reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

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i don’t. at least, i didn’t. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

we overheard a conversation. a few teenage girls were walking together in the park, just ahead of us on the sidewalk. one turned to the other – in the middle of telling a story about a boy – and said, emphatically, that she told him, “i don’t know you like that.”

i texted it to myself, not because her specific boy-story was relevant to me in the moment, but because her statement was.

“i don’t know you like that.”

in these troubled and highly-charged times, it feels like a repeating chorus.

there are repeating-choruses – the kinds that are used to raise the spirit of a group of people together. repeating-choruses create shape, underscore the theme, the hook, or the important message. they encourage singing along. think about queen’s we will rock you or neil diamond’s sweet caroline or elton john’s your song, the beatles’ let it be. if you’ve ever been in a concert with everyone singing one of those songs, you know how powerful voices raised together are.

and then there are repeating choruses – the kinds that are used to raise the ire of a group of people together. those repeating-choruses also create shape. they are choruses of untruths, choruses of ferocity, choruses of bandwagon, choruses for ‘rushees’ rushing to get into an elite group to be popular, rallying choruses that make angry people part of a club. watching the insurrection in horror – live on television – with everyone chanting and screaming – no examples needed – gives you an idea of how powerful voices raised together are.

“i don’t know you like that” is the chorus that plays over and over in my mind. over and over i am aghast at the commentary of people – people i don’t know, people with whom i am acquainted, people i am friends with, people who are dear to me. it is personally devastating to see or hear their political positioning, as they sing repeated praises of what can only be interpreted as evil intent, and know what – and who – they are willing to sacrifice. what of those who will be marginalized, those who will be diminished, those whose lives will be upended, those who will not have freedoms promised to them, those they are supposed to love? i want to implore: but wait!! how is this possible? i don’t know you like that! i don’t know your good heart like that!

and media continues to beat the drum of propaganda. the ludicrous spreads. the people are gaslighted. and the choruses build.

the teenage girl in the park was clear. insisting “i don’t know you like that” dissuaded the boy and all of his attempts to spend time with her. we know this because we heard her story. it was simple. he had ill intent. she pushed back.

what will dissuade people from all the false narrative, the misinformation? what will reveal to them the cruel hidden-agenda-in-plain-view – the real plan for this nation that they are avowing with a maga vote for this? what will make those motives abundantly clear? what will make people less rabidly reactive, more discerning? what will make them listen, hear the truth? what will make them push back against this evil?

does it matter that i feel flabbergasted – shocked, really – and heartbrokenly distraught – by your apparent lack of concern for my gay son and his future, my daughter’s womanhood, every single “red and yellow, black and white” of any age, gender, orientation, socioeconomic status, religion, your lack of dedication to truth, justice, democracy?

and the toughest thing?

i don’t know you like that.

at least, i didn’t know you like that.

*****

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

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

the fireworks were exploding everywhere. all over the neighborhood. up-close-and-personal in the yard riiiight behind us. down the street. around the corner. e-ver-y-where.

but we survived.

dogga is frightened by fireworks. and it is unfortunate that the fourth of july is his birthday, which makes it seem unusually wrong for him to be frightened.

we made absolutely no plans. we knew we needed to be there for him. we turned on the noisy window air conditioner in the dining room and tried to help him settle in. but they were ridiculously loud – particularly from neighbors who – each year – set them off right behind our backyard.

so we brought him into the kitchen with us, closed all the gates and pulled out the rummikub game.

and somehow – miraculously – that did the trick. he settled down – no longer in charge – and, even though we could still hear them pow-pow-powing all around us, he went to sleep. i can’t tell you how relieved we were that he was relaxed.

just like his first impulse is to protect us, so is ours to protect him.

we love our dogga. but i guess you already know that.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

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rhyme and reason. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

“and you wonder where we’re going
where’s the rhyme and where’s the reason
and it’s you cannot accept
it is here we must begin
to seek the wisdom of the children
and the graceful way of flowers in the wind“

