reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: david robinson thursday


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settled. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

a friend of ours wrote, “i feel like i’ve been searching for that place for a long time now.” that place. the place to call home.

i haven’t lived in a neighborhood that has underground wires. on long island, in florida, in new hampshire, on island, here. everywhere i’ve lived has had wires that stretch from telephone poles to places on the house. cables parallel to the road, cables crisscrossing the backyard, cables running down the driveway.

i’m sure that living in a development without wires might look neater, cleaner. certainly there would be no chance of wires downed in ice storms or big up-on-the-pole transformer explosions. 

but wires are what i know. and the squirrels provide an extraordinary amount of entertainment using them as squirrel highways. 

would i rather it wireless? probably. but it’s home – even in that minor imperfection – and i feel settled – most of the time – here. 

i tried to explain it. if i could choose a place where i would want to live – sans thinking about cost and such – i would likely not choose here. other places call me. the mountains, the coast. but this is where i am right now and right now it is where i am. 

i suppose it’s where you place your focus. 

shortly, my brand-spanking-new medicare card will take effect. it’s astounding. conversations among friends are about where to live in this new time of life, paring down, perhaps downsizing, perhaps spending time in the year in a different locale, a different climate. it has us thinking.

we continue to go through our house and donate, give away, sell, throw out things that are tucked into spaces on each level of our home. this project will take a while. there’s a lot of life to sort. and, as we do, we re-imagine the space. downstairs, we say, off to the side of david’s studio, on the street side of the treadmill and the bike, we’ll add some mats. we’ll stretch down there and build our exercise programs. the sitting room has become a cozy reading room and all our cds are now visible on shelves, easy access to playing music we love. eventually, the kitchen will have a little cosmetic work. though we have cooked thousands of meals in it as it is, a little refresh will go a long way. we pine to be out back on our deck and patio, adirondack-chair sitting. we see maybe a few more vegetables in our future. we have some deferred maintenance projects to attend to. 

but we are in a place that makes access to other places easy. we sit between two major cities, a very cool madison a third to our west. we have two major airports nearby, a third down the road a piece. we have trains that will take us to chicago if we don’t want to drive. our city is growing and, though we don’t always agree with everything, it will continue to expand and more will be offered here.

would i choose it if i could choose from anywhere? maybe not. but this is where i am – where we are – and this – for right now – is where we are settled. another day i may answer that differently, more vehemently dedicated to somewhere else. 

in the meanwhile, we’ll make adventures from this place. and we’ll know we can always come home.

every time we pull away for a longer bit, i whisper to our house. i’m guessing every time we pull back into our driveway, wires up above us running the lot line, it whispers back.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

INSTRUMENT OF PEACE mixed media 48″ x 91″

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

though these are not the “amber waves of grain” from the song, they did bring the song to my mind -“america, the beautiful” (katharine lee bates / samuel ward).

some of the most awe-inspiring-catching-my-breath moments have happened out west. in the mountains, in the canyonlands, in the high desert, it is not hard to encounter beauty that takes your breath away. the vastness, the absolute splendor is hard to deny. i get overwhelmed pretty easily out there and both david and my daughter can attest to the fact that i will literally cry in those places.

but time and budgets and obligations keep us from being in those places as often as we would wish. and so, we must make sure to see the fantastic in places closer-by, in vistas familiar. 

we keep our eyes open. 

every time we hike our most familiar trail we notice something different. the other day, though, heavy equipment had restoratively decimated much of what we knew. so we decided to hike along the river, watching for wildlife that had been displaced. we looked for signs of an early spring, traipsing on muddy trails and noticing how high the water line had gotten. 

and then there was this bald eagle. perched high in a tree, overlooking all the newly mown-down woods, it was waiting. i saw it as i glanced up – noting the height of the trees that remained. and there it was. such a gift – seeing an eagle. 

a few times, weeks ago, i watched an eagle soaring there – over the woods, over the bogs. astoundingly, it was mere minutes after i whispered silently for a sign from the universe. the sudden presence of this eagle made me feel like maybe the universe was listening. we wondered aloud what other lessons were there for us out there, what other reassurances we might find in nature.

so we pay attention.

and we pass the waves of grass. 

and notice.

and – even in a time that is fraught with division, rife with political mayhem, with people jostling for power, people just wanting to be heard, people suffering from discriminatory inequalities of which there are far too many to list – i can still hear the song:

“o beautiful for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain. for purple mountain majesties above the fruited plain. america! america! god shed his grace on thee. and crown thy good with brotherhood from sea to shining sea!”

