reverse threading

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not to be underestimated. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

this year – because i guess we are somewhat behind the gardener-curve – we fell in love with sweet potato vine. we planted a small lime green starter-plant in a pot on our deck, placing it on top a vintage stepladder. every single day we stand in awe out there, marveling at its growth, drinking in the color, peacock-proud of “our” accomplishment – which, as you know, only entailed transplanting it into a pot with some good dirt. mother nature did the rest. we were merely barely-consequential conduits in the process. we vow that next year – and i’ll put this on the calendar – we will get more lime-vines, for lime-joy is not to be underestimated.

because we – silly us – thought that there may be more of these – still – at the gorgeous they-grow-it-all-there nursery we go to, we had a little adventure there the other day.

we could – and do – spend hours wandering in and amongst the aisles and winding paths of this nursery. we are sponges – trying to learn a bit more and a bit more as we go. we ask the attendants there questions. we get answers rich in information and planting advice; it is a lesson in the gift of receiving lessons, of still learning.

we found a dark purple vine to put on the tall upright ladder on our deck and a licorice plant to go on a garden table, both on sale. we took note of what we might like to plant next year.

our front gardens are filled with switchgrasses and hydrangea, day lilies and sedum. our back gardens of ferns, grasses, daylilies, hosta, clematis are stalwart hosts of our herb potting garden. it’s really our deck and our patio that have room for a bit of creativity, annuals that captivate us.

we sat on the deck in the waning heat and light of day and talked about maybe adding a small raised bed next year – one of those galvanized metal planters. we deliberately veered away from current events. we rolled our eyes and vehemently shook our heads, not willing to ‘go there’. we are both aghast at the state of things – so many things under so many umbrellas. so, in our best wander-women-how-many-summers-do-we-truly-have-left-and-how-do-we-wish-to-spend-them mindset, we planned and dreamed and lived – for those minutes – in the small space taken up on earth by our deck, our house, our front yard and backyard. we bragged aloud – to each other – about the explosive growth of everything out back (including weeds). we know that this year we know a bit more than we did last year. i vow to write it all down so that we might draw from our new this-year knowledge next year.

we sigh and settle back in our old gravity chairs and watch the squirrels sip water at the birdbath. a breeze picks up off the lake and i close my eyes to memorize it all.

*****

we are trying to regroup, rethink and refocus our melange blogpost writing a bit. we – like you – know what is really happening in our world and do not need one more person – including ourselves – telling us the details of this saddest of descents destroying democracy and humanity. though we know our effort will not be 100% successful – for there is sooo much to bemoan in these everydays – we have decided to try and lean into another way – to instead write about WHAT ELSE IS REAL. this will not negate negativity, but we hope that it will help prescribe presence as antidote and balm for our collective weariness.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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DANCING IN THE FRONT YARD 24″x24″

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sage the morning glory. [kerri’s blog on flawed wednesday]

we hike along this trail often, so often we know it well, its curves and windy way through the trees, the meadows, the boggy areas, the marshland near the river. only when we go earlier in the day do we see the morning glory. only when the sun is not too high in the sky are these beauties wide open, begging for attention on this, their day.

morning glory blossoms only last one day. they bloom in the early morning and by late afternoon have closed their fragile petals. the star in the middle of the glorybloom is stunning, the vine winds willy-nilly through the underbrush.

i always feel fortunate to be witness to the morning glory, though i am haunted by a song about morning glories that i cannot remember and haven’t ever spoken about. it was written by a man who stole morning glory moments from young women – from me – in vile self-serving predatory hunger.

i can hear the strains of finger-picked guitar, the croon of his easy, practiced singing voice. i know the lyrics ‘morning glory’ are in the lyrics of the song – i can practically taste it every single time we pass morning glory. but i cannot come up with the song and, since it was probably not published, i likely won’t be able to find it so it remains amorphous but potent.

and now, passing the pink and white glory holding hands and stepping together, i think it is probably time to sage the morning glory. it is time to exhale, to ease my mind into different lyrics – like the lyrics john denver sang in the song today, the lyrics of gentleness, of soft reverence for the other, of sweet love, of gratitude and appreciation, of new dawn, of fleeting time, of presence.