(rhymes and reasons – john denver)

when i was little my family took vacations at upstate new york state parks. we stayed in rough-hewn cabins where, at night, my sweet momma would warn us all to pull up the covers and she’d run around the cabin spraying raid everywhere. the mosquitos were ruthless but the fun was grand.

one summer both my brother and sister and their spouses and children vacationed as well. we all had cabins next to each other and explored the lake and the woods and surrounding towns. one of these towns had a county fair. so we went.

naturally, those traveling carnival rides were a part of the fair – the ones where they tear them down and put them back up, trailer them to the next venue day after day. as an adult i feel somewhat leery of those – always wondering if they had leftover reassembling bolts or when the last time was that they checked belts and such – but as a child, i don’t think i gave any of that a thought. i just believed in goodness and that all was well.

because i simply cannot do anything spinny, we went on the merry-go-round and then my dad convinced me to go on the ferris wheel. it seemed inordinately large and went high into the sky. we stood in line and then took our seats in the little cabin.

i was excited until we went around once. then they stopped the wheel at the top, loading other riders down at the bottom. i must have felt imperiled. i began to freak out.

my dad had this loud whistle – he could whistle perry como tunes as well, but this was a really loud whistle. he whistled his whistle and the attendant looked up. my poppo yelled down to stop the ride when we got there – we needed to get off. and so the attendant stopped the wheel and we disembarked.

i wasn’t the least bit embarrassed about wanting to stop and get off. not back then.

and i’m not the least bit embarrassed now about every now and again wanting to stop the world and get off. i feel like we all need some time off. quiet time. time out. time outta this world that has gone off the deep end. time away from feeling imperiled. a breather.

the last weeks – months, years, really – have been over the top. though you don’t know my whole list, we all know our whole list. it is not an exaggeration to say that we are imperiled. we are on the top of the ferris wheel and the attendants are not quite sure they installed all the bolts.

on these days – of too-much – we – d and i – do stop the world. we go for a hike in beautiful places. we sit on our deck with our dogga. we read together. we prepare and cook food. we appreciate the sun streaming in the windows, spilling onto our quilt. we find rhyme. we seek reason.

and, before you screech me to a halt – stopping the world and getting off is not the same as sticking your head in the sand. it’s simply a way to reassess. it’s a way to think and plan. it’s a way to evaluate what can be done about the ferris wheel. it’s a way to be able to come back to the trenches and get back to work. it’s a way to resupply the energy drain that reading the news exacerbates every single day.

i wonder where we’re going. i wonder what the rhyme and what the reason of the bigotry and division and marginalization and diminishing of rights and the barreling toward extremism and authoritarianism and downright meanness. i’m astounded and not astounded. remember, we don’t know each other’s stories.

i do know that if stopping it were as easy as having my poppo whistle from the top of the ferris wheel, he would do it. in a second. for he and my sweet momma would have nothing to do with the direction of all this. no. my dad was not missing-in-action and a POW in world war II to watch his beloved country heading toward the possibility of turning into THIS. THIS is what he fought *against*.

i’d imagine that as my mom and dad are watching from that other plane, they are also astounded. and not. for they are just as aware as you and me that there are just really evil people with inordinately evil ideas ready to pounce in unconscionably evil ways.

and i’d imagine that – yes, in the same way he looked after me on that day at the county fair – he wishes he really could just whistle and make the ferris wheel stop. he likely wishes that the world stop in suspended animation for a moment and then come back to its senses – to the place where the children and the flowers are actually from where we draw wisdom. to a place of goodness. to a place of rhyme and a place of reason.

*****

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

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mushes for him. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

i am a mush for him.

the owner of this gorgeous paw, dogga has us wrapped around it. he wrapped around our hearts the moment we saw him, a gangly puppy just three months old.

and on his least favorite day – the day the entire world around him sets off loud fireworks – he will celebrate his birthday. eleven. and where did the time go?

