children be thinking now?

trying to slough away any negativity, i tried to think of the stars on the candle like stars-as-in-stardust. but the blue of the candle got in my way and as much as i loved having a birthday candle with my churros, i couldn’t help not being able to push back against the other realities right now – the realities that this country – at this time – is not a sweet land of liberty and freedom is not ringing from every mountainside.

as i am writing this – ahead of when you are reading it – i just now read that the supreme court has ruled against a ban on conversion therapy aimed at lgbtq youth in colorado. read that again: against a ban on conversion therapy.

and as i am writing this – ahead of when you are reading it – the “god squad” panel of the cabinet has voted to disregard decades-old laws about endangered species in the gulf in order to make.more.money drilling, the GOD squad?! ewww.

and as i am writing this – ahead of when you are reading it – the administration has decided to dismantle the united states forest service.

and as i am writing this – ahead of when you are reading it – the epstein files continue to languish in secrecy and the administration is doing everything in its power to keep it that way – including even more blatantly personalizing the efforts of the justice department.

and as i am writing this – ahead of when you are reading it – the supreme court has taken up considering the continuance of the 14th amendment of birthright citizenship. “…granting citizenship to all persons born or naturalized in the United States…” ” no state shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any state deprive any person of life, liberty or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.”

and as i am writing this – ahead of when you are reading it – this country – without permission of the congress or support of the populace – is destroying another – using bracing descriptor words like “decimating” and “decapitating” and “lethality” and “back to the stone ages“.

but, well, i guess when you are cavalier and righteous – and corrupt – you do what you want to whomever and whatever you wish. no questions asked. no answers given.

that doesn’t seem to be the right answer for a republic with liberty and justice for all.

i sometimes save birthday candles. to remember. but i need – and wish for – a new relationship with the flag – a revival of the celebration of diversity and majesty of this place on the globe – so this particular stars-on-a-blue-field candle i chose to remember with a couple photographs.

one lit – with light.

one after i made a wish and blew it out.

we ate several churros and our server gave us a box for the rest.

we brought them home and – having our leftover tapas the next day – celebrated this little bistro in our very big land, longing for its healing.

“light of the world / shine on me / love is the answer / shine on us all / set us free / love is the answer…” (john wilcox/roger powell/kasim sulton/todd rundgren)

*****

LONGING © 2004 kerri sherwood

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my jeans’ genes. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

these aren’t my favorite. i don’t regularly wear my favorite jeans, wanting to keep them “for good”.

but this pair is the runner-up. pretty distressed, these ripped jeans aren’t just a bit frayed. they are downright holey.

ai says that “ripped jeans are best for people with slim or skinny body types”. goodness gracious! i mean, who asked you? i would venture to say that if one wants to wear ripped jeans, one should just wear ripped jeans – without a pretty-little-head thought to whether ai thinks it’s appropriate or not.

i’ve been wearing these for years. decades, actually. some of the time it has been by accident. my jeans just got old and worn. some of the time it has been by design. i’ll never forget – and always cherish – the days at abercrombie with my then-teenage daughter, ferreting out the best ripped jeans on the sale rack.

i have worn ripped jeans to unimportant events and important events, to beautiful places and grocery stores. i have worn ripped jeans on high mountain tops, in midwest meadows, in paris, in the canyonlands. i have worn ripped jeans in recording studios and i wore ripped jeans at my wedding. i have performed on the smallest and biggest of stages wearing ripped jeans.

so, here we are, on my 67th birthday and it is likely i will be wearing my fave ripped jeans to go and do whatever it is we will go and do – unless it is hiking – because, as you know, i have to save my fave jeans “for good”. some other destructed denim will have to do.

there have been moments when i have looked in the mirror and pondered my jeans. (and yes, also, my genes, particularly as they are aging.)

i’ve wondered if mid-sixties was ‘getting there’ – there being a place where ripped, distressed, fraying, holey jeans might be better retired.

and – after some wondering, some pondering and a little bit of googling with downright obnoxious results – like this video narrated by a twenty-something guy – guy! – informing me that “women after 40 should not emphasize imperfections” – i have decided.

just like the amish leave a slipped stitch here and there in their quilts – to allow spirit in – and maybe for the same reason – i will continue to subscribe to the jeans i love to wear. perfection doesn’t exist and each quilt is an expression of beauty-in-that-moment, of artistry, of someone’s very soul, of the chutzpah of spirit. ditto my jeans.

so…if you don’t like my ripped jeans, don’t look at them. they are me and i’m just out here trying to emphasize my imperfections – especially now.