“today while the blossom still clings to the vine/i’ll taste your strawberries, i’ll drink your sweet wine/a million tomorrows may all pass away/e’er i forget all the joy that is mine today.” (today – randy sparks)

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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

when we moved here – 36 years ago – there was no deck in the backyard. there were concrete steps leading up to the back door, a cement sidewalk from the driveway around the back of the house to that set of steps.

the people who lived in this house before us had some – interesting – decor ideas. granted, it was the 80s so that offers its own bit of explanation. they generously offered to teach us how to remove and apply new wood grained contact paper to the kitchen countertops and backsplash – which, i guess, they thought coordinated nicely with the peach colored cabinets. (we declined, removing all semblance of contact paper from the counters and peach from the cupboards.) curtains and valances and priscillas and cafes covered all the windows – and there are a lot of windows in this house. there was brown carpet everywhere but for the orange and green shag in the sunroom. it all felt a bit dark and closed-in, suffocated even more by the rows of hedges literally everywhere outside.

but when i walked in – despite the overabundance of brown – the plethora of double-hungs draped in fabric – doors hanging in door frames serving no purpose but for taking up space – butter yellow shingles with brown (yes, more brown) trim we soon replaced with narrow white vinyl lap siding – a house with few personal touches, a house that desperately needed to breathe – it felt like home.

it still does.

and, despite all the changes this house has gone through, there are still multiple projects that linger on the list – deferred or just dreamy. but it breathes – in and out – and we can feel its heart beat.

it wasn’t long after we moved in that we decided to build a deck out back and my children’s father and grandfather set to that project, designing a smartly shaped L with a deck railing that would protect our small-children-yet-to-be from falling off.

soon after – seemingly a minute or two – there was a swing set with a slide and a glider, a fort and a turtle sandbox. five minutes later we added a basketball hoop. eventually, we took down most of the railing. i had all the hedges taken out and planted ornamental grasses, for this house is a graceful-on-the-breeze ornamental grasses kind of house. i added a pond, a focal point – while ever changing the plantings around the perimeter of the yard, dependent mostly on friends who had extra bushes or plants. we laid a stone patio – a place for slow dancing and dinners al fresco. we thoughtfully designed the garden along the new fence in the back. we gently added peonies and built a barnwood potting stand, laying slabs of rock in that corner garden and around the pond to protect our aussie’s circular run around it. we brought breck home from breckenridge and tenderly tended this aspen tree – the only tree either of us have ever purchased – finally finding its preferred home in a small garden in the middle of the backyard. and the sedum cuttings we placed there took, surrounding breck with green serated leaves and yellow flowers.

just the other day we noticed that this very sedum groundcover had somehow planted itself under the deck – in an obviously dark space inhospitably filled with rocks; its tiny volunteering stems were peeking out from underneath. it is growing out – reaching east – and we will not eliminate it from this new place it inhabits. we will do all we can to encourage it, foster its growth, help it soak up sunlight and continue to proliferate along the edges of the deck.

gardens are a constant source of surprises. we find volunteer switchgrasses in places we didn’t expect. there are day lilies in the most challenging of spots. and ferns have tenaciously found their way to places where there is clearly a bit too much sunlight for them. we tend all of these and transplant the fern volunteers into the shadier fern garden out back.

but the surprises are just that – surprises. joyful. they are a tiny nod that we – even in our seemingly infinite non-knowledge of gardening – are doing something right.

i honestly don’t think it has anything to do with providing the right soil or the right nutrients or the right fertilizer or the right amount of sun or the right amount of watering. we are guessing on all of this – with the aid of research we desperately try to apply appropriately.

what it think it has to do with – more – is how much we mindfully love it all – our house, our front yard, our backyard, our deck, our gardens, our patio. surely it all can feel that.

people respond to love and nurture the same way – coming alive, seeking light, growing and changing, thriving, nurturing back.

and i wonder how it is anyone would treat people – members of a community – respectful participants in the weave of the concentric circles of humanity in our towns, our states, our country – any differently than a garden.

why would anyone not wish to foster a nurturing and supportive environment – any community of people – any town, state, country – where all may grow and thrive?

