reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: corruption


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patina. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

i just can’t keep everything. and right now, i’ve been more valiant about going-through-giving-away-selling-getting-rid-of.

and so, despite the really beautiful wood handle on this vintage cast iron meat grinder – passed down to me by my mom and dad – a manual kitchen gadget – a peck, stow & wilcox – from the late 1800s or early 1900s – i have decided to move it on.

we aren’t big meat eaters and we are definitely not meat grinders. as a matter of fact, i am hard-pressed to remember my mom grinding meat. and, as antiques go, our old kitchen isn’t big enough to add the meat grinder as a displayed collectible, even with its patina of worn-smooth wood, the curve of its handle, the working vice clamp – really, the whole curiosity factor. no, it is time to let it go.

in our economic blackout protest, we won’t be shopping today – or the next few days – and we didn’t the last few days – anywhere but smaller retail. over this weekend we may go to our favorite antique shoppe or we may stay in, continuing the big-clearing-out, maybe hiking as a respite from the going-through.

every now and then, as i touch something that’s been packed away, i pause for a few minutes. in the flash of memories that flies through my heart in those minutes, i do my best to detach from the item and simply attach to the feeling. some things are easy – the meat grinder is sort of one of those, despite its collectible value. some things are a bit more difficult or downright hard – an old felt hat of my dad’s, a mid-century modern black and blue ceramic ashtray i remember from forever, a cypress clock, my momma’s wedding dress, hobnail milk glass pieces – these all run wide that spectrum. my tinier-than-i-remembered horse collection, multiple plastic seagulls on wire stuck into driftwood, the metal yellow and white smile face wastebasket, an old bread box – these are also mixed and the ruthless-matter-of-fact-er in me takes a backseat to the flood of memories. but boxed is boxed and i am wondering what the point is if something that could be used by someone is simply boxed or binned away in the storage room in the basement, never to be appreciated, never to be purposed.

the hands that held this grinder handle, that cranked this, that churned out sausage or whatever it is the grinder is capable of, were hands related to mine. holding this handle is holding time-passed-by. it is holding people passed. and so i do a photo shoot of this cast iron piece, clamping it onto our kitchen table, appreciating its age, its handprints, its history – though i don’t specifically know it.

and someone will eventually purchase this – or we will give it away – and they will also wonder about where it came from, whose it was, how it was used and when. they won’t know, but they will have honored it nonetheless, just by taking it home.

and the meat grinder will start its next phase – maybe displayed – maybe put into use. and the story will continue – about a hundred years of story.

and we will stand firm in our blackout of the kind of purchasing that enables the most privileged wealthy, the oligarchs. we will stand firm in our pushback of the economic inequality, the DEI rollbacks, the administration’s corruption and bow to special interests, to bigotry. we’ll do the best we can.

as always we will scale back, be frugal, lighten the load we have, repurpose, minimalize our needs, support others who have less, hold onto what is truly valuable – memories, feelings, connections….the heart of it all.

because a hundred years from now – from the time of this very story – i would hope the patina of that future time would show the well-worn bruises and scars and hard work of the people who pushed back, the people who – successfully – held onto democracy.

*****

LEGACY © 1995 kerri sherwood

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sweet tomato dreams. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

the tomato photo shoot. it was our first harvested cherry tomato from our lush and hearty plant that is tucked over by the fence next to the potting stand, sharing space with the ornamental grasses. before we tasted the produce we had grown, i wanted to capture its winning smile.

now, i’m not really a still-life kind of artist…i prefer more freedom…but this little tomato turned out to be quite a little starlet in this shoot and converted me – at least momentarily.

this little tomato was ultra sweet, having been warmed by a very hot sun and carefully tended. there are so many green orbs on this plant…we are anticipating a caprese salad or pasta. in the meanwhile, there is much to be said for the positive reinforcement of produce yielded from our attempts at growing.

“a dream doesn’t become reality through magic; it takes sweat, determination and hard work.” (colin powell)

it would seem to make complete sense to recognize that sweat, determination and hard work, but even i can attest to the fact that there are places of employ that simply disregard the success that has been created by someone working diligently and devotedly in their name.

it is the same that is happening right here, right now in this country. workers – important spokes in the societal wheel – are being tossed left and right, leaving literal and figurative produce to rot. profound medical research, critical environmental science, expansive educational ideology, the hard work of laboring in fields or restaurants or hospitality – these workers are finding themselves booted by someone whose excuse is – obviously – a vision that no longer aligns with theirs. for a country (or a community or an organization or corporation or any institution) that wishes to abdicate any formerly-intended mission, eliminate employees who are making a difference, cut corners and costs – biting their noses to spite their faces, stop forward movement, undermine the career paths of employees and send them careening, cruelly evict its dutiful people, is a country (or a community or an organization or corporation or institution) that has lost its way.

