reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: disappointment


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the saddest perspective shift. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

from the patio of our airbnb, it all looked tiny. lake powell, framed by red rock, was a stunning blue under an equally stunning blue sky. the vista was beautiful. in the aperture of my phone’s camera, sans telephoto help – it was sooo small.

but the fact of the matter is that it wasn’t small at all. it was simply a matter of perspective. these sculptured vistas were a very long way below us – our elevation was well above the lake level canyons…perhaps even 1000 feet. it still never failed to amaze me as i gazed at it all, 360 degrees of amazing, relishing it at each point in the days we were there. it felt as if we had the advantage of a soaring eagle, looking down on this utterly gorgeous view.

such vastness was overwhelming. it was perspective-arranging. that which looked tiny was indeed of gigantic proportion.

and, in the way of perspective, i am just now beginning to understand something else.

in regard to the current presidential election – i think that i have been pushing back on the possibility, refusing to believe, hoping against hope – in terms of voters supporting the maga candidate and the maga agenda – that people were just ill-informed, not fact-checking, not paying attention. i was thinking that watching propaganda tv was smearing this vitriol into their brains, gaslighting them, and that – in the limited access they have chosen – they did not know better than to question it. i was thinking that reading, viewing, listening to the narrow, incomplete, customized rhetoric of maga tv/media was normalizing this candidate’s incapacity to be president, was eliminating details and that – were people to actually be cognizant of his unfit-ness, of these details – they would think differently.

i suppose – in some cases of maga supporters – that could be true. that that hateful bandwagon’s lure makes one indiscriminate, makes one not want to question or understand or find the truth. instead, it makes one loud, stubbornly clinging, ill-advised, completely deaf to reality, ignoring danger as if it didn’t exist.

and, in the other cases, i suddenly – and very sadly – had a moment of enlightenment, a perspective shift. and i am taking back the grace i had granted.

i realized that these people scroll just like me, they listen and read and, thus, they completely understand this candidate’s hate-mongering, the maga intentions, the efforts to thwart freedoms and dehumanize women, LGBTQ, races other than white.

i realized that they WANT these agendas, they WISH for nationalism, they BELIEVE that this candidate is their savior and that his racist, misogynistic, prejudiced, crass thinking, words and actions are entertaining and they AGREE with him.

i realized that they LIKE the thought of an america led by a pitiful human who pushes immigrants under, who demeans democracy, who touts authoritarianism, who dreams of power, who spews vulgarity.

i realized his sexual abuse of women, his hateful promises of mass deportation, his incitement of insurrection, his undeterred, adoring alliances with dictators, his felony convictions MEAN NOTHING to them.

i realized that they LIKE this grotesque and venomous character, this unending vortex of chaos and ugliness.

and here i was thinking maybe they just needed more information or access to research, to ask questions, to seek the truth, to consider their legacy, to hold to democracy.

here i was thinking that maybe another perspective might help them see, might help them discern, might help them find their moral compass.

here i was thinking that they weren’t hearing the whole story, that they weren’t informed, that they weren’t hearing what this candidate was saying, that they didn’t know what the maga agenda really was, that they had no idea what destruction project 2025 would inflict on this country.

here i was thinking it was a lack of awareness, a misunderstanding, not their fault.

i was wrong.

entirely wrong.

they WANT this.

the vista in the lake powell desert shifted when i realized that our vastly increased elevation played a part in my perspective. it recaptured the immensity that viewing from lake level afforded it.

the election shifted when i realized that this is – truly – what these maga people WANT. that i live in a country where people – half the populace – WANT the despicably ugly.

and that is the nadir of it all. the absolute lowest point that eclipses all other low points. rock bottom. tragic.

i have never felt such pure disappointment in humanity.