and i think about these spacious skies, the waves of grain, the purple mountain majesties…brotherhood – personhood – shared values – mutual support – in everything from sea to shining sea. and that grace comes into play, for i agree with the lyrics – we surely need divine wisdom, guidance, mercy, assistance…

and the bald eagle sits perched in its highest tree, looking out over the woods that remained. from there it can see the waves of grass, the tracks of heavy equipment in the dirt. it can’t see the purple mountain majesties or the sea or the other shining sea. 

yet, knowing all that was out there – somewhere – it sat. eyes wide open. and took in its world below. 

and likely thought about how fantastic it really is.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

EARTH INTERRUPTED VI mixed media
50.25″ x 41“

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lace in the snow. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

it is in much the same way that arvo pärt appeals to me that this photograph is a win for me. it’s simple – a stem of queen anne’s lace, fallen on the side of the trail, iced in. i felt lucky to come upon such a shot.

one of these days we are going to take a trip – later than sooner, i suspect.  it will be solely for the opportunity to take photographs. we haven’t yet decided on a place, but it doesn’t matter too much – there are photographs everywhere just waiting. like this lace in the snow.

taking photographs reminds us to slow down. it’s impossible to trek fast if i have a camera in my hand. in the rare times i have left it in my bag ahead of time, planning to get a better workout, i inevitably stop and extract it – something has captured my attention, something needs to be on film.

ever since my first 35mm yashica i’ve been the one with the camera. there are big chunks of life where it looks like i wasn’t there. those are the times i was taking the pictures. very much there, just not in the frame. now i wish i had handed off the camera to someone else more – asking for a few more pictures in which i was present.

selfies have taken over today’s social media world. i must say, a selfie at 25 or 35 or even 45 looks waaay different than a selfie at almost-65. i am not a fan. unless of course it can be soft-focus, backlit, and overexposed. in that case, i’m in. otherwise, i want a photo to be taken from a bit further away than the end of my arm.

i continue to wander around with my camera…stopping often on the trail, pulling off to the side of the road in littlebabyscion or big red, grabbing photos of ideas in antique shoppes and boutiques, annoyingly taking candids and posed shots of my grown children when i am near them. i have about 35,000 photos on two iphones, but that doesn’t touch the grand total. 

some photos are obvious – all the tourists gather there, every visitor taking a picture of the iconic whatever-it-is. some photos are obvious – we want remembrances of times spent together, celebrations, festive occasions. some photos are obvious – we portrait our families, we feature our growing children, we capture our pets in everything silly or heartstrung. we photograph the beautiful, the magnificent, the moment-in-time.

and some photos…well, some are a bit more subtle. they are the shadows of the tall trees. they are the tiny birdfeet prints. they are the curl of the petal, about to fall. they are the dew on the grass, the horizon lost in fog, the patterns of an old brick wall. they are the nurselog, the feather, the breaking wave, the caterpillar. and they are lace in the snow. all just waiting to be seen.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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contentment. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

last night i decided that our version of contentment is different than others’ versions of contentment. our bar is lower. definitely lower.

and i’m content with that.

it doesn’t really take much to amuse us. we aren’t big retail shoppers or cruise people or fine dining connoisseurs. we don’t belong to “the club” or drive fancy cars or reserve lodging at all-inclusives. a bit of frenetic goes a long way. but everyone has their thing and everyone has their bar – set at where they feel like they have “reached it” or – at the very least – the “there” to which they are headed. for some, that bar is really meaningful.

we, on the other hand, are moseying around, meandering, checking in on the horizon from time to time. there is no artificial or competitive bar to beat ourselves up over. and tonight, i suddenly realized that i’m ok with that.

my sweet momma taught me long ago how to make something out of nothing – how to make adventures out of the mundane, how to make special that which is ordinary. it wasn’t like she – with chalk and a chalkboard and books of exercises on gratitude – taught lessons. instead, it was just simply watching her. she didn’t require a lot. i don’t remember her having shopping sprees or demanding anything spectacular for vacation. even her cooking was simple: she was a frozen-veggie person, having converted from canned veggies. i don’t remember red peppers from growing up. i don’t remember real garlic cloves or avocado. i do remember her roast beef and i can still picture the index sized recipe card titled “a decidedly delicious way to roast beef” – a simple recipe for which she was well-known. and i remember her lemon pudding cake. we didn’t go to restaurants but for very special times in those growing-up years. she didn’t try to entertain me or over-schedule me. 

