reverse threading

the path back is the path forward


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

and when it comes to the end of the year – already – and we gaze into the shiny brite mirror of the year that has passed, what do we see?

on either december 31 or january 1 we will take out the calendar – the one i write in with mechanical pencil – every day – a few words jotted down, a tale of the day, a meal, a quote, a visit, an appointment, some moment i wish to remember. and we will sit with it in the light of happy lights and christmas trees. 

each year it is a journey – through that which we recall and that which we have forgotten. each year we find a treasure. each year we find something courageous. each year we find generosities that have sustained us. each year we find days that were hard and days that were easy. days of strength, days of weakness. we find sadnesses and unexpecteds. we find decisions and repairs. we find frogs and hawks and eagles. we find challenges of spirit and heart. we find recipes that have nourished us. 

we head into the new year – just a couple days away now – reflecting, ruminating – with thoughts of what to do differently, what to change, what to let go of, what to hold onto. we wish to be better, do better, feel better. we set intentions.

and – in looking in the mirror – we are harsher than we need be. we forget some of the rest. the moments inbetween all the lines in the calendar. the ordinary. the giving. the grace. the laughter and the light. the things i didn’t jot, didn’t remember to journal, or wanted to just simply let simmer in my heart without being written down. 

we wake – in a couple days – in a new year. each day a ridiculously big gift. beyond all else.

“may you recognize in your life the presence, power, and light of your soul…” (john o’donohue)

happy new year.

*****

GRATEFUL from AS IT IS ©️ 2004 kerri sherwood

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buffalo plaid and stardust. [d.r. thursday]

tucked in my mind’s eye, along with sugar plum fairies and gingerbread houses, twinkling lights and sleigh bells and tiny trees, are matching red buffalo plaid pjs.

old navy made it happen.

for a few days now we have worn our matching red buffalo plaid pj pants. flannel and cozy, we knew better than to purchase long flannel pjs for our kiddos. old navy had already thought this out – they also had flannel red buffalo plaid pj boxers. score! we bought them and wrapped them into stockings. we have no idea if they will wear them or not, but my momma-heart knows we all have them – match-the-family pjs – and just the knowledge makes me happy.

the other day – on christmas evening – they made their first appearance, under a sherpa blanket on the couch watching “love actually”. since then they have appeared under a different sherpa on the couch in the sitting room, dogga curled up on the rug, reading a book together. we are reading aloud the third bestseller by raynor winn, “landlines”, a tale of two long-walkers hiking through scotland, a tale of hope and renewal and restorative juju for them. it’s descriptive and we find ourselves lost in the highlands, step after step in the rain, with them.

our new year’s eve was quiet. we ran a few errands and settled in on the couch to read, had a couple phone calls, prepared a late dinner and settled back on the couch. but our smack-dab cartoon had told a different story. though sometimes-but-not-always a straight-line-to-us-autobiographical middle-age-cartoon, it told the story on new year’s eve of two people who had to get outside and who went walking before midnight so as to be outside – along the lakefront and under the stars – at the turn of the year.

we were having trouble staying awake. it did not seem likely that we would actually see the new year arrive, sleepy eyes and all.

but then – somehow, the two of us, who are now earlier-to-bed-earlier-to-rise, got to the 11 o’clock hour. and we knew – prepare yourself for the double negative – we could not not do it.

hats and gloves and down coats and boots and the night wasn’t as cold as it seemed at 7 or 8 or even 9. the lake is a block away and we walked along it, enjoying the holiday lights still up and lit on our route. we cut in to the path that is right next to the shore and strolled slowly, watching the fireworks in the sky around us.

and, though it was cloudy and we could not see the moon or the stars, we could feel the stardust falling on us, with the promise of a new year.

surely the stuff of sugar plum fairies and twinkling lights, gingerbread and sleigh bells and red buffalo plaid flannel pjs.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY


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any. thing. [saturday morning smack-dab.]

there’s no telling. no way to know. really anything. any. thing.

the mystery of the new year is enormous. giant arcing things will happen, life-changing. tiny morsels of moments will happen, life-changing. we have no way to truly predict. there is no artificial intelligence that can tell us the spectrum of life that we will experience in the new year. it is hidden in holiday wrap, too much scotch tape, gift tags that have become mixed up, like luggage on southwest airlines right now.

to greet it without a hint of anticipation, without a breath of celebration, without acknowledgement of the brevity of time, is to maybe miss it.

stardust falls on our shoulders as we walk into the turn of the year under the big, big sky.

anything is possible. any. thing.

*****

happy new year.

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

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