it is simpler out back in our tiny gardens. the basil and the rosemary and the cilantro and the jalapeños and the parsley and the mint and – yes – the cherry tomatoes grow. with our careful tending, vigilant watering and pruning, they reward us with bountiful produce. in turn, we do all we can to support their growth and they respond with healthy herbs and tomatoes. it is a cycle, an if this-then that, a very simplified conditional relationship predicated on a premise and a result. even any syllogism (major premise, minor premise, conclusion) about our garden would yield a productive conclusion, steps toward the dream.

i asked AI for a syllogism about the contemporary united states. this is what instantly popped up:

major premise: a healthy democracy relies on robust, respectful dialogue and a willingness to compromise for the common good.

minor premise: current political discourse in america often exhibits increased polarization and a decline in civility and compromise.

conclusion: therefore, the current state of american democracy faces significant challenges to its healthy functioning.

i fear that this – the fallout of this republic functioning as a democracy – is exactly the positive reinforcement – the dream – that this current administration is seeking.

and now – because i am overwhelmed by the corruption i have witnessed firsthand both as an employee and as a citizen – i am going back to tending my herbs and my sweet cherry tomatoes.

*****

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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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not enough words. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

perhaps like you, i feel overwhelmed.

it’s been just over four months now and i no longer recognize this nation.

i was clearly delusional, thinking we lived in a steady democracy where people valued people, where love and equity and fairness and compassion were paramount, where being our brothers’ and sisters’ keepers was important – even cherished, where we strove to provide opportunity to all regardless of any differences, where checks and balances ensured lawful practices, where collaborative government transcended singular power-mongering, where the natural beauty and environmental sustenance of sea to shining sea was protected, where the arts and education and healthcare and the citizenry vote were rights endowed upon all, where those protecting the country – like my own sweet poppo – were cared for, where those-with helped those-without, where the citizens celebrated their own ancestral and immigrant heritage just as new immigrants were welcomed and embraced, where families, friends, neighbors, communities, the country strove to be unified – together – against disenfranchising or marginalizing others and placing them in harm’s way, where a collective moral conscience embodied decency, where unbridled, vile corruption did not reign supreme.

i was wrong.

this kind of utter shameful disappointment is only overshadowed by one thing:

the terror of where we are going.

there are no words. there are not enough words.

*****

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fog. [kerri’s blog on flawed wednesday]

dense fog.

inland, you wouldn’t know.

inland it is sunny and warm.

but here – on the coast of lake michigan – with very specific circumstances – we are socked in with fog. it rolled in on cloudy waves. it lingers in the trees and hangs over the street. it brings with it a damp cold – much different than a couple miles inland. the lakefront is its own weather system.

it was a foggy morning, soupy and grey. we put on extra layers. we left to hike one of our favorite river trails. it was sunny there – so much so that we were shedding those extra layers of clothing.

and, then, on that same day in the early evening, we watched the advection fog stake claim to the neighborhood again, just as it had done that morning and for the past mornings.

all the same day.

and so we sat in the quiet of the fog as it surrounded us, our home, our ‘hood.

and, just as we didn’t know what the people in the sun were doing, neither did they know we were sitting in a blanket of dense fog.

we don’t know what we don’t know.

but isn’t it our job – as humans living in nation-wide community with each other – to seek knowledge of the other? of others’ circumstances?

are we culpable for an awareness of other-ness?

if i am on the lakefront and you are inland, do i care about you, do you care about me?

is there a line – somewhere between the lake and inland or in this country – that divides the needs of the people? is there a line – somewhere between the north and the south, the east and the west – that divides the needs of the people? is there a line – of race, of ethnicity, of orientation, of birth circumstance, social ladder-climbing, status, society’s trappings – that divides the needs of the people? is there a line – somewhere between the haves and the have-nots or the have-it-alls and the have-nothings – that divides the needs of the people?

where is compassion? a sense of decency? of humanity?

there is – apparently – no line that is too low for what is happening in this country now.

how is it that people – real people – mean so little to this administration?

and i think about those people – humans – who are cheering this on. i wonder how they have been seduced.

have they read the bills, the laws, the executive orders, the project, the intentions?

do they realize that this is decimating our country – the same country that is their country?

do they even give a second to wondering how all this cruelty, greed, destruction, moral corruption is “great”?

is their lack of concern because it does not directly impact them…yet? do they even know if it does?

is their state of great glee because it’s sunny where they are right now?

do they know that weather systems are not static, that they travel and affect communities at will, that it could be them next?

how can they linger in their cold dense fog – oblivious and unconcerned?

