reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: david robinson thursday


by Leave a comment

every ounce. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

we have a relationship with mason jars. ball, kerr, various other brands, it doesn’t matter. we even have a relationship with faux mason jars – the smuckers jelly jars that we used to use for wine, the bonne maman jam jars we currently use as water glasses.

at our wedding we had dozens of mason jars, daisies tucked into all of them. some were ours and we borrowed some (does that work as something borrowed, something blue…?) because way back when – when i first moved to wisconsin – i got hooked on these jars.

my dear friend linda and i would attend the late 80s/early 90s craft fairs, peruse antique shoppes. her home was a celebration of all-things-vintage and i fell in love with it. there were textures and stories – a distinct warmth – everywhere and buying-vintage became a viable – and smart – option for me. we have several metal flour sifters as a result of that and a collection of old wooden textile mill spools and bobbins (from the 19th and earlier 20th centuries). when other people were buying cutesy painted tchotchkes, i was lusting over old wooden boxes, lidded crates and blue mason jars.

we stopped at a couple antique shoppes recently, looking for a small wooden garden table for a plant or two on our deck. we had purchased one last spring but then d loved it so much outside he brought it inside in the fall to serve as his bedside table. now he is a devotee to this little peeling-paint garden table and we are on the hunt for another.

i don’t suppose many people would have brought this table inside – or the old glider – or the chunks of concrete – or the birdhouse – or the chiminea. but in an effort-that-is-no-effort to have a home that doesn’t look like it’s staged-and-ready-for-sale or is a furniture-outlet showroom or magazine piece, we dive into our intuitive to use the things that really speak to us, that are organic, that have stories. i maintain that everyone should be required to purchase mostly used things – there is just too much stuff in the world and i can’t imagine why we need even more manufactured stuff. but i digress.

in that same vein, though, we have started regularly using the things that we have found in our going-through the basement, the attic, the closets. we are eliminating plastic here and there and choosing the cut-glass vessels for our carrot sticks and salty snacks. we are soon going to reconfigure the stuff in the cabinets under the counter in the kitchen – to make access easier to the old pyrex, the fenton hobnail, the cut-glass.

we have found we have no real need to purchase many things. i’m not sure if that comes with age or if that comes with a bit of wisdom – or if those are one and the same. our inclination is to use what we have, to not save things for “good” (which is particularly difficult for me), to minimize as much as we can.

every now and then we find something that just pokes at us, prodding us to bring it home. there is a raw rough-hewn clay pot from northport, a couple linen napkins from the same boutique. there is a new peace sign button hanging in littlebabyscion. but way more has gone out than come in – donated, sold on marketplace or poshmark. less is most definitely more. especially in these times.

the blue ball jars all lined up at this shoppe made me smile. the proprietor clearly loves organization; everything there was in categories, lined up or gathered for ease of perusing through. we had no impulse to buy anything, but loved our walk through.

because each time we walk an antique shoppe, we have stories to tell – about the stuff of growing-up, about things we have previously owned, about stuff we never had or never wanted, about – well – life.

if you have never taken a walk through any vintage shop, you might consider it.

it’s generative in a way you might not expect, with sudden glimpses into the decades that have past, with moments when your heart surges – focused on a memory, with a wistfulness that reminds you of how fleeting it all is and how very much we need to “wring out every ounce of life, breath by breath, [all] that this world has to offer.” (words from a text from dear friend lisa.)

*****

CHASING BUBBLES mixed media 33.25″ x 48″

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.


by Leave a comment

fiddlehead life. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

the ferns are curly-cuing their way up – out of the ground – taller and taller every day. they are spectacular, these fiddleheads, coiled fronds answering the beckoning of the sun.

this particular photo of our ferns in our fern garden strikes me as very maternal…as if the momma fern is looking out for the young ferns following suit – the one with tilted head, the one not yet fully unearthed. i am reminded of one of d’s paintings…mother-daughter…the never-ending inclination to protect, to hold close, to comfort.

but unfurling-life doesn’t provide us with the never-ending opportunity to physically hold our children, to physically protect them, to physically comfort them. instead, they scatter – like wildflower seeds – as they must – as they should – and we parents are left to watch over them from afar, to celebrate their successes and hold fast their hearts when they are mourning. we have not given up our connection, but it is stretched out far and we find we must also rely on the grace of the universe to protect, to hold, to comfort them.

as our own beautiful children – now in their thirties – move about the world being who they are, i miss them, the preciousness of their presence.