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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

a couple decades ago a dear friend tied some stems of lavender together with string and gave them to me. it was a wish for peace, for calm, for comfort. one of the stringed-together stems still hangs in my studio.

sometime after that another dear friend shipped me lavender from her own yard – so that i might plant it in mine. for a time i had a lavender garden – returning each year until a neighbor’s invasive ground cover usurped my more fragile lavender.

the summer we lived on washington island we were privy to an amazing lavender farm – walkways in between beds upon beds of lavender in a field of tranquility.

a couple years ago i carefully dried some stems of lavender – hanging them in the basement – and then extracted the seeds, putting them in tiny organza bags to send to family members and close friends with wishes of healing and serenity.

in these last years we have planted big clay pots of lavender, anxiously waiting for the soft purple flowers and the scent off the breeze to lift us.

each year i am amazed by the clusters of diminutive flowers that make up the whole. each year i photograph the green stems and the tiny buds waiting to spring into bloom. each year i run my hand along the stalk and gently along the blossoming lavender, always taken by the fragrance.

it is no different this year. i sat on the deck next to the pot of lavender. my mind wandered back through the years – the lavender years – the gift of a posy, the plants flown to me across the country, the lavender in the fields on island, the lavender my girl picked out at the nursery. english lavender, french lavender, sweet romance lavender, bundles of lavender drying downstairs, beautiful sachets ready to be gifted.

we are not high-brow gardeners. our gardens are simple and have many heritage plants and things that are not complicated to grow. we know little but each year try to learn a wee bit more than we knew before.

maybe one day we will add a raised bed or two to our patio – where we might add more herbs, more vegetables, more flowers.

the thing i know we will always have – whether there is a simply a potting stand and perimeter gardens like there are now or something more – is a big pot of lavender.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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to be a bird. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

we used to climb out of the bedroom window upstairs onto the flat roof. we’d pass adirondack chairs up from the deck below and experience our backyard from a “patio” spot higher up. it is always perspective-arranging to be up there. we can see further from that vantage point.

the very first day we met in person we climbed out that window onto the roof. that day i had a rug, a couple chairs, blankets and wine glasses ready. it was utterly magical and has made us dream about securing the roof structure and designing a more permanent space that we might enter through an actual door.

we haven’t climbed out the window in a while now, though we have often spoken about it and i imagine that one of these days – after the heat dome has moved on – that we will again have happy hour on the roof.

when the bird landed on the pinnacle of our roofline, i wondered what it could see. i wondered what it might be thinking as it looked upward to unlimited sky. i wondered what it might be like to be a bird – sans the complexities of living in community with other human beings.

each day we juggle the choice of participating in current-event-information-overload or divesting ourselves of all of it and hiking with nothing on our minds but PCT-someday-dreams and the snacks we carried with us.

each day – as citizens of this country – we try to understand how anyone could wish to destroy this democracy, how anyone could wish to subject other people to the inhumane cruelty we are witnessing, how anyone could wish to align with such horror.

each day we wonder about the next. we wonder what will happen. we wonder what the next few decades will look like – as we, now, are moving into a time when a few decades is all we have.

each day i am overwhelmed by the brutal reality that we – as human beings – generously graced with intelligence and the skills of critical thinking – on this stunningly beautiful mother earth – are literally incapable of living in peace.

and i wonder if the bird – perched on the tippy-top of our roof – is counting its blessings that it is a bird.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

PRAYER OF OPPOSITES 48”x 48”

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this land. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

right between the best fried-rice-restaurant and the grocery store is a farmer’s field. i wonder how long it will be there. there is something very wisconsin about this field and it’s somehow reassuring to see it planted instead of cleared and flagged and waiting for some random building to be built.

on our drive out to one of our woodsy trails we used to pass many farmers’ fields. not so much anymore.

instead, there are massive warehouses – like a crop of giant metal and cement buildings, all trying to disguise their existence with berms created between the gigantic loading-dock-loaded warehouses and the road. as if that negates their impact on what was out-in-the-county, what was farmland, what was natural resource, what was picturesque, what was wisconsin.

i’m not sure how many national parks i have been to – there are many – i’d have to make a comprehensive list. add to that state parks and county parks and city parks and there are many places i have cherished, full of nature, beauty, legacy. i do know that there are so many more i would like to visit, to engage with, places to be in wonder. if you have ever had even a moment of stillness outside – reverent in the middle of the middle of vast beauty – you likely understand.

but in the middle of the middle of all of the chaos in this country right now, among other atrocities there is lurking an attempted takeover of our national parks. there is an administrative desire to deforest, to mine, to drill – all in the name of the almighty dollar. it is unconscionable to think of these national treasures stripped of their gloriousness. i cannot imagine the kind of shortsightedness that overrides good sense, the kind of greed that overrides the protection of these lands and the wildlife that depends on them. i cannot imagine the embrace of climate-change denialism, of the irresponsibility of environmental ruin. i cannot imagine the cavalier attitudes of people who just don’t care about anything but making more and more and even-more money.

