reverse threading

the path back is the path forward


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to feel it. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

the catalogs in the old mailbox in our bathroom are well-worn. i don’t keep every catalog that comes into the house, but there are a few that make their way into the old mailbox that used to grace the front of our house for years. stio is one of them.

i page through – dreaming of the places in this catalog. the phrases they use resonate with me.

“don’t just go somewhere, be somewhere.”

that – ^ – those very words are the reason i don’t take travel tours. you might question my position – it might be that you very much value group tours – buses or boats or what-have-you. and that is most definitely a way to see places.

but we have found that – for us – it is more important to immerse in a place than to pass through and check it off on some bucket list. if we merely pass through, we feel we have missed the real essence of the place. if we merely pass through, we have missed the scent of dawn, the color of dusk, the tempo of the streets and sounds of the overnight. we have missed the accents, the colloquialisms, the marketplace, the joy of sitting for long hours watching people interact – in a new place. we have missed the opportunity of absorbing something – some tiny little thing even – from the new, strange land that we might take back with us. we have missed connecting with its people. we have missed the beating heart.

and so, i agree with stio: don’t just go somewhere, be somewhere.

we try to take the time to be engaged, somewhat engrossed in places we go. true, it isn’t always possible, but we do make every attempt. it is what drives decisions about travel. our checklist is not just that – a checklist. it is the chance to viscerally see, taste, smell, hear, touch another place on this good earth, a chance to really feel it.

it is the reason why – for the four days we were in paris – that we walked everywhere, miles and miles all over the city. it is the reason we found our way to the market, skipping the fancy restaurants we passed on the way. it is the reason we bought baguettes and cheese, tiny salads, bottles of wine, fruit tarts from a patisserie. it is the reason we sat on cathedral steps or on benches by fountains in parks to dine. it is the reason my feet hurt and my heart was full.

it’s why we return time and again to breckenridge – to hike its trails, wander its streets, hang out and talk to the shopkeepers and the bartenders, shop its grocery store.

it’s why – once we have found a place and accommodations that truly speak to us, we will return again – to be a part of the community, to walk its sidewalks, shop its merchants, talk with its people, live – even for the tiniest bit of time – in its midst.

when we think of all the places we have traveled together, we recollect images that are multi-dimensional. we remember how it felt. we may not get everywhere we would like to go – and our checklist may be left with boxes to check – but we will have spent time in places we got to know and that got to know us, at least a little bit.

it is the reason why – in addition to seeking new – we choose to return – time and again – to the same trails we know. they have become part of us and we a part of them, a connection that makes us feel a certain awed responsibility toward their continued existence.

it is in the way that the mountains take my breath away – and make me weep – upon first sight, in the way that the ocean’s tide beckons me and pulls at my toes, in the way red rock makes me reach to run my hand along its sandstone shell.

it is this way i wish to see new places – with enough breath to be enthralled, enough freedom to sit quietly or run free, enough time there to walk and walk, to linger, and enough joie de vivre to forgo getting as many checkmarks in the “done” column as possible and instead embrace the getting-to-know-you – the savoring – of places in our world.

*****

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

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from the bottom up. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

if you asked george winston about reprising, he’d laugh and tell you that we here – in this household – have reprised his thanksgiving album hundreds of times. there is nothing wrong with a good reprise.

we put the rolling computer desk up on facebook marketplace – for free. the first person to respond was a young woman named steph. there was a bit of a goof-up on pickup and she messaged her apology and said she understood us moving on to the next interested person. and, even though i messaged a couple others about its availability, i decided to write back to her to see if she still wanted it. she needed us to wait a few days for her to pick it up. i agreed to wait and the computer desk had an awkwardly-placed home smack-dab in our living room for those days. it turned out a bit helpful as we decorated our home yesterday – a place to put ornaments and mini-trees while we planned and designed our decorations.

this morning she came to pick it up, this rolling desk we had placed on our front door sidewalk, this rolling desk i thanked before it went away. i went out to meet her when she was walking up the driveway and she thanked me profusely for holding it for her, for waiting.

i told her that it seemed to me that people really need to be nice to each other right now, especially right now. she replied she wished that it were christmas all year round. i said that i just wished people were good to each other year round. we shared just a few more moments before she left, but it wasn’t before i was grateful that we had waited – to give this desk to her.

and so, with george winston’s approval, we reprise this SMACK-DAB cartoon from december 2023. because right now is as good a time as any to remember the feeling of the holidays, the feeling of peace and joy, generosity and kindnesses shown to others. right now – before what’s next, before what could be harrowing, before the intended cruelness from this country’s top down – right now is a good time to zero in on how we really want to live, what we truly hold valuable, what it feels like in a community of giving, of support, of love for one another – whether we know them or not.

little morsels of goodness between people are possible. it’s impossible to close our eyes and not feel it.

now we need to decide it, to choose it, to live it.

even if we have to do it from the bottom up.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

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the spirit with us. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

you can feel it.