i sometimes miss the days when they were reliant on me (and their dad) for most things. those days were intense, busy, skewed mostly in the direction of making sure their needs were met, that we provided for them the best we could, that we offered up opportunity as well as critical boundaries, that we cheered their journeys.

i sometimes miss the days when they had new freedom…those days they were in college and littlebabyscion was the moving van again and again, taking them to and fro, witnessing year by year their growing independence.

i sometimes miss the days when they were newly out of college, when they weren’t quite as established as now, when home still kind of meant wisconsin.

in going-through the basement, the attic, the closets, all the rooms of the house, i try hard to remember that the things of those times will not help me hold onto those times. i try hard to remember that their baby clothes, their early toys, the old trinkets from their rooms, their junior high notebooks will not keep those times at hand. i try to release all that as i go, my heart trying to just gently hold the memories i can remember, my heart trying to tenderly – empathetically – hold my heart. i try to be a good fern in a big world of fern gardens.

and now, as the frond that burst out of the soil first, the frond that unfurled first, the frond that aged first, i glance at the verdant fiddleheads following. i could not be more proud. i could not love them more. and i will never not miss physically holding, protecting or comforting them as they answer the beckoning sun.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.


by 1 Comment

my town. this time. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

the texture was different this time. being there was different.

this time i didn’t feel the same sense of deep sadness everywhere i went. this time i didn’t feel as disconnected, as unwilling to recognize the significance of these places in my life’s timeline. this time i didn’t try to stave off any feeling of affinity, any bond or relationship to these roads, the sand, the harbor, the dock, the salty air. i didn’t slink back from it all, didn’t hide instead in now, in after.

i still felt the loss. i still felt the trauma. i still felt pain.

but i also felt immense love for this place. i felt pride. i felt connection.

this time was different.

and as we walked around – arm in arm, as we do – i felt comforted being there. this visit put dots on the i’s, crossed the t’s. it gave me back my growing-up years. “i’m from here,” i kept saying.

what has happened in our lives will forever be a texture of our lives. i can look back and see how it all impacted me – really, forever.

but this time i was able to distinguish the place from the trauma. i was able to separate them out and not blame that which shouldn’t be blamed. i was able to love on my hometown while recognizing those who had tarnished it in my heart. and i was able to reclaim the place as my own.

the painted brick wall is over by the bakery. it’s gorgeous, an exterior wall of a big old long island lighting (LILCO) building built in 1924. beautifully peeling white paint, it is striking each time we walk past. the textures of this place are visceral for me.

we sat at the bar in skipper’s, sipping from wine glasses that state “since 1978”. the synchronicity is not lost on me. 1978 was the year. back then i owned this town, that place. all the world was open, people were mostly to be trusted, i was a sunrise/rainbows/poet-in-a-tree girl – a budding peony waiting to bloom, to burst into the rest of the world.

and then.

there is a reality to my trauma, like there is for anyone who has experienced the same. it has played a role in my health, my emotions, my relationships, my ability to trust others, every decision, every bit of the arc of my personal and professional life.

we brought home the wine glasses, holding onto my town and all the moments before – and after – everything changed.

*****

19 & 64

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.


by Leave a comment

no time to waste. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

we have two sets of flatware. forks, cake forks, knives, teaspoons and tablespoons, i (and we) have purchased neither set.

the first set has been with me since my very first apartment. my grandmother, mama dear, gave me this set – subsets of it were incentive gifts for deposits into a local bank on long island – so mama dear made enough deposits for a whole set. it moved with me everywhere i have moved since that first apartment. i added wooden-handled steak knives to it – also incentives from a company – and, later, baby spoons and forks, but i never replaced the flatware set.

when my sweet momma died, her flatware – the stainless steel stuff not her silver – became mine. it was familiar to the touch and welcomed, particularly since many pieces of the first-apartment-floral-pattern had gone missing through the years.

so now we have two sets. sort of. there are pieces missing from both. maybe someday we will purchase a whole new set together. we’ll see. it doesn’t feel like a high priority.

in going through basement bins, i’ve found various other pieces of flatware. there’s a spoon thingy with a place to hold tea leaves, a couple of ladles, silver demitasse spoons with a gold wash from finland, vintage souvenir spoons from florida. we haven’t used any of these spoons or other utensils, though it might be nice to include a piece or two in everyday life.

momma had a box just like the one in this photograph – it was red mahogany in color. it was felt-lined and all the silverware fit neatly into slots or into the shallow drawer underneath. we used the silverware on christmas, on easter, on special occasions. but not every day.