but – even right here – right in southeastern wisconsin on backroads that used to be charming – companies riding on the oligarch-wagon have bought up land and changed the landscape. and it will never be the same.

it is incumbent upon us – as heirs of this land – to protect our national parks, to speak up, to speak out, to resist the decimation – before we lose it all.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

EARTH INTERRUPTED VI – 50.25″ x 41″ – david robinson

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better for it. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

we were exhausted after we arrived home. chicago is a lot of stimulus all at once. we had taken the train down to avoid commuter hours on the highway; we took our dear friend to a pre-op appointment.

zooming down and taxiing over to the medical center, taxiing back and zooming back up wasn’t hard. but you can definitely feel the frenetic energy in the city – an energy that is pulsing and alive. as the taxi driver chose the underground roads i marveled at the intensity of traffic – everywhere.

even before our son settled in the city, we made a point to get down there. but we do know there are people who choose to stay away, who don’t necessarily find joy in the pace or textures of a big city. we personally cannot imagine not taking the opportunity to immerse in something different, some place that is different. i don’t see us living in a big city at this point in our lives, but we’re grateful to have cities close by to remind us of the beautiful diversity of people.

there was a volunteer at the entrance to the surgeon’s suite. she was helpful in directing traffic as people arrived. she seemed a bit rote, though welcoming, not warm. until someone sat near and started having a conversation with her – about flowers. she came alive and spirited and it was a reminder of how easy it is for us to close off from others – other people, other customs, other lives, other places. until.

when we had walked in, she asked if we had an appointment. our friend said he did and she turned to look at the two of us – to which i stated, “fan club”.

“everyone needs support,” she replied.

it does one good to leave. staying put makes you complacent. staying put makes everything that is normal just ordinary. it doesn’t give you any sense of awe about how others live, any in-another’s-shoes insight into the complications and complexities of day-to-day life. it doesn’t help you remember – or even try to imagine – the entire population of this nation – how vast, how freckled with differences, the gift of ‘other’.

we sat by the window and gazed outside from our vantage point on the 15th floor. traffic below, the sounds of the city, a building directly opposite us. i imagined the life going on in that building, yet another medical complex. i watched the newcomers as they arrived, brows furrowed with worry or weariness. i imagined the lives of people i would never see again. i watched the suite-greeter, multiplying that one lovely person who i did not know by the 2.7 million others in the city.

and i knew that soon we would board a train and head back up to wisconsin. we’d sit in the kitchen on a cold, rainy late afternoon. we’d eat leftovers. we’d talk about conversations with our taxi drivers and the smooth travel experience of the day. we’d be both grateful for even the briefest of times in the city and grateful for the quiet of our old house. we’d pet on dogga and go to bed early.

and we would be better for it. because we would remember that we are not alone in this world. we are connected to others in the same quest for breathing and thriving. we are enriched, choosing to – even briefly – go somewhere unknown, do something we have to figure out, learn something new, take in the energy of so many, many people – living.

“life is not a spectator sport.” (attributed to jackie robinson)

*****

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

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

and the wisp became real.

and, today, thirty-five years have flown by.

one of my favorite mother’s day cards came from david last year. we make all our cards for each other and on his he drew me, looking at a starry sky. there are two arrows pointing at individual stars and inside he wrote, “for the two times you wished upon a star.”

the wisps of miracles-of-all-kinds floating about the galaxy – the ones that became my children – have my everlasting gratitude.

for i have learned of the infinite spectrum that is motherhood. the triumphs and the failings, the angst and the bliss, the hugs and the pushaways, the unconditional love that somehow birthed an extra heart when each child was born – gracing me with whole hearts for each of them and with a heart to do the rest of the work, the heavy lifting of living.

in a world that is full of galactic nonsense, the real essence becomes more and more clear to me: each wisp of intense beauty, tiny nuances of time passing, the dust that is me – in a river full of stardust.

*****

happy birthday my beloved girl.