*****

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the perennial. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

“neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass.” (desiderata – max ehrmann)

we wander down roads peppered with aridity and disenchantment. the impact is exhausting. the fallout can be long-lasting. they – aridity and disenchantment – wind around our fragile hearts, pressing, making us short of breath.

we are disappointed. we believed that others were different. we believed we were cared about, appreciated, that we were held in grace.

we are shaken. for some things take us by surprise, some people take us by surprise. we flail and stumble over these rugged rocks slyly hiding just beneath the road’s surface.

we are hurting. for we feel betrayed. aridity and disenchantment pale; they are dim heartbeats of betrayal.

and we find we must take a moment, a respite on the side of the road. our hearts are floundering.

and – somehow, somewhere – we are reminded. just as we were about to pick up the cynicism white flag, we can see it: love.

and we can feel the river flowing through us and we can feel hope rising. for under the snow the grass is greening.

and we turn away from that which causes us profound thirst, that which prevents growth. and we discard that which has been a rude awakening, that which has elicited utter disillusionment.

and we face the perennial.

*****

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off the trail we know. [k.s. friday]

each time the trail curves, i can imagine it. next.

but as weeks go, this one has been harder. we tried our best to be positive, to believe that the new bend in our road is not so fraught. but, the fact of the matter is that it is. fraught.

we are pretty tough. kind of scrappy. definitely frugal. well, most of the time. we have both been presented with lean times in our lives. even our life together has had its lean times. we always eat leftovers. we always repurpose things. we always turn the shampoo bottle upside down. we always keep the heat low. we haven’t bought a vehicle in sixteen years. in some unknown intuitive move for which we are now grateful, we put off the big chimney-fireplace project, necessary but ridiculously expensive. we haven’t flown in three years. we find sanctuary in a forest we know well. we know where the trail curves.

and each time the trail curves, i can imagine it.

as the sun glimmers on what-looks-like the other end, i think – this is just one day, one week, one time in our lives. tomorrow will dawn and it might be a completely different day, starting a completely different week, a completely different time in our lives. and we just don’t know. again.

we are now in a woods we do not recognize, on a path we can not anticipate. off the trail we know. anxiety hikes with us, as do worry, sadness and disappointment. we worked hard on our plan, but the best laid plans are laid down. and this week, as weeks go, this one has been harder.

the sun quivers through the trees in front of us, setting. we keep walking.

day is done, 
gone the sun, 
from the lake, 
from the hills, 
from the sky; 
all is well, 
safely rest, 
god is nigh.  

fading light 
dims the sight, 
and a star 
gems the sky, 
gleaming bright. 
from afar, 
drawing nigh, 
falls the night.

(taps - d. butterfield/unknown)

*****

IN TRANSITION ©️ 1995 kerri sherwood

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company. [k.s. friday]

we were supposed to have company. it has been a rarity these last couple years to share our space with anyone, so we were really, really looking forward to it. visits with people we haven’t seen in a year, two years. coffee-sitting or wine-chatting out on the deck, slow walks along the lakefront, catching up. long-awaited.

it wasn’t to be.

just before, we had attended a small gathering – outside. we were alerted a couple days later that we were exposed to covid. guidelines are such that it was then our responsibility – which we don’t take lightly – to isolate from others so as to avoid being contagious, whether or not we were also ill. we have respected this pandemic and its resulting health guidelines from the start, so we did the only responsible thing. we cancelled our guests, two sets of them.

to say we were disappointed is to underplay the isolation of these times. we were stunned. the ever-present facebook shows people off gallivanting on vacations and cruises, at disneyworldland, at parties. and we, abiding by what had been outlined as ways to protect others, were alone. in truth, we were a little ticked.

and so, we dedicated ourselves to crossing every appendage we’d stay healthy and working on the backyard. the new fence has created a blank canvas and we wanted to re-plant and re-organize our tiny sanctuary. i began studying plants and sun and shadow and height and breadth and movement and placement.

we moved the old hostas. they were along that back fence line. it hasn’t been a good year for hostas, dan told us, and we’d have to agree. these intrepid plants, we knew, would bounceback, so we transplanted them next to barney and under the white fir pine. i wanted a few hosta for under the blue spruce, but i wanted elegans hosta, rich green not variegated, huge heart-shaped leaves, gorgeous texture that will share that space with tufting blue sedge grasses.