sometimes i think that if i were the current owner of her silver i would consider using it every day. i mean, it’s flatware – designed for use, not for saving or just hoarding with other memorable valuables.

it would seem that my sweet momma would smile from that other dimension if she saw people eating mac and cheese or eggs and potatoes or spaghetti or fried rice with her treasured silver/silver-plated forks.

because, after the fact, i’m sure she realized that saving it for good – and you wonder where i got that from??? – is really silly. indeed, i feel like i would hear her as i stood – hesitant – near the wooden silver chest – insisting, “it’s a fork! it’s just a fork!”

in these days of what seems like peril for this world, i’m thinking i would open up that silver chest and pull out the forks, knives, spoons, all the utensil thingies in there. i’d serve them up with homemade pizza or tomato soup or pasta sauce or tikka masala or whatever.

though i don’t have the silver chest or the silver, i do have the lesson.

now, instead of small dollar-store bowls holding our happy-hour snack-time snacks alongside individual-sized select-a-size paper towels, i pull out the cut-glass vessels, the fenton hobnail serving dish, the small china plates, the cloth napkins.

we have no time to waste.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.


by Leave a comment

how it’s supposed to be. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

the first fresh flowers of the year…these beautiful tulips. 20 gave them to me for my birthday in a vase he said he purchased at one of the local thrift shops. they have graced the bistro table in the sunroom and the kitchen counter for over a week now, cheering us in rainy, windy weather.

we have spent some time in the local thrift shops as well, browsing or looking for a specific item or two we need. the st vincent de paul shop in town is clean, organized, with clearly marked items and people to help. it feels respectful of all who enter, for whatever reason they enter.

last night, sitting at the table in the sunroom with these glorious tulips, we used the little china plates we recently bought at the thrift store. with a bit of cheese and bread and a few olives, we looked up from our mini happy hour and, once again, talked about how we really liked finding these sweet 99 cent plates and how proud we were of places nearby so dedicated to making life a little easier at a time when the tasks and obligations and costs of life have been made much, much harder by an administration that doesn’t care about the struggles of ordinary people.

this morning i read in a nextdoor post dedicated to our neighborhood and vicinity a post that a woman wrote looking for opportunities for food. i would have responded with places that generously offer staples and groceries, but there were many – many! – people who had already responded, listing food pantries or shelters that could help provide. it made my heart sing to read all the replies to this woman who had vulnerably expressed her need. people even offered to make a casserole or leave bags of food on their front steps for her to pick up. the woman wrote back, overwhelmed by the sheer number of suggestions and offers. another woman wrote back, “that’s how it’s supposed to be. people helping each other.”

that’s how it’s supposed to be. people helping each other.

exactly.

20 comes over on mondays and thursdays. we share meals those days, with us usually cooking on monday and him on thursday. it is not just for the chance to see each other. it is pooling our resources and sharing a dinner – one less to cook in the week, one less to shop for, one less to pay for. for three people accustomed to leftovers and simplicity, it helps. one concentric circle to another to another…

and every monday and thursday as we stand at the door and wave goodbye, we are reminded – once again – that that’s how it’s supposed to be.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

HELPING HANDS

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.


by 1 Comment

on their tiny shoulders. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

there is something infinitely reassuring when a pair of mourning doves chooses your yard. these two sweet doves spend lots of time either in our yard or peripheral to it – in the trees, on the wires, on the neighbor’s roof overlooking our backyard – all directly related to whether dogga is in or out.

it’s not just because they are symbolic of peace, love, hope. it’s not just because they are representative of new beginnings and emotional healing and moving forward or are thought to be messengers from the next dimension. their gentle nature, their cooing, their life-long dedication to each other – all suggest comfort. seeing their sweet pudgy selves sitting together on our patio or brick pavers, on rocks lining the pond, or even gazing into the yard from high wires above – all slow my heart down, ease that quivering vibration present in my chest.

i’m hoping that this particular pair is steadfast – that they don’t let dogga’s barking or antics frighten or dissuade them from staying here. i’m hoping that they continue to make our home their home.

in these times it occurs to me that we need to take our cues for solace and serenity wherever we can find them. we need to look to the ever-presence of nature, through its own challenges with thick and thin. we need to welcome the signs and nods of assurance and consolation to which we may not have been paying attention, to acquiesce to the solid news that seasons change – regardless of what we do – there is a natural order, there is harmony.

those little mourning doves have a lot on their tiny shoulders.