*****

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

there are 6186 photos on my phone that – in some shape or form – are photos of the sky. there are 2400 that are of clouds. i’m pretty sure there’s some overlap there. but that is a lot of photos looking up.

with yet another storm watch in the state – on an unusually warm late april night – we sat out on the deck with 20 watching the sky. i took pictures. it felt like a summer night – minus the mosquitos – and we adirondack-chair-sat for quite a while, intermittent conversation and laughter punctuating the quiet.

as i’ve previously written about, we pay attention to storm watches and warnings. we use our weather app to track the arriving front systems, to watch the hourly forecast. we depend on it to make good decisions for our safety.

i remember a roadtrip – crossing through the state of wyoming – trying to outrun a giant dark greenish sky that seemed to be chasing after us. littlebabyscion has never zipped along as fast as it did that day. i remember d carrying dogga downstairs to the basement, with supplies and important papers, all while the tornado siren was sounding outside. i remember – way back in the day – laying in a ditch in the middle of rural illinois somewhere while vacationing at my big brother’s, his vehicle parked on the grassy shoulder of the county road on which we had been driving. i remember – not too long ago – just last june – sitting in littlebabyscion literally tucked up against a brick restaurant after-hours as we tried to evade the tornadic wind that had lifted us up off the open parking lot.

each time we made efforts – to use caution, to think-it-through, to be reasonably safe – and we took action. each time survival was the end goal. the storms of climate change are becoming apocalyptic – severe, with devastating consequences. we do our best to be knowledgeable, alerted, constructive.

the gale force winds of corruption are whirling around us. we must use caution, must think-it-through, must be reasonably safe, must take action. survival is the end goal. the collapsing of democracy is apocalyptic — severe, with devastating consequences.

we must all do our best.

*****

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the exquisite. [kerri’s blog on flawed wednesday]

in these days we are waking very early. our old dogga is hungry, maybe a little stiff, needing to get up and get us moving. and so we do. we open blinds and let the sun rise through our windows. we sit with our coffee against pillows in a bed we have now lowered closer to the floor for dogga. we listen to the birds and our pond gurgling. it is quiet. really quite exquisite.

we wake to the beautiful barebones of this universe – and sit in appreciation, silent as we listen and absorb the dawn of this next day. we are both very, very aware of this gift of time, this gift of stillness. we revel in the simplest of things for it is the simplest of things with which we surround ourselves; our budget is squishy-tight and we try our best to abide by the premise of ‘less is more’.

and it is in those moments – the moments of rays across our quilt, coffee in our hands, dogga at our feet – the moments of listening – that i can’t understand.

i can’t understand how anyone – particularly any person in any influential position of leadership – can wake up in the morning with evil-agendized intent in their heart. i can’t understand the superficiality of wanting-it-all, needing-it-all, having-it-all. i can’t grok the indecency of plotting against persons, peoples, missions, goodness.

i wonder how it is that one can wake so conversely differently, full of dreadful scheming. i wonder how it is that those people are of the same humankind. i wonder what twisted them, what broke their connection to morality, what tore the silken filaments of the recognition of unconditional beauty from them. what maelstrom enveloped their souls and trapped them in an eddy of cruelty.

we sit on the deck and look to the sky through the mixup of branches above us to the north. dogga lays nearby and the sun is sinking lower, the dusk sky an ombré canvas.

and – like many of you, i suppose – i still can’t understand. and it still doesn’t feel real.

but it is. and there are those – waking up yesterday, today, and – with nothing stopping them – likely, tomorrow – the textures of our woven universe unimportant, their own needs driving corrupt obsessions of power and control, their view of the world – this country – dark, their actions ruthless and cavalier, each of them impervious to the exquisite.

and the barebones of the universe sigh deeply, grief spilling into the technicolored chiaroscuro sky of dawn, the ink of dusk.