we went to the nursery. it’s all outside so we felt confident we were not exposing anyone and we spent a few glorious hours wandering in and out among the plants, dreaming. that’s where we fell in love with that little stand of quaking aspen. (pause for a moment…)

i took a zillion photographs, not only of grasses and plants, but of the accompanying tags of information, so that we could go home and i could research and develop a plan for the new landscaping we would be planting. i had my work cut out.

i made several trips to the nursery, asking questions and moving slowly through, glancing at my camera at the pictures i had of our backyard space, pondering. after a week – sans people – we went and picked up the first of the grasses, three switchgrasses, tall with plumes just peeking out. they would join the hardy pampas we had already purchased, hoping they would grow tall against the fence.

busying ourselves with greenery helped the sting of losing the opportunity to see loved ones, but not entirely. though grateful each day to not take ill, we felt gypped.

a few days ago we added a couple dwarf fountain grasses. their flouncy-ness is charming. we brought home a little zebra dwarf silvergrass and a purple fountain grass for contrast. after a few days of studying placement, we’ll actually dig holes, take them out of their pots and plant them. and there’s space for a small rock garden too, perfect for this thready heart.

it’s the end of the week and now more days have passed since our exposure. though we went through ten home tests – to make sure we were moving through a ridiculously long incubation period – we have mixed feelings.

we know that in cancelling our company we did the right thing, for we would not want to inadvertently infect them or anyone they would, in turn, see.

but we remain just as hungry – we are just as longing – for a bit more normal as we had been. we’ve all sacrificed much in these two plus years to protect each other. we – the two of us – have limited our restaurant-visits to less than two hands, have stayed back from concerts or festivals we wanted to attend, have masked in shops and stores, risking the dirty-look ire of others who have simply moved on. and we have not had the chance to really see many others – to laugh in our pjs together, to get in each other’s way in the kitchen, to spill out stories, interrupting and laughing.

doing the right thing is sometimes painful. especially when opportunity is few and far-between.

this weekend we’ll sit out on the deck and gaze out toward our new fence. in the early morning of the days i’ll water all the new plants, greeting them each time. and maybe, later in the day, the new grasses will catch an early evening breeze and tilt toward us, billowing. i imagine they will be thanking us for bringing them home. birds and more birds will attend to the feeders. squirrels and chipmunks will scamper, chasing each other looking for fallen seed, high-tight-roping across the yard. dogdog, a little older and more tolerant of little friends in his yard, will lay on the deck watching with us.

plants. critters. dogdog.

i guess we have company after all.

*****

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LONGING from AS IT IS ©️ 2004 kerri sherwood


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on-the-bench & off-the-bench. [d.r. thursday]

every sunday morning for years and years we have sent a photograph to each other. every single sunday, mostly without fail. there might be one or two we missed, but no more than that. it is a cherished tradition and i envision us as little old ladies still sending texted photos on sunday mornings.

it started because most people we know are not sitting on a pipe organ bench first thing on a sunday morning. since we both were, we shared “this is where i am in the world right now and i am thinking of you” sentiments, knowing, without saying all those words, the other would completely understand all that meant.

for over a year now i have continued to receive them: benchviews, a slice of her church, a close-up of a pew or ornate woodwork, a candle, linens draped on the chancel, flowers, registration stops of the organ, piano keys, measures of music – all while my photos to her have dramatically changed.

instead, my early sunday morning photographs include various quilts, coffee mugs, shadows playing on the wall or on the fence, views of snow falling between miniblinds, the backyard, airbnb’s where we have awakened, out-of-town-out-the-window, glorious breakfast, and dogdog. the rule is – where you are right now – and since that is no longer at a church my view is sometimes narrower and sometimes broader, both.

not working at church every single sunday has given me much to think about. at first i really missed it. truth, for a long time i really missed it. thirty-something years is a long time. i was devastated by the loss of our community-family and a job i loved. i missed the organ bench and knowing which pipes were ornery and the choir and the ukulele band and those hauntingly beautiful handbells. i missed the curmudgeon of a piano. i missed dueting with the guitarist – boom mics and cables and the occasional feedback. i missed the tiny pew up front and the familiar musty smell of the balcony.

