reverse threading

the path back is the path forward


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this old door. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

i’m not sure which old door it is, which doorway it graced. it was white when we carried it up from the basement storage room and placed it outside in the garden, over by the ferns, under the big pine, leaning against the old garage by the window. that this door began to peel back, revealing its rich green history, seems a meditation.

this very day – july 29 – has been a day of days through the years. the history peels back in my heart as i remember, back and back. i stand on the deck this morning, gazing at the old door that frames the beginnings of a rock garden, and nod to myself – in deference to the opening and closing of chapters.

the book of my story with this old house began on this day thirty-six years ago as we moved in, a hot midwest summer day filled with a u-haul and boxes and many hands of people helping. it has – as all stories – taken many turns, followed a windy – and sometimes broken – road, running parallel with the rest of life in all its iterations, all its paths and branches. but as i stand on the deck, admiring the door that is vulnerable to the weather and the sun, i know how far i, too, have come, how exposed my heart – to life.

it is no wonder i feel a certain attachment to old doors and windows. it is no wonder i am fond of peeling paint and the not-quite-perfect. it is no wonder i feel an affinity to this door in the garden over by the ferns, under the big pine, leaning against the old garage by the window.

there is so much more to yet reveal. layers back, layers forward. i can only hope be as beautiful as this old door.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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wisdom of the stanchion. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

one of the coveted front spots beckoned. it is pretty unusual to arrive at this grocery store and for there to be a front spot open. we don’t mind walking from afar but when it’s 150 degrees out with humidity tilting the charts – and you don’t personally have central air conditioning – and you just came from a hike where you nearly melted into the gravel in the parking lot – you take the coveted front spot because from there to the door of the pretty bitterly cold air-conditioned store is merely steps. steps, i say! i pull littlebabyscion into covetland and start to jump out of the car – ok, slither is more like it – when i see the sticker on the stanchion in front of the covetedspot.

“you are beautiful”

in this moment – when my hair is plastered to my head, my lake-geneva-tjmaxx eddie bauer first ascent sun protection UPF50 lightweight moisture-wicking trail guide capris are two-way-stretch-stuck to me, my injinji coolmax no-show toe-socked-toes are screaming for freedom, my eyes are watering from coppertone spf 50 dripping down my forehead – unchecked by my meager blonde eyebrows – into my eyes – which makes my nose kinda run – and i look wrung out, not at all fresh or pressed or glowing from being outside and from having exercised – i do not feel beautiful.

“you are beautiful”

i laugh aloud, get my phone and schlither myself somewhat-debris-flow-ish out of the car and to the front of littlebabyscion so as to take a photograph of this sticker, prolonging by at least 45 seconds my entry into the much-anticipated cool-dom of the store. two young girls are walking by – looking fresher and definitely tan and glowing – while i position my camera. i’m pretty sure they were wondering why this melted woman was taking a picture of the metal post in front of her car.

i take a closer look as i get ready to click.

below the sticker that reads “you are beautiful” is another sticker. this one says “visitor” with a smiley face as the “o”. sheesh. i nod. i soooo feel like a visitor to this place. particularly right now. and i’m not talking about this grocery store. everything that is happening is hard to understand, to grok, to even slightly wrap my head around.

visitor. yep.

because what i really believe – in my rainbow-bubbles-sunrise girl kind of way – is that if we could all embrace each other – respect each other – treat each other kindly and with equality – rights, privileges, care and concern – if we could really truly look at the words “you are beautiful” and believe these words about all people – all people – regardless of any – any – differences – we could stand a chance of survival.

anything less makes us visitors to a land of ill intent, a land of corrupted souls, a land of immorality and sociopathic narcissism. and nothing about that is beautiful. we are privy to that.

nevertheless, i show my photograph to david as we walk into the store.

“you are beautiful”

he gets a cart and stops for a second. he looks at me and says, “you are.”

i hook my arm through his – as he begins pushing the cart toward the baguette aisle – and – for these moments of freon/puron/HFC/HFO/other-refrigerant-bliss – all is right in the world.

*****

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

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

it’s a simple concept: a community of people who support each other.

it should be every family, every friend-group, every organized community, every town, every city, every state, this nation.

we watch thru-hikers on videos. carl – in the middle of the hot desert section of his PCT thru-hike – was gifted a bottle of cold water. his words were write-down-worthy: “people are beautiful.”

like carl, thru-hikers criss-cross the country – and other countries – on long trails, carrying all they need in backpacks, stopping in towns to resupply, to eat prepared food, to rest. people come from all over to support these hikers, planting trail magic in their path, driving them from point a to point b, aiding them in whatever they need. there is never any hesitation. the community extends love and support to each other – no matter what.

anything less is missing the point.

to be human is have precious little time on this earth. that kind of mortality, that kind of flawed-ness, that kind of capability to love – makes one question why anyone would wish to be anything less than generous or kind. it makes one question why anyone would exclude anyone else, why inclusion of all humans is not paramount. it makes one question why anyone would be cruel to others, to populations of others. it makes one wonder why anyone would waste time and energy on agendas of hatred. it makes one question what in the hell is going on in the administration of this country and why so many people – humans – are ok with it.