*****

prayer of opposites 48×48 mixed media

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.


by 1 Comment

continued beingness. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

the seedheads stay present all winter. thimbleweed is ready. eventually the wind will carry it, dispensing it, seeding new growth, spreading it far and wide. the wooly tufts are evidence of nature taking care of nature.

the concentric circles are all around us. in reminders we get every single day, we are prompted to remember that even the tiniest of our actions will impact the next and then the next and then the next and then…

it is what makes me feel so utterly disheartened with what is happening here and now. it is not just the cruel actions of others that ripple out. it is also the mindbogglingly complicit inaction.

once again – and over and over – i see the absolute transience of this moment. once again – and over and over – i see the silky filament that exists between am and am not. once again – and over and over – i try to take in – to make part of my being – the presence of mind to be present, the ability to be stopped in my tracks, a nod to wondrous, utter gratitude for breathing.

to be amazed by the tufts of thimbleweed, to carry a sunrise or sunset, to drink the sun into our bodies, to hold one another.

and once again – and over and over – i wonder how it is that there are so many who would choose cruelty over kindness, who would choose corruption over goodness, who would choose marginalizing others over lifting others up.

how are we taking care of each other? what are we spreading in rippling concentric circles from our very center? how are we carrying, dispensing, seeding, spreading life – living – far and wide?

look to thimbleweed. its resilience, its anticipation. the seedheads seem to be ever-looking forward, planning for its survival, anticipating its continued beingness.

maybe – just maybe – nothing less than what humans should be doing.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

take a virtual visit to DAVID’s gallery

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.


by 1 Comment

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

and then, the quiet after the storm.

there is nothing like fierce winds, torrential sleet, and a blizzard to get your adrenaline going. it’s been a minute since a bit of quiet.

so monday morning – as we gratefully sat under our comforters and quilt and sipped coffee – the sound of red-winged blackbirds in our pine tree was like a symphony – significantly even more moving, at this moment, than listening to the ode to joy finale of beethoven’s 9th symphony.

we were in the aftermath.

even with the bits of destruction we experienced and unexpected – but necessary – expensive repairs – some already made and some on the ever-present maintenance docket – we felt the change and we rested in the sound of birds who had essentially disappeared during the chaotic weather.

the sun came out, we saw a bit of blue sky.

we took a breath.

there will be other storms.

some will be weather, some will be personal challenges, some will be directly connected to the state of this country.

and for any of it – for all of it – we need to gear up.

so – for right now – the sun, calm winds, melting snow, a few comforters and a quilt, coffee and the birds of our backyard will all help. they stoke up the fortitude, endurance and resilience we all have and we all draw on, the fragile crossing from destruction to recovery.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.


by 1 Comment

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

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.


by 1 Comment

a recognition. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

it was pretty sloggy. there was still snow on the trail. that which had melted from bright sunlight and milder temperatures made the trail muddy. very muddy. did i mention muddy?

we had on hiking boots that have uppers made of gortex. i am not crazy about my boots – i was attached to my last pair and don’t have a relationship with this pair, not yet, not even after so many miles. nevertheless, i must say that this pair kept my feet dry, which does make me a tad bit fond of them.

it was hard to stay quiet as we hiked – the sloshing sound of our boots on the path was undeniable: humans are here.

it was also hard on the legs. similar to walking in deep sand, it’s a different workout in mud and snow and ice.

we were about to turn around and head back home to a wee happy hour, but decided to keep on going a little longer.

we came up the rise and there they were, staring at us. two gorgeous deer, absolutely still. they blended into the fields, everything a seasoned shade of tan or brown.

we had eye contact – the lead deer and i. i whispered to it, trying to reassure it – even telepathically – that it was absolutely safe. we stood, watching each other.

eventually i slowly moved forward a bit, to take a picture closer-up. eventually, both deer bounded down the rise and across the trail, heading for the river.

and what a sight.

they carefully picked their way across the river, walking on the ice skillfully, even as i held my breath, hoping for their arrival on the other side.

and we just stood and watched.

i’m sure other things were going on around us – and beyond – as we stood and watched. i’m sure people elsewhere were moving about, the world had plenty of events – both extraordinary and horrific.

maybe as we stood there something big changed somewhere. maybe as we stood there nothing changed anywhere. the tilt of the axis, the spin of the earth just simply continued keeping on.

but – in us – we could feel it.

a connection with all other things living, a sense of longing for the safety of all – particularly those who and which are most vulnerable, and, once again – but never enough to consistently remember it every second of every day – a recognition of beauty and the transitory.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

EARTH INTERRUPTED mixed media 50.25″ x 41″

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.