this is the dogdog who traveled innumerable miles in littlebabyscion, particularly back and forth to florida while my sweet momma was ailing in her last year and a half. this is the dogdog who was in love with his babycat, bowing to his feline alpha-ness. this is the dogdog who stared at the front door – not moving – waiting for his babycat to come home after his best friend died. this is the dogdog who chewed our kitchen table legs and the trim of my mom’s kitchen cabinetry (which we cleverly replaced with trim from behind the fridge). this is the dogdog who didn’t do well in elevation, the dogdog who fell in our pond and never really liked the idea of water since. this is the dogdog who has sat with us for happy hour in the driveway in LBS with the air conditioning running. this is the dogdog who loved the giant number of ukulele band rehearsals and gatherings and parties at our house. this is the dogdog who earned himself an official, full-size european traffic circle sign in our backyard. this is the dogdog who used to eat goose poop but has lifted his palate to chips and aged cheddar and carrots and – mostly – any kind of peoplefood he is offered. this is the dogdog who adores digging holes and checks on the bunnies in the ornamental grasses. this is the dogdog who protects d – running the perimeter – when he takes out the garbage. the dogdog with amazing amber eye contact. the dogdog who will convince us to gear-it-down by retreating to the bathroom. the dogdog who anticipates our every move. the dogdog who will go on any errand at any time, who backs-up when asked (thank you to daena for this!), who has clearly-beloved people (20, his girl kirsten), who spins and speaks and shakes and gives “five” and says “love you” back and won’t touch even the treatiest treat if you tell him not to. this is the dogdog who likes to lead – not necessarily “heel”, the dogdog who barks like a maniac when his favorite dachshunds are out, who will stand in the yard – right smack in the middle of the backyard, bark and wait for an answer – like he watched 101 dalmations and knows about the bark chain. the dogdog who leaves tufts of aussie fur everywhere he goes. the dogdog who loveslovesloves his chicken-and-rice-and-peas-and-caaarits for dinner, peoplefood we now make him and package for dinner every night. this is the dogdog who lives for belly-bellies, the dogdog who runs out of gas about 8pm, the dogdog who loves sleepynightnight and its rituals.

THAT dogdog.

on his birthday we’ll do the best we can to reassure him – our neighborhood, unfortunately, is a fracas of fireworks.

i’ve seen on social media where people post suggestions – donate dogfood to a shelter instead of purchasing fireworks and other such goodnesses. i wish the people in the ‘hood would do that. there are beautiful big displays put on by the city they could attend. it would scare fewer domestic pets and certainly be less of a terror for all the wildlife.

as a person who grew up with sparklers as the end-all of fourth of july celebrations, i would think that grownups could defer to what’s best for pets and birds and squirrels and chippies and deer and, well, anything out there that doesn’t know what to do in the middle of those explosions.

but – maybe they don’t have a dogdog who has stolen their heart forever. maybe they can’t feel the fear or anxiety of another living creature. maybe they don’t feel the love. maybe they don’t care. they sure didn’t learn that from a dog.

we will be home – inside – hugging on our dogga on the fourth. wishing him a happy birthday and wishing for quiet to come outside as soon as possible.

because we are mushes for him. always will be.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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turning into our parents. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

i inherited two pairs of big binoculars from my sweet poppo. at the time i probably never-woulda-thought that i’d be studying birds with them. but…you know what they say!

and here we are – with these powerful binoculars always at the ready, on the table in the sunroom, so that we can grab them and watch the crows in the nest or the finches at the grape jelly or the hummers at the feeder or search for the origin of the beautiful birdcall. we have a tiny pair as well, to take with us on trails, though we would be waaay better served with the good ones. it’s amazing how up-close-and-personal they get us.

and then there’s the merlin app. what an extraordinary tool that is! you record birdcalls and it instantly identifies the bird for you! utterly amazing, we are grateful to cornell lab of ornithology for this. we have used this app innumerable times, always relishing the quick id it gives us. because we don’t always commit it all to memory – ahem! – we rely on the (non-judgmental) app to tell us again and again. so cool!

i think about what my momma and poppo would have done with the merlin app on their iphone. they would have had a field day! they spent hours watching the birds back home, on long island, and in florida – where they looked out on a lake. i wish they could have played with it. they missed its development by just a smidge.

but every time we grab the binoculars or open the app to record a birdsong, clean the birdbath or fill the feeders, i know. they – momma, poppo, columbus – are aware and are nodding at each other, smiles on their faces, maybe even laughing a little or rolling their eyes at our earlier-in-life bird-watch-disregard.