and so i feel like i learned early that life is what you make it and dreams can be any size you wish. 

for out that window – in the big ole world – there are many rungs in that great big ladder of life. neither of my parents seemed to really concern themselves with those rungs, that ever-rising bar. they just were who they were and they made the most of that.

in the days and weeks and months and years that have gone by since both my momma and poppo transitioned to the next plane over, there haven’t been times that i – one of the few people who would truly – really-truly – care about them and the details of their lives – have wondered about their work, their jobs, their salary, their retirement plans, their investments, their titles or certificates of merit, accolades of their careers or even the stuff they owned. i haven’t given thought to their bar or whether or not they achieved “it”. 

what i have thought about is the contentment i saw on my momma’s face when her family walked in the door, the sparkle in my dad’s eyes. what i have thought about is the smell of coffee first thing in the morning and sitting at their kitchen table, just talking about whatever. what i have thought about is their generosity of spirit – giving to others in need whatever they had. what i have thought about is their loving support of their children. i’ve thought about the stink-eye of my mom and the grin of my dad. i’ve thought about hearing the words “my sweet potato” and “brat” from their lips. i’ve thought about stories and chocolate ganache cake, egg mcarnsons and cold homemade french fries. nothing too complicated, nothing striding up and over the bar.

and so i guess i come to it honestly, this contentment. keeping expectations in check and appreciating the tiniest things make every single thing that happens count. i am ticking these off on fingers and toes, not in mutual funds and bonds and annual passes and the latest models – for those are someone else’s contentment.

i won’t say no to goodness as it shows up. i will tuck it in with us. and i will keep my eyes on the horizon, even as we wander, lingering and moving on.

and in the moments that follow this great big life i know that none of this will matter: my gpa, the degrees on my wall or stashed in a bin, the bank account or the vault with jewelry, the car in the driveway or even the cds – with my name on them – in stacks of boxes in the basement. what i hope will matter is the look of contentment on my face – standing in a warm old house gazing out the ice-flaked window knowing – simply – what it feels like to love and to be loved. what i hope to leave is that it really doesn’t take much to be content and to make the most of it.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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it’s all situational. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

we’ve seen photographs of other places – not all that far from our house. even 10, 20, 30 miles or so – maybe less – makes a difference. instead of a bit of snow and a lot of ice like we have, there are inches of snow. lake michigan and that ole windy jet stream has been wreaking havoc for every meteorologist around trying to accurately predict what to expect. it’s all situational.

this past saturday was a fun day (notice my pained smirk here). with ladders and buckets and decanters and water boiling on the stove and blow dryers we dealt with the ice damming issues that come with these sudden bursts of arctic air – the negatives. it is never good to open the back door and be dripped upon before exiting the sunroom and going outside. so, we took all our ice-damming know-how and experience and applied it, once again, to our gutters and roofline – particularly near the obstinate newer gutter outside the back door. going back to maybe 2002 or even a bit earlier, i remember clearly being on the ladder out there with a long hose extending to the basement laundry tub, attempting to melt the overlayer of ice to allow the gutter to flow. so it is clearly a tradition at our house and not an unexpected sight; our eastneighbors never even said a word as they passed by. one never knows when this is going to happen and some years are luckier than others. the conditions are specific and, even with heating cables tucked into the gutters, there are unlucky days here and there. it’s all situational.

and so, we have a polka-dotted patio – with slushy-ice making little circles – making us think of the ice circles that form in lake michigan under certain circumstances. a bit of snow has now accumulated on the grass out back and the birds who remain here to winter are occupying the ornamental grasses – eating seeds that remain there, alternating between the grasses and the birdfeeder. i wonder about a way to warm the water in the birdbath so that there is some fresh water for them to drink. they seem happy, flitting about, despite the freezing cold and wind.

it will be another hearty dinner night. something warming, soup or chili. this cold snap is going to last a few more days. i suppose we could go out hiking in snow-covered woods, but the treadmill and the bike call our names from the basement and we wuss out. we plan on adding to our little gym down there – maybe a few mats for stretching exercises as well. there are certainly circumstances during which we’d rather be in our none-too-fancy-but-climate-controlled basement than outside in the frigid air. it’s all situational.

and even though we glance at the temperatures in other corners of the world – and people taunt us with screenshots of weather with 75° and that silly sun icon – we are glad to be here. managing the challenges of the cold weather, soaking up the comfort of a warm home, watching the seasons as they seemingly fly by. it is all situational and we remember to be grateful for this – our situation.