the state of this country belies the definition, the very concept of humanity: the human race; human beings collectively/compassionate, sympathetic, or generous behavior or disposition – the quality of state of being humane/the totality of human beings: the human race.

there is not much lower it can go.

it’s utterly shameful.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING SMACK-DAB

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

“our forever work is to learn to hold the brutal and beautiful in the same palm.” (suleika jaouad)

i am trying to learn to list to the beautiful. lean into it. curve that way. take that path. abruptly turn, if need be.

in these fraught times, these times of brutal, we are finding how we wake – how we start our day – is crucial. we are fragile, maybe just like you.

and so we watch through the mini blinds, through the screen and storm window, as – out across the deck, reflecting on the sunroom windows, just past the awning over the back door – the sun – rising over the lake – climbs to a place where its rays sneak around houses and gardens and reach out and out, brushing our windows.

and we can see it.

we watch as it intensifies and moves up, up. a tiny gift for us to hold.

and then – as we sip coffee – one of us quietly comments on how truly beautiful it is. and our day is officially started.

*****

taking stock © 2010 kerri sherwood

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not bad. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

in an understatement of understatements, the words “not bad” on the sticker on the railing at this bryce canyon overlook made me laugh aloud.

for this was grandeur, indeed.

the expansive country in front of us – here at our very first overlook – rainbow point, the highest elevation of the stops.

the national park brochure describes it as poetry in stone and i would agree. it is a dynamic place, ever-changing, engaging beyond the pale. you cannot help your heart soaring, your pulse racing. it is every word and no words.

we were thrilled. to be there. to be there all together. to experience this inspiring place.

the brochure promised mesmerizing. the canyon land did not fall short.

we were completely awestruck by its magic.

yes, bryce, not bad.

*****

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

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more beautiful now. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

we live by big water.

much the way we are drawn to the mountains, we are drawn to big water. more and more. both.

and more and more – each and every day – we are amazed. even by its ordinary. big and little ways.

diamonds have ridden the waves of lake michigan for all time. yet, each day further on the timeline of this life, they become more beautiful, more intense, sparklier.

the lyrics brought tears to both of our faces as we listened. susan had sent us a song, “you were beautiful then but you’re way more beautiful now.” (beautiful now – james maddock )

yes. yes, this is true. i have seen photographs of him younger. he looked a lot like david cassidy – that longer, feathered back hair, those eyes, that smile. he was – in every good use of the word (feminine or masculine) – beautiful. i didn’t know him back then. just like he didn’t know me in my midriff-hiphugger-bellbottom-wearing days. those days – well – those are the olden days.

but now is different. i look at his face and his eyes, his long hair peppered with grey – this man now – and i know – just like the song – he is way more beautiful now.

and so, for a bit, i wonder why the diamonds on the lake are more beautiful and why the sky is bluer and why the early morning air is breathtaking and why this man – sharing life with me for eleven years – is more beautiful now than he was then.

and i know that every single thing is.

it is impossible to hold onto the gossamer threads of these moments now. they fly by and next week i will feel like this week was eons ago. we are trying to hold them as we drift by in this sometimes-lazy-sometimes-raging river. they slip out of our hands, like trying to hold onto the river itself.

and everything – every single thing – has its own sparkle.

and we try to see that each day. we try to remember our very fragile place on the soil of this earth. we try to grok beauty in the simplest things and in the hardest things.

mostly, though, we can see it in each other and it reminds us. however beautiful he was before, he is way more beautiful now.

“from sleep i fall to waking” and morning – like time, in the way it keeps going and going – graces everything with shiny, shimmering glitter.

we look and – now – we can see it.

way more.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

EMBRACED NOW mixed media 48″ x 36″

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that particular day. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

it was somewhat inconspicuous. the heartrock just tucked in with the rest of them, quiet, unassuming. it knew it would be seen; it knew it would be recognized. it was not unexpected – particularly that very day.

because earlier in the day – that very day – just a tad bit earlier – right before lunch – in late morning – inconspicuously and quietly – my beloved girl married her best friend. and, as unassuming as they wished this all to be, nevertheless, there were six parents in the world who felt the shift of the earth, whose heartstrings were tugged, who held her and held him – both – closely – in these intentionally-unassuming but admittedly-profound moments. sans tulle and without a nod to anything traditional, our families connected the dots and joined together. and a new chapter started.

i would have been surprised not to stumble across the rock that day. i worked kind of hard at not leading toooo much from my heart, tried to be casual, mellowishly nonchalant even. but i’m sure i lost some laidback points that day. i was celebrating my beautiful and fiercely bold daughter, who was choosing this dearest guy with whom to spend life. it’s a big deal for a momma…if not from an event-ish place, definitely from a heart-place.

and that particular day, the heartrock was waiting for me. it was just a couple hours past the moment. we took a walk – a most exquisite stroll – slowly through the sanctuary and it nodded at me as i started to pass by, making sure i noticed, grounding me. i let out a deep breath, a few happy tears. it was a stunning day in aspen.

because that particular day was different. not the mountains, not the blue sky and brilliant sun, not the smell of pine and the early quaking aspen leaves, not the roaring fork river gurgling.

the axis had shifted a little and things were changed.

and six moms and dads were there to hold space as part of our hearts married.