“yep. they’re turning into us,” they grin.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING SMACK-DAB

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blend-inners and stand-outers. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

it’s merely nuance. just the subtlety of shades, leaves begging for us to notice.

surrounded by meadows filled with wildflowers and a splendid array of color, these leaves are blend-inners, standing out only by their presence in size. so beautiful.

it’s like people, sort of. there are blend-inners and there are stand-outers. both are necessary in the balance of the meadow or the prairie.

the stand-outers are noisier, more assertive – colorful and obviously there, attracting attention, striding.

the blend-inners camouflage into the surroundings, quietly supporting efforts of others, tenaciously pursuing their own bliss, no wish to be flamboyant or noticed.

the surprising thing, however, is when – like this prairie dock plant – there is suddenly growth that is astounding. flower stems begin to shoot up skyward.

if you only passed by in early june you would not know this. you would assume that these broad leaves were in monochromatic zen with the rest of the meadow. you would assume that they would silently simply green their way through the season, other wildflowers growing up and around them, perhaps stifling them.

you would not know that later – just a little bit of time later – these seeming blend-inners would herald tall leafless stems – even as high as eight feet tall – sporting bright yellow daisy-like flowers. it becomes a towering plant, high above the rest, hardy and pretty much invincible. not so silent anymore.

you just can’t judge a book by its cover, can you?

*****

I DIDN’T KNOW from THIS PART OF THE JOURNEY ©️ 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood

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read DAVID’S thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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place and time. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

we took shelter in the east-side parking lot of a brick building in a town a half hour from home. the intense storm was coming from the west. there were tornado warnings and the winds were gusting over 70mph. a deluge of rain fell from the sky – sideways.

debris had hit littlebabyscion as we were driving so when i finally got out of the big treed area on the backroad, i saw the brick building and an empty parking lot. i pulled in, drove away from the giant metal signage and the telephone poles out front and on the side and pulled into the lot on the east side, parking in the middle.

that’s when the wind attempted to pick up littlebabyscion. i started shaking then – and didn’t really stop until much later when we were finally home.

i backed up the car and pulled over right next to the brick building to shield us from the wind. it helped but the storm was incessant and the warnings – actual warnings – were ominous.

our dear friend jen checked in on us – knowing we were driving home from chicago’s pridefest – and we also checked in with our dear westneighbors to see how our ‘hood was faring. and we kept pulling up the weather app – though the tornado alerts blaring on our phones were information enough. it was bad out.

it’s odd, you think, that the only reason you are dealing with what you are dealing with is because you happen to be in what-could-be-interpreted-as the wrong place in what-could-be-interpreted-as the wrong time. it’s bracing.

as we drove through the little towns on our way back from chicago, we passed through highland park. each time we drive through that town – with “highland park strong” signs – i think about the hideous active shooter at the 4th of july parade a couple years ago. wrong place, wrong time. but how can that be? you are taking your sweet children to watch a parade celebrating our country! how can that be the wrong place? how can that be the wrong time? it’s beyond bracing.

and what about the people at the grocery store in arkansas? and the people at the concert in las vegas? and the people at the sikh temple or at church? and the people at the mall? and the people at the club? and the people at the protest? and the people at school and school and school and…?

i whispered a prayer to the universe as we sat in littlebabyscion in that east-side parking lot next to the brick building in the middle of that treacherous storm. it was harrowing and i knew we were in danger. i asked for the wisdom to know what to do and to keep us safe. i knew that when the storm passed and if we were fine i would have immense gratitude.

no different than the highland park paradegoers, i thought, though nature and evil are two distinctly different causes of terror. and wrong place, wrong time is on a continuum between lack of intent and intent.

and, with all respect and honor to each of those too-many-people who have experienced evil’s intentional wrong place, wrong time – in those moments of wrong place, wrong time is one strangely-wrapped gift.

it is to take note of all the right places and right times. we are not guaranteed these yet we pass through them without paying attention. we take them for granted. we slide through moments – exquisite and plain – with no heed to our good fortune to have been in them.

as LBS protected us yet once again – that little car is intrepid – i, shaking with clenched hands on the wheel, also told the universe “thank you” for the rest of that day – all the good places and good times. for, though there were more than i could count, i wish to remember each and every one.