each church i worked at through the years has had its magic. but each church i worked at through the years has also had its toxins. not unlike -really- any other place of employment, being on the “inside” affords a different view – snapshots of the good, the bad and, definitely, the ugly. churches are not immune to that. and that’s the stuff i don’t miss.

because in our hearts, the one place we go that we would expect to be consistent, certainly not divergent, with mission – of kindness and grace in some manner or form – would be the religious institution we have chosen to be part of. we would expect the people there – whether in leadership or in congregation – to go the extra mile, to set an example, to navigate and solve difficulty, to negotiate differences, to reject-forswear-renounce personal agenda, to seek unity and transparency, to sort to love.

seeing – up close and personal – that isn’t the case is a rude awakening. no, we don’t expect perfection anywhere. yes, we do expect trying.

i adore seeing susan’s from-the-bench pictures, all so viscerally intimate and always part of me. and i love sending her my view as well. so, as it has been for over a year now, she’ll continue to get photos off-the-bench now. it’s not what it was.

dogga laid tucked in on the quilt next to me as i sipped coffee and watched the light gather in corners of the room. sunday morning. i took this picture to send her.

and i realized that i – finally – don’t miss that organ bench anymore.

*****

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the holidays. messy. [merely-a-thought monday]

we have a small stack of unopened envelopes on the counter. it’s a stack of holiday cards and we’re saving it for closer to christmas. opening these while sitting together will seem like a visit from these people we care about at a time when visits are scarce and time together is minimal. these cards will help.

because these holidays are messy.

we’ve been succumbing to the hallmark channel. it has been both delightful and a disservice, a bar we cannot touch, with families gathered around roaring fireplaces with cocoa, around kitchen counters icing cookies, around the town square christmas tree singing, around the tree farm choosing the exact right tree to cut down, dancing at the christmas ball. our hearts soar with these picturesque modern-day norman-rockwells and yet…

because the holidays are messy.

in my mind’s eye i can create all kinds of wondrous times – with our children, our extended families, our friends. i envision everyone here at home or at a giant cabin in the mountains with snow gently falling outside, arriving at the door with ecstatic hugs of anticipation. i can hear laughter and records spinning and song and many shared old stories. i catch a whiff of the fireplace and the cocoa, early morning coffee brewing like in all the old folgers commercials, the turkey or ham or lasagna in the oven, snickerdoodles and peanut butter cookies with hersheys kisses and krumkake baking. i can feel the excitement with everyone throwing wrap on the floor, bows and ribbons flying, opening thoughtful gifts. i can see evidence of our angels in the air, my sweet momma and poppo, columbus, my big brother, grandparents, even our babycat. i blink and i’m back. like many of you, i know this wondrous time, though perhaps entirely possible someday, is – again – not reality.

because the holidays are messy.

in this final stretch to christmas i know that expectations are high and disappointment is higher. the simplest moments that our hearts desire are somehow unattainable and complex. it is not an easy time and it is on the heels of a not-easy year for so many, including us.

the holidays are messy.

so we keep the small stack of cards and wait to open them. we sit at the end of the evening in the living room lit by the lights of our tree and the white branches of previous years. we write cards and sticker envelopes and wrap packages and ship. we, like you, try to immerse in both memory-rituals and new traditions, try to make-the-best-of-it. we know that time marches on, too quickly-quickly. in looking back we all know how fast ahead goes. we wish for the holidays we can see – but not quite touch – in our mind’s eye. we know that angst and worries and loneliness and exhaustion and issues and comparisons and striving for perfection and dismaying sadness are not supposed to be a part of the holiday spirit, yet we see tidbits of these shades of blue as we look around. we work to move in grace and trust and hold unconditional love as guiding forces.

we hope for less-messy another year.

i believe the cardinals out back at the pond came to reassure me.

*****

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