*****

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read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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best decision. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

because it was supposed to be blizzarding out right now, we are blogging ahead. it is not blizzarding out, however. it is raining and slushing and windy and is completely nasty out, but definitely not blizzarding. now, since you will be reading this on thursday and this is only tuesday, i am wondering will happen between now and then. the weather app says that it will all turn into snow at 3pm. and, as i look out the window right this second, a little snow is mixed in with the rain…so it is starting…maybe.

dogdog loves the snow more than anything. he is definitely voting “yes” for snowstorms and blizzards this winter. on the day i took this photo he walked outside and laid down on the deck, languishing in his bliss. he has been a snow-dog ever since we brought him home as a little puppy. 

when we lost babycat to the other dimension i spent hours looking through my photos of him. i hoped i had all of his little quirks captured, all the things that made him the cat he was – on film. but we never really do get it all though. i wasn’t video-ing constantly or taking photos of his every move. and so, many of his funny quirks and the things we adored about him – this cat that saved me – are simply tucked in, in my memory. 

and so, i am trying to capture a bit more with dogga. even his sweet pawprint in the snow. he is getting older now – an australian shepherd, he’ll be 11 this year – and he has some older-dog behaviors. like you, we are in love with our dog – just as we were with our cat. and, i suspect, like you, we don’t have any idea how this time has flown by so quickly. they capture our hearts immediately and time just doesn’t stretch out long enough. 

the years of covid pandemic isolation/social distancing/loss of jobs/staying at home have given us concentrated time with dogga. and he just wants to be with us. it’s mutual. the look on his face when we leave for the grocery store is heart-breaking and the greeting when we arrive back home is magical and full-body, every part of him wagging – especially the infamous aussie butt-wiggle. 

so this pawprint – in the snow and indelibly in our hearts forever and ever – and his tiny old-dog groans and a little slow-down – not to mention that look on his face anytime we leave – are tugging at us. he has been with us every day we have lived together, except for the first two. 

it was during those first two that we debated dog-nodog-dog-nodog nonstop after meeting him across the state at a farm on the river road in pepin. driving the budget truck across the country to move d in, we stopped at the sign that said “aussie puppies” just to see. d assured me – though we had talked about a puppy ‘some day’ – that aussies are usually merle or tricolor and not black, which was our intended puppy-color-of-choice. thus we thought were driving up the long drive not likely to fall in instant love. and then, farmer don told us that he only had one puppy left and that he had no takers because he was black. one look, one puppy hug and it was all over. we left a deposit – which we told farmer don he could keep either way – and drove away with a decision to make. 

and that’s when the debate started. it didn’t stop until two days later when we drove back up that long drive and this little black puppy came running directly to us, sitting down at the side of littlebabyscion. right then, we knew it was undeniable.

best decision ever.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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buymeacoffee is a simple tip-jar where you may help support the continuing creating of artists whose work means something to you. thank you for your consideration. xoxo


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waiting for the spaceship. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

and the shiny brite spaceship gathered all the excess – from the basement, the attic, every nook and cranny – and took off at warped speed, giant contrail following it, chugging into outer space, lugging it all to the delighted beings on another planet. 

in my dreams.

no…this is cleaning out that i can’t avoid. it is time.

and all the books on our planet on this topic – ie: the konmari method (ala marie kondo), claire middleton’s sentimental person’s guide to decluttering, etc etc etc – don’t reeeeally help. (however – here’s a pro tip – sitting and reading these books certainly does successfully delay actually doing it!)

the other day we sold rockband. it was a complete set and kept in pristine condition. we sat in a grocery store parking lot and waited for the guy who bought it off craig’s list to show up. because it was christmas eve i brought a giant roll of wide ribbon so that he could simply wrap the box in lots of ribbon to put under the family tree. the moment he drove away in his hatchback – stuffed with the huge box in which i had carefully wrapped all the elements and instruments of the game – i was hooked. 

it’s time to clean out.

i guess the first place to start is the closet and the dresser. now, we only have one dresser – i have four drawers and d has one. our closets are small – remember, this is an old house – and it’s difficult to see everything because they are too tightly hung with clothing. looking at my clothes, i always ponder a few things: will this ever fit again? how can i give this away when i have emotional attachment to it? will i need this skirt/dress/pair of pants/blazer if i ever have a “traditional” job again? what about concert attire? and shoes…yikes. there’s a whole ‘nother issue. i haven’t bought many shoes at all in recent years – like the last ten or fifteen, but i still have shoes that i wore in 1995, so there are a few pairs in my closet, the closet in the sitting room and in a bin in the basement. the ones i wear over and over? very few. i suspect that is a theme…for most of us…for most of the things we place on our bodies and on our feet.