*****

IN A SPLIT SECOND © 2002 kerri sherwood

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pieces of driftwood. pieces of my life. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

i’m having a chance to renew my relationship with the harbor town. a tiny spurt of time here, a tiny spurt of time there. one of my favorite places on earth – the dock, at night, clanking masts, the sound of small fishing boats and soft troll motors – it is a good thing for me to revisit all this at a new time.

i didn’t know how much i needed to re-create this tie, to heal it. i didn’t know how much i needed to walk the pebbled beach, to scout for rocks and shells and driftwood, to sit and stare at the waves coming in.

when we left the last time we brought home this driftwood garland. we hung it in the place in our sunroom that seemed to be waiting for it. we sit next to it every day. and in the night that was draped in darkness from the storm, we sat next to it in candlelight.

we’ll go back. we’ll maybe pick up some more rocks for our rock garden. we may find a shell or two. we may bring home a piece of driftwood or other sea treasure. we’ll see.

the thing i do know is that each of these times i find another piece of me there. i rejuvenate another memory, process another bit of it all, feel affirmation.

somewhere on that beach, on that dock, in that town are pieces of my 19 year old self. the girl with the dog who climbed on the jetties and danced on the sand, who ran on the boardwalks and soaked in the sun on big old beach towels. there are pieces of me to reclaim, to go pick up in the corners of my memories, to re-empower. there are truths to release into the air of the world – finally. there are notes poised, floating in the air to compose, words in peripheral vision biding time to be written. i can feel the vibration of it all – that flutter in my chest.

and, though it is now a fancier bistro, the next time we’ll go – this place that was a pub where i’d fill up on baked clams and salty air. we didn’t go the last time because we knew it would be expensive and we are careful about our budget.

but the next time – yes – we will go.

because there is no price that you can put on the restoration of power, the retrieving of juju, the butterfly-net-capture-and-healing-release of muse that had been muted, stalled from trauma. to sit on those stools – even if they are different stools – is to sit on the sacred ground of yesterdays ago. it is something to celebrate.

the driftwood next to me in the sunroom taps my shoulder and my heart. it tells the story of ebb and flow, of survival and resilience, of transformative renewal and of a metamorphosis into something that has ridden the waves of the sound and – ultimately – emerged stronger.

*****

HOLDING ON, LETTING GO © 2010 kerri sherwood

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

“still, what i want in my life is to be willing to be dazzled – to cast aside the weight of facts and maybe even to float a little above this difficult world.” (mary oliver)

we check on the world right before sleep these days. we feel like it is a citizen’s duty to know what is happening in our own country, what is happening because of our own country, to be aware of the chaos, to be somewhat versed in the goings-on, to try – without success – to understand where it’s all headed and to – somehow – grok why. it’s all nearly impossible. and it is overwhelming.

we check on the world when we wake these days. we feel like it is a citizen’s duty to know what is happening in our own country, what is happening because of our own country, to be aware of the chaos, to be somewhat versed in the goings-on, to try – without success – to understand where it’s all headed and to – somehow – grok why. it’s all nearly impossible. and it is overwhelming.

and we know that there is less and less probability of it all making sense. for this must be intended-chaos and the world is ever more difficult because of it.

we sat at the bistro table in our sunroom with a glass of wine. dusk had fallen, the happy lights were on, dogga was on the rug at our feet.

we talked about the unsteadiness of these days.

and we talked about our own steadiness. we talked about the sweet phase.

we talked about sitting on the rocks in the middle of the stream way up in the mountains on a cool, quiet afternoon.

we talked about the change in our own chase of success – what that word even now means to us.

in spite of the world outside our sitting room – even with all that in mind – we could feel a sense of amazement.

we listed little things – the happy lights, the chiminea in the corner, the muddy hike, the score of finding an eight dollar glass candlestick lamp, the celebration of homemade pizza.

we listed bigger things – things more personal, more close-in, adulting things, things of quiet but profound accomplishment.

we acknowledged that – despite the broken road meander of our lives – even in the weight of all the cruel, mind-bogglingly destructive actions of this planet – we can see the dazzle around us.

and that’s the thing. the dazzle.

we need to recognize its presence. we need to keep seeking it. we need to keep reaching for it. we need to wrap our freaking arms around it – for dear life.