*****

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

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on different ground. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

“it is impossible to ever compare two people because each stands on such different ground.” (john o’donohue)

breck has leafed. we are watching with admiration and anticipation. last year, our tiny aspen shot up in height, growing, growing, higher, higher, until it was awkwardly tall with all branches on the lower trunk and this spindly beanstalk heading skyward, full of oddly-sized leaves.

we wonder about this year. but we hesitate to compare it to other aspens – the ones in woods that grow in stands and connect-connect underground to vast quantities of aspen-relatives.

our breck is alone out there. the only aspen in our yard, though we won’t know for some time if there are others sprouting up in the aspen regeneration way, sharing a root structure, genetically identical trees waiting to surprise us with a grove. breck stands on different ground – on midwest soil not the soil of the high mountains. its experience is different from the forested side of the mountain on the ditch trail in colorado or lakeside in dory.

though i have successes and joys in my life, i recognize that you do as well. though i have difficulties in my life, i recognize that you do as well. though i have challenges and disappointments, i recognize that you do as well. i stand on different ground. you stand on different ground.

we have watched breck struggle and we have watched it flourish. we cheer it on, always aware that it is out of its mountain-element, always aware it is one-of-a-kind here, always aware it is steadfastly soaking up the sun and the rain and holding on during wisconsin winters and winds from the west.

no matter the size of its leaves or the distribution of branches, the height it achieves or the root system clones it produces, breck stands on different ground and it is beautiful.

“if you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.” (desiderata – max ehrmann)

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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

and in her waking-up, in the tease of spring, in the liminal space between seasons, mother earth offers up her flowers. it’s a tiny posy of possibility, an olive branch extended to stave off impatience as we pine for warmer days, for everything to green up. and, in this waiting zone, these dried flowers spur our imagination, carry us forward.

it’s the interim times – the periods in-between – the time spent in the hallway before the next door opens – these are the reluctant times. we are reluctant to sit in the hall. we are reluctant to wait and see. we are reluctant to accept a zone of time sans shape. we think it all – the minutes and seconds, hours and years – needs definition. we are reluctant to be still. we don’t understand what feels like a screeching halt. we yearn to move, yet we are frozen in fallow.

but we are morphing. we are beautiful winter nosegays tucked into mason jars. we are march and april. we are stoking up. we are no less beautiful than verdant june and july. we are just different.

and for this time – we are somewhat rustic, somewhat fragile. we are color-muted now to be opulent later. we are the quiet before the fortissimo, meek before rackety. we are simply waiting.

we read the same paragraph over and over again, listen to the same strains of music time and again, sit and pace and sit and pace. we are the dried wildflowers, the straining buds, the transitional space, the interlude. we are the hallway.

and then.

*****

UNTITLED INTERLUDE from RELEASED FROM THE HEART ©️ 1995 kerri sherwood

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this frame. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

i know this frame well. i have looked out – at the rest – through this tree’s strong curved limbs for thirty-five years now. 

because i am watching this beloved and known tree age and weaken a bit, i suppose the city may someday choose to take it down. and that day – well, i will likely weep. i try to remember to thank the tree often now, in case it happens that we come home one day – after errands or a hike or a trip – and the trucks will have already come and gone. and the front elevation of our home will never look the same again. in the meanwhile, i take photographs of it – in the sun, in the snow, in ice, in early bud, in leaf, in the rich colors of fall, and in deep fog.

the fog had rolled in this night. we live close to the lake and this winter has brought more fog than snow, more mist than ice. i grab my phone and snap a few pictures of this shape i know so well.

in our living room is a piece of this tree. still. after the whole water-main-front-yard thing of 2021 we dragged a giant branch in to use as our christmas tree. wrapped in lights, it warms the space. we’ve never taken it down. i suppose it will stay there a while longer. likely a long while.

foresty forest lives a van life based in canada. he also travels throughout the western united states, hiking with his insanely capable jack russell terrier rocko. he was in british columbia – way out there – and his drone revealed acres and acres of downed tree limbs. though it looked like giant avalanches had come through, it was actually the end result of big logging. i stared at the screen, feeling the tug of the trees. there is somehow a balance, i guess, of trees we need and trees we leave standing. and so we choose reforestation for a memorial gift; we honor the absolute and pressing need to replant.

it’s all a matter of balance. it’s a matter of knowledge and responsibility, of paying it forward or paying it back to this good earth that has provided for us.

if the city takes down this tree that has literally framed my life for over three decades they will offer an opportunity to plant another. we will choose carefully, knowing that it will likely outlive us, knowing i would like for whatever tree stands in that very spot to be as impactful for the next and the next as ours has been for me, for us.

the fog envelops the tree and i photograph its shape. it’s not perfect anymore, but it has stood the test of time and it has rich history. there are limbs that have fallen from wind and ice, limbs that have been knocked down by large equipment, limbs that have rotted out. 

but it is truly beautiful. and it stands proud, knowing.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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