and so, it’s time.

it’s not like you haven’t read this here before. it is – yes – a recurring theme. i googled my own writings and was reminded this yen-to-shed-stuff has been going on for years. even in 2021 i wrote about the “lateral list” of things to do. let’s just say i’ve been gaining momentum. gearing up. stoking my ruthless.

eh. let’s just say i’ve been procrastinating. isn’t that what basements and attics are for? the indulging of procrastination. yup.

anyway, i have been bitten by the craig’slist, marketplace, ebay bug. maybe a few things can generate a grocery trip or two. otherwise, “free porch pick-up” and “donate here” sound good. 

the up-north gang gathered before the holiday and sipped brandy slushies. we each talked about how we had saved bins of toddler clothes, toys, trinkets for our children, now, all grown-up. we have the corners of attics and storage rooms in basements with giant plasticware carefully storing these treasures we were certain our children would want. only they don’t. they don’t want any of it. here we are, children of great depression parents – certain we were doing the right thing, the frugal thing, and yes, yes, the sentimentally thready thing – and they, children of children of great depression parents – are far enough removed from all that heavy sense of handing-it-down/passing-it-on responsibility – that they all astoundingly tell us “no thanks”. without remorse. even flippantly. as opposed to our voices when our own parents passed bins and bins and boxes and such on to us…respectfully and gratefully accepting it all, even with no clear idea what to do with it, just trusting in the storage capacity of our basements and attics. so here we all are – with bins and bins and boxes and such – in the emotionally perilous journey of cleaning out. not for the meek at heart.

it’s time.

and so, is there anyone out there who would like vintage puffy santas or the sesame street vintage play gym or a smattering of noritake china with teapot or a collection of disney vcr tapes or an 8-track player complete with 8-track tapes? perhaps multiple tiny oshkosh overalls or polly flinders smocked toddler dresses? or some fenton hobnail milk glass pieces? or decorative plates for hanging? 

time.

mayyyybe.

what i really need is a nap and a spaceship. now. 

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

visit DAVID’S virtual gallery

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clarity. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

there is no way to maneuver the depth of field on my old iphone. it is all about coming in closer and backing up – eyeing what is framed in the aperture and moving to adjust what i want the photograph to look like. i know that the newer iphones have some access to depth of field options but – at the moment – i don’t have access to a newer iphone option. so. i adjust.

i almost rejected this photograph as a melange post. with the closest red dogwood branch a bit out-of-focus it didn’t really meet my parameters for a post. and then i stopped to reconsider it. it’s a great visual reminder of how distorted things can look from up close.

clarity is something that comes when you put a little space between you and the issue or object of your attention. 20 always says, “you’re too close!” and it’s impossible to not hear his voice in my head now in the throes of any decision. and so i try to remember to back up a little, to have some distance as i consider – an overview. 

when d was working for a new software startup (before the business was unfortunately closed) their product was the perfect tool for clarity. after i understood even the most basic functions of this remarkable software – as they were looking for names – i kept blurting out suggestions like “pinnacle” or “eagle eye” or “lookout” or “apex”. it seemed obvious to me that having this incredible overview – a step back – was the perfect new software for people struggling to make sense of too much up close and personal…a pragmatic way to sort and prioritize…a realistic way to have perspective. it’s beyond my wildest imagination that they did not continue on their merry way into software stardom. but alas, such is life, eh?

anyway, that lookout tower approach has its wisdom. it’s like pulling into the overlook in the appalachia region on route 25e in tennessee. up until that moment – in the middle of them – you were aware that there were mountains but you were seeing them from too close to really appreciate the grandeur. you drive into the overlook, step out of your vehicle, walk to the retaining wall and you are stunned by the magnificence of how the whole world drops off beyond your feet, stretching on and on and on. and you can see – there are mountains and lakes and a river – things you could not discern from up close. 

in the middle of the middle stepping back is one of the ridiculously hardest things to do. it feels counter-productive when you are trying to come to some sort of conclusion or have some kind of perspective about a specific thing. but up close and personal, the red dogwood is blurry and i can’t appreciate its stunning beauty. from a little distance away, i can see how it plays against the warm beige of the grasses and cattails, how it enhances the fallow of this meadow.

in this crazy-busy time of year – with people rushing around trying to make the holidays perfect for themselves and others – i’m thinking that maybe we are all a little too close. i’m reminded again and again of what is most important. i’m taking in serenity as i can. we are trying to go slow – to appreciate the big picture – to not be clouded by that which is hard to sort or discern or, for that matter, even clearly see. 

yes, the red dogwood is blurry up close. but from a little distance it stands out in a field barren of much color. the dissonance fades. the chord resolves. there is clarity. 