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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at home. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

a few years ago we watched a show about housing in the bay area of california. the housing crunch was producing outlandishly high rents, making it impossible for workers – particularly younger people at the outset of their careers – to live anywhere near where they worked. an answer – it seemed – was to offer sleeping pods – bunk bed pods stacked upon each other or next to each other – in a communal living space. with very mixed reviews to these confined space morsels, people moved in and made tiny personal space within communal living their home.

in the many years that our girl was working in the snow industry of the high elevation mountains, she – like every other professional snowboard or ski coach or instructor, every other industry worker from restaurants, boutiques, ski shops, etc – was faced with the impossible task of finding a place to live. costs far outweighed earnings and, so, either these dedicated employees shared spaces (often questionably-worthy of passing basic health standards) renting the rights to a bedroom and a shelf in the refrigerator or they drove extended commutes in all kinds of treacherous weather. it was nerve-wracking, to say the least, as a mom – ever concerned with the daily living conditions of her child (who was far more tolerant of the living conditions than i might have been). post-pandemic exacerbated these circumstances and rentals are scarce or aggressively priced.

for the longest time we have watched house hunters on hgtv. though there are many fix-up kinds of shows, our favorite is the basic house hunters where you watch people select a home to purchase from three homes you virtually-visit with them. you are aware that there have been many other homes considered before this ultimate decision, but you are steeped in the choice between three – with the information of their purchasing budget, their desired amenities and location and a walking tour through the house. it is astounding to us – over and over again – how much a basic house costs these days. we watch – totally immersed – and try to decide which house will be chosen, always blown away by what that choice will cost the buyers.

and each day – for a multitude of reasons – we thank our own home. its old house juju suits us. it is our sanctuary. it looks like us, feels like us, buffets us from the world and renews us. every one of its quirks – that we love – reminds us to love our own quirks. every one of its tiny beauties reminds us of our own tiny beauties. we find peace there and we find a jumping-off place for challenges and self-exploration.

and as i write this, i am aware that – if we are lucky enough to have any physical place we call home – we each make it into what we need. we embrace whatever its circumstance, its location, its imperfection or perfection. we find the space where we feel comfort and reassurance and the ability to be exactly who we are.

some day we would love to travel in an old vw minibus (or one of those amazing converted vans our son-in-law creates), carrying with us all we need for extended periods of time, seeking home in high mountains and canyonlands, deserts or meadowlands, atlantic or pacific beaches, northern forests.

some day we would love to thru-hike one of the national trails, carrying all we need in backpacks on our backs.

either way, i’m pretty certain – even now, even before we have tried either dream – we will feel at home, at peace, in our skin.

“remember, the entrance door to the sanctuary is inside you.” (rumi)

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this DR THURSDAY

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light-blue and blonde. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

somewhere around 1984 or 1986 or so i totally splurged on a dress. it had a background of light blue with puffed-up shoulders that narrowed along my forearm to my wrist, like a juliet sleeve. the bodice was fitted and the dress was knee-ish length. it was a pricey $35 and i wore it only “for good”.

i’m pretty amazed thinking about that treasured dress because i am not really a light-blue person. now, i love light-blue sky and light-blue robin’s eggs and light-blue forget-me-nots and the lightish-blue denim jacket that was my poppo’s, but light-blue in general is not a color i wear.

were i to wear it, however, i would have the tones of this photograph…reeds and sky on an early spring day.

i could have stood and stared at the reeds for a long time. as it was, i did stand and stare at them for quite a while, lost in the ballet that was driven by the wind.

and in those moments, i never once thought about what is happening in the world right now, the chaos and destruction. instead, i was dancing with the reeds, immersed in light blue sky and blonde plumes.

at this point, we are finding it necessary to try and escape our thinking minds. overwrought with angst is not a good way to spend time. so we step out of time and hike or cook or write or give belly-bellies to our dogga. we dream of places to go and trips to take and projects to embark upon. we continue to sort and clean out, donate and toss. we don’t – we can’t – spend every single waking moment trying to solve something that we – alone – cannot solve.

somewhere along the line i gave away that light-blue-puffy-shouldered dress. i wonder if someone cut it up for a quilt, much like i will do with a little-house-on-the-prairie type dress i remember absolutely loving in 1982 and which i found in the dress-up-and-pretend bin downstairs. that dress had big layered ruffles – which apparently are back in style. as a person who is now somehow always peripheral to trending fashion, it’s surprising to see flouncy ruffles out and about.

the dirt trail, dancing reeds and unlimited sky don’t seem to care what i wear. their light-blue and blonde gift is not simply lack of apparel-judgment or vogue-couture-wincing.

their gift is what they offer to us in presence. engaged in the ballet, the dress-memories, the air around me, i learn – once again – to stand still in the center of the moment.

and for that i am grateful.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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