*****

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

i hardly know where to start.

truth seems to have taken a leave of absence from this country, no longer useful or appropriate or agenda-aiding for the current administration. instead, we – as a populace – are being fed smarmy falsehoods and all manner of fabricated bull in the name of “truth”.

the ability to manipulate any story, any image, any narrative, any situation, any anything is on the exponential rise. it is hard to discern what is real and what isn’t, what communication we receive or read is real and what isn’t, what images we see are real and what aren’t.

which makes it ever more important to delve into something before jumping whole-hog into believing it.

case in point – the biggest inaugural crowd.

case in point – everything re covid, including bleach and this: “just stay calm. it will go away.”

case in point – winning the 2020 election.

case in point – the peace-loving tourists in the capitol on january 6.

case in point – “they’re eating the dogs. they’re eating the cats.”

and on and on and on and on and on, ad nauseam.

despicable.

and that’s all old news, old old news, old old old news. nothing like the news of the day: stuff made up to validate chaotic, cruel moves by the administration to accomplish hellish corruption.

the ease in which they manipulate you, your hook-line-and-sinker dedication is their frenzied rapture. truly. (it is ridiculously hard not to use bluntly profane language to make this point.)

if you are believing – without bothering to check – what this prez and his team o’ teams are spewing, you are as wrapped up in his sickness as he is. delusion is a powerful contagion and a profound addiction.

like i said, i hardly know where to start.

be a good citizen. look it all up. double-check. have a conscience. save the democracy.

it’s vital.

*****

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gnarly. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

“ooh child, things are gonna get easier

ooh child, things’ll get brighter

ooh child, things are gonna get easier

ooh child, things’ll get brighter

some day, yeah, we’ll put it together and we’ll get it undone

some day when your head is much lighter

some day, yeah, we’ll walk in the rays of a beautiful sun

some day when the world is much brighter…”

(“ooh child” – stan vincent 1970 the five stairsteps)

it is hard for me to avoid. i simply cannot help it. or maybe i just can’t resist the impulse.

we play rummikub every monday and thursday with 20 after we share dinner together. and – every single time – something one of them – d or 20 – says, makes me break into song.

we were talking about the obvious – you know – the state of our country. it was in an unusual fit of optimism. it was right after we talked about bernie sanders and aoc and the pushback of intellectually woke people against authoritarianism etc etc etc (i know you hear that line now – from the king and i – uh-huh, uh-huh – etc etc etc).

it had been a week since we had seen 20 (which is also unusual) and much had happened – on both sides – so there was a lot to talk about.

in that week we had found a different trail. it wound its way through a rural landscape and we enjoyed its newness. and then there was this tree. one sturdy old gnarly oak in the forefront of a blank field. stunning. perhaps a hundred years old. perhaps more. its silhouette against the sky so intense, strikingly gnarly in a good way.

we have such an appreciation for these lands of space through which we hike. we have hiked out east, down south, out west, up north. we’ve hiked in county parks, state parks, national parks. we dream of thru-hiking one day on one of the national trails. we hold these places in high regard, grateful for the glorious beauty, the potential for peacefulness, the celebration of the wild.

and so our conversation of late and of that night – of course – is also about the threat to these places (in addition to all the other gnarly-extremely-twisted corrupt threats of the administration too long to list or even grok in any conscience-based way.) we talked about our new forest preserve hike and we talked about national parks. and it feels sickening inside to think of the decimation of any of this. and all for the wealth of the wealthiest.

in the middle of our rummikub game – me…stuck with gnarly chips – a double of black 13s and a double of 1s and the grasp of the plastic trophy seeming bleak – and in the middle of the accompanying punctuations of news-chaos-of-the-day conversation – it suddenly came to mind, rose to the top.

the song ooh child was written about times of strife.

i started singing.

and hoping.

that some day we – this broken country – will put it together and get it undone. and then we’ll walk in the rays of a beautiful sun – when the world is much brighter.

they rolled their eyes, poking fun at the records spinning in my brain. and, for a few minutes, we all laughed.

and then the lyrics sank in…

…sigh.

*****

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layer cake. [kerri’s blog on flawed wednesday]

it hurt my teeth to just LOOK at it.

layered cotton candy cake.

truly – four layers of “artificially flavored” cotton candy in the form of a cake that you can actually “slice”.

who buys this stuff??

it would seem to me that in these days there is more than enough unhealthy, artificially-flavored, reality-ignoring, adoringly-capitulating, propaganda-pontificating, pretend-christianizing, fascist-apologizing, putridly-patriotic, extremist-venom to last us the rest of all time.

why we would need a cotton candy layer cake is beyond me. we are already steeped in an unhealthy actual sickness far beyond what any artificial sugar high might create. we are walking – living and breathing – in the sociopathically-evil-revenge-filled-conscience-free-greed-driven-corrupt mind of this administration.

it takes one glance at social media to witness this, to see this real moment in our history streaming alongside the layers of complicity, silence, distilling, distracting, lying, hubris-shouting, bigot-screaming, shell-gaming – all part of the rah-rah-cheering-squad layer cake.

how much more artificial flavoring do we need?

*****

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