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

INSTRUMENT OF PEACE acrylic 48″x91″

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buymeacoffee is a tip-jar website where you may help support the continuing work of artists you value. thank you for your consideration. xoxo


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leaves and leaves. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

in the last weeks our hikes have taken on the shuffling gait of autumn…the days when you crunch through the fallen leaves on the trail or even on the sidewalk. it’s crisp out and maybe you are wearing gloves, a warm vest. there is that sound as you walk. it resonates backward in time – and memories of other walks and hikes flood in. having lived in a few different places – distinctly different from each other – gives plenty of fodder.

when i first moved to wisconsin – decades ago now – we drove down one of the main east-west arteries of the city and into a temperature inversion. it was later fall and, apparently, there were homeowners – in the township that has boundaries meandering in and out of the city – burning leaves. the smoke was like a giant blanket, trapped and literally hanging over the road. it was strange to drive from clear daylight into this smoke-filled area – fogged way high up so that you couldn’t see the blue sky when you were in it. i haven’t encountered this since, but the memory of it is still clear. it was early in my time here and it felt unnerving, adding to the feeling of homesickness.

my sweet poppo used to burn leaves. back on long island our home was in front of a woods so there were plenty of trees in our yard. after we raked and raked (and raked) he would burn them, like everyone else. the smell of leaves burning still takes me back there. it brings hot cocoa and marshmallows to mind, my momma adding to the fun. sometimes i’d have friends over and call it a leaf-raking party.

i have snapshots in my mind’s eye – my children playing in leaf piles. towheaded toddlers, mittens, sweatshirts or snowsuits – tumbling and laughing and throwing leaves. neither were raking-fans but there is no denying the pull of a good leafpile.

i’m not doing the raking these days. my wrist can’t handle it. but d doesn’t seem to mind – he loves the physical-ness of raking leaves. there are times i think that it would be exceptionally wonderful to live in a place that is completely natural – where grass is not manicured, leafblowers are unheard of, and leaves are left to become mulch and part of the earth. maybe someday.

in the meanwhile we abide by green biobag rules and rake the extra off our yard, making sure there is plenty still to insulate our plants and to provide frigid-weather shelter for critters. it makes me happy to think of the bunnies who have clearly taken up residence under our deck, tucked into leaves we could never reach.

and – on those days we hike in the woods and the wafting of a distant bonfire reaches us – i stop in the middle of the trail. and, like layers of leaf-smoke blocking the sky for a moment or two, i am wrapped in the embers of memories.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

ASPEN STAND

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empty bowl. full bowl. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

it is monday as i write this.

thursday is thanksgiving.

we have no plans.

yet.

we do know we will be fortunate to share a meal together. we know we will cook something nourishing, light a candle, place cloth napkins at our seats, have tumblers of water and perhaps a glass of wine. we know that whatever food we choose, it will be with thanks-giving at its center.

since it is monday and since thursday is merely three days away now, it will not likely be a turkey and all the traditional trimmings. our families are elsewhere. our children are grown, doing other things. our friends have their own plans. it is just us and we simply cannot devour a turkey-and-sides – nor do we want to. we will gather – the two of us.

and instead, we will focus on the giving-thanks of thanksgiving. we will lift gratitudes for each of these people not sitting with us at the table. we will hopefully get outside for a bit. we will realize that this moment in time is a moment in time. in the overarcing of life, this is the moment we can touch.

this time has not been without lessons. this time has not been sans reflecting. this time has not been without peering into dark looking for tiny smidges of light. this time has not been without wistful grief.

this time has been with learnings. this time has been with the sharing of burdens. this time has been with others offering starlight from a deep universe. this time has been with realization. this time has been with the cut-to-the-chase-ness of breathing-right-now.

the bowl may be empty. the bowl may be full.

our thanks-giving hearts are.

“we are a landscape of all we have seen.” (isamu noguchi)

*****

happy thanksgiving.

IN QUIET PRAYER acrylic 16″x20″

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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