“i don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.” (mary oliver)

*****

MEANDER © 2004 kerri sherwood

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light. hope. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

“anne frank became a symbol of hope – a light in the dark – by maintaining her optimism and belief in human goodness despite enduring extreme fear, confinement and the horrors of the holocaust.” (AI)

it is certainly difficult to imagine anne frank maintaining her optimism and belief in human goodness. such darkness that she experienced in her short life is unparalleled.

the woods – away from any candlelit trail – were dark. but it was a starlit night and so the shadowy figures of trees and underbrush were more clearly trees and underbrush, rather than the dark figures of scary stuff we might have imagined. in this one spot, artificial light from lightposts lit the pines, illuminating the bow of the branches up close. beyond those lit boughs, a darker woods.

this was a night – as i wrote about – much-needed. a reminder of beauty, of presence, of quiet. it gave us both hope – and gratitude for the rejuvenation of being outside. for in these times – right now – in this country – there is so much about which to be horrified.

“darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that.” (martin luther king, jr.)

there is no way for us all to beat back the dark except to beat back the dark. for light to prevail, we must shine light on all that is dark…with no exceptions. as we learn more and more of the plan of this administration’s agenda – the absolute corruption sans impunity – it becomes harder to not shrink back, to recoil from such dark. but we cannot pass this dark on to the next generations, we can’t bequeath them with this kind of depravity. and so there is no choice but to shine light.

“do the best you can until you know better. then when you know better, do better.” (maya angelou)

and for those who have cheered on this atrocious kakistocracy, it is my hope that you will soon see it for what it is, that you will step away – gasping, that you will take light into your own hands and shine that light with us and all the others who are shining, that you will unearth moral conscience.

“hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness.” (desmond tutu)

and i have to believe that light begets light, hope begets hope – and through all humanity has endured – there will be enough light – held by enough good people – to shine into the corners of all the most ghastly of shadows, to shake down this dark, to exponentially multiply light by light and hope by hope, to reveal renewed sense and love, to expose goodness at its best and to reclaim it.

*****

HOPE © 2005 kerri sherwood

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

tucked into the trail – the river trail – are spots i always find i am looking forward to: the curve of the river, the cattails in the marsh, the hill where you look down on the trees along the riverbank, the section that looks like a bayou, the turn in the path where deer linger, this one spot – where the reeds are thick and the turtles are numerous. we hike along and these are touchstones along the way, indicators of how far we have come, how far we have yet to go.

we all have them – the indicators of how far we have come, how far we have yet to go. i think about this now as i walk into my studio.

i spend way more time on the written word these days than on the piano bench. i spend way more time typing on a keyboard than pencil-jotting on scraps of paper scattered above the keys.

i look at high profile artists, years and years after their last album release, after long drought periods, in their 60s, now recording and releasing new albums. and it makes me wonder. it’s been 16 years since i released a full-length album.

sixteen years.

as someone who released fifteen albums in fifteen years that is stunning to me. and, thus, the wondering.

my piano is a touchstone to me, an anchor, something i can touch that is profoundly meaningful to me. i have walked a textured journey in the years i have spent with a piano central in my life, in time that the creating and performance of music was imperative. i have assigned success and failure, acceptance and rejection, support and betrayal to my piano.

and, in the way that enlightenment happens, i am beginning to learn that it is not my piano that is responsible. it has merely been my spokespiece, a vessel through which i might give voice.

instead, it is in that giving of voice – that expression of me – that amplification and celebration of music – that others – people – have squelched the how-far-i-have-yet-to-go, have taken the get-up from my get-up-and-go.

i don’t really know the reasons that one might feel they should push someone else under water, that one might feel the best use of their energy is to abuse or denigrate or minimize someone else, that one might feel that the most humane treatment of someone else is to concoct narratives and sway public or private-circle opinion. i don’t know the reasons why anyone would want to break another person or their spirit, creative or otherwise. i don’t really know the reasons why anyone would do any such things. it’s crushing.

i do know the impact these things have on a person. for no matter how tough one’s skin, how devoted to confidence, how determined, how bootstrapping one might be, there are others who can do great damage and who are – apparently – damned devoted to it.

it’s not my piano’s fault.

and so now – in this great enlightenment or admittance or downright sad awareness – i can see that those people who have done great harm have undermined so much between how-far-i-have-come and how-far-i-have-yet-to-go. and i am thinking – now – that I’ll be damned to let them rob all that from me, to let them take my piano – or my muse – hostage any longer. not that that’s easy. it is a difficult uphill journey.

it’s maybe time to stand in the reeds, hang with the turtles and cattails, get my feet wet in the marsh and walk – or sprint – or, more likely, crawl – toward the bench.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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