*****

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

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the way to fly. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

“and the spirit fills the darkness of the heavens
it fills the endless yearning of the soul
it lives within a star too far to dream of
it lives within each part and is the whole
it’s the fire and the wings that fly us home…”

(the wings that fly us home – john denver/joe henry)

and soon afterward, the sky was softer. and soon afterward, the clouds billowed like bubbles stacking up on a bubble-wand after gently blowing, finally releasing, floating off. and soon afterward, it softened to pink and pale lavender. and soon afterward, one single bird winged its way across the sky, blurring in flight.

and the shift in the universe brought a little bit of healing, a little bit of perspective. it eased the darkpain, the yearning for something different. it connected the dots from earth’s ground to the stars-so-distant. it lit hope and a freedom that had been elusive.

and afterward, my heart flew me home. back to steady. back, but with wings. for next.

“find out what you already know and you will see the way to fly.” (jonathan livingston seagull – richard bach)

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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it’s a celebration! [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

big news!! it was a banner day!! someone let us loose in old navy during their $2 flip-flop sale and voila! i now am the proud owner of three (3!!!) new pairs of flip-flops!! all of them are black, but one has sparkly straps!! and the best part? there is more than 1/16″ between my foot and the ground. (i’m not sure there was even a sixteenth of an inch – but eh…who’s measuring?!)

so today i am excited to wear my new flip-flops to chicago PRIDEFEST!! because one can never place toooo much trust in a pair of new flip-flops, i will carry an extra pair along. i don’t want to have some sort of flip-flop disaster and be stuck walking around barefoot with a zillion people, all jostling – with no ill intent – to step on my bare feet.

i have a line-up of shoes in the basement. they are along the leading edge of the long storage area where the boxes of cds are stored. i need to go through these – again – and give most of them away. they are not the footwear of my 65-year-old-feet. they are the footwear of my 45-55 year old feet. or maybe even earlier, say, 36-45 year old feet. and – if you haven’t noticed this about your feet yet – or if you haven’t given in to this about your feet yet – or if you have refuuuused to acknowledge this about your feet – things change when it comes to feet. needs change. styles change. heel height changes. arches change. toe-room changes. toe-cleavage-pumps are not making the top of the priority list anymore. it’s been years, really. but giving in? letting go? that’s the tough part.

so i will likely hold onto the 1/16″ thick flip-flops i’ve been wearing. cause you never know when you might need them. i could do yardwork in them or walk around the ‘hood in them or bring them to the beach or or or….

the point is, i don’t want to waste my new $2 flip-flops. i need to save those for the best flip-flop-wearing times. like today.

so it’s a big day! i’ll be wearing a pair of new flip-flops! and today i will walk around in blissful ignorance of the pebbles beneath my feet. i will dance and hug people and my 1/2″ thick flip-flops will participate in a great celebration! i will be happy-happy for the little things and i will flip and flop my way into embracing my 65 year old feet.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

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thistle balm. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

the last thing i expected to see – when we left the building – was anything of beauty.

and yet, there it was. just a little down the hill. growing out of a crack on the city sidewalk, a prickly thistle – with all its thorns – in full bloom.

the flowers were dynamic and dimensional. spiny. seuss-ish.

the plant stopped me. it stopped all thought. it stopped all manner of anything. it was that unexpected. and suddenly, i was distracted. and it was all about the musk thistle blooms. the mystery of prickly and stunning co-existing, a plant that can grow where others cannot.

and for a few moments, i was lost to texture and color…fuchsia and pink, purple and maroon, my heart lifting.

it is said – in the celtic tradition – that the thistle represents resilience.

i wonder sometimes how the universe knows.

*****

DIVINE INTERVENTION from RELEASED FROM THE HEART ©️ 1995 kerri sherwood

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read DAVID’S thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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