there is a spirit in this place – the john denver sanctuary in aspen. it is palpable.

we go there – specifically – to feel it.

because it feels like the past, the present and the future all at once and – here – it all wraps around your heart.

we are both john denver fans. not the ridiculous push-to-the-front-of-the-crowd-for-a-signature type. just the quiet, eternally-grateful type. he has inspired us. he has inspired me. he made the simple melodic gesture a visceral thing. he elevated folksy messaging and storytelling; he reinforced the beauty of a lack of adornment. simplicity.

and when we stand in this beautiful place – designed to honor him, his composing and songwriting, his vision of the world – we are standing in and with his spirit. and you can feel it.

we slowly walkabout, arm in arm. we hum the songs chiseled into granite boulders. we stand immersed, pondering, in front of quotes of john muir and leonardo da vinci and helen keller and rachel carson and jacques cousteau.

we seek out annie’s song.

and we can feel it. the spirit in this place.

we feel at home here.

we stroll away and take it with us, carrying it in-between the times we stand there.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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

it’s not-this, not-that. neti, neti. a period of duality.

we are not in winter. we are not in spring. though calendars will challenge that, the meteorological fallout of not-this-not-that surrounds us. and we all learn to live in duality. dress in layers. be prepared for anything.

most northern states stake claim to some iteration of the saying, “if you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes and it’ll change.” so littlebabyscion has a backseat laden with vests and jackets; we are always ready for whatever weather shifts our way.

in the meanwhile, we live on the cusp.

we hiked during the eclipse. with the exception of two or three others who passed us, we were completely alone.

though we went to several places to attempt purchasing eclipse glasses, we were too late, and we didn’t have protective eyewear. it was remarkable that so many glasses were sold out at so many places and that meant that so many people were planning on watching this extraordinary event, setting aside portions of their day to view and to celebrate.

so we did not look up. instead, we aimed the camera at the sky and snapped photos. because we didn’t research ahead – which is highly unusual for us – we also didn’t realize we needed these glasses – or a filter – to capture the essence of the eclipse in a photograph with our iphones.

but it doesn’t matter. because we felt it.

the deer must have known. they lingered trailside, aware of our presence, yet not fleeing. we watched each other – in this time of not-this-not-that, not-light-not-dark – they seemed, oddly – for usually they run gracefully away, accepting of us.

at exactly 2:08 – the moment when the eclipse was at peak in our area – the light around us changed. everything took on a surreal, somewhat golden glow, intensifying color around us. we stood still and looked around, certain, even though our photographs were belying the truth, that we were in the moment. the birds were loud, the heron flew above us. the wind changed. and then, it was time, suspended.

we hiked back to the trailhead, knowing that light had been filtered through dark. hopefully, a time of renewal. maybe a time of shedding old energy. i wondered how the world would feel if we lived in that moment at all times. not in the not-this, not-that, but in new light, each and every day.

i suppose we should be as astounded by the sunrise each day. we should be astonished at the play of dark into light. we should be gobsmacked by the new beginning of dawn.

because, really, everywhere around us there are miracles of transformation. and we are always on the cusp of everything beautiful, were we to just stop, were we to just look, to just recognize it. to live in the eclipse.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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the tiniests. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

“…and i got saved by the beauty of the world.” (mary oliver)

there are the tiniest of moments – like this one – when everything harsh, everything wrought, everything dark or full of angst, everything of challenge just falls away. like the universe took a feather duster to the worries stoked up on your shoulders and reminded you. to breathe. to feel the realness of the moment. to be hyper-vigilant of all senses. to be in it.

it could just as easily slipped by, unnoticed. the fresh air, rich colors, the sun filtered through layers of pine, the scent of a humid summer day, the gravel path. it could have been lost.

but i am grateful to have stopped. i am grateful any time i remember to stop. to have perspective. to grasp onto the tiniests. to allow myself to be saved by the beauty of the world.

*****

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

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the trail in. [merely-a-thought monday]

when i was choosing seats for the elton john concert in north carolina, the – predictably – least expensive seats were the ones with an obscured view. a pillar, a speaker, a wall…something was in front of the seats, not allowing you to see. or maybe the seats were behind the horizon line of the stage, the apron, making elton basically invisible.

clearly these seats – still dang expensive – weren’t right. i mean, if you can’t see him perform and you can’t really see the jumbotron why not just sit and listen to ej cd’s instead? clearly, that’s not the point.

so i stayed away from the obscured-view-seats and chose seats from which we could see all the action. high up, yes. but we could see it all.

we passed a sign in the chicago botanic garden, posted by a tiny trail. “by screening out views and creating hidden areas, this garden entices you to explore just beyond what you can see.” we couldn’t see into the garden…so we took the little trail in. it was beautiful and a little magical. a little secret garden. not obvious. beyond sight.

the work of an artist – of any medium – is like that. find the places just beyond. find the line of melody that tugs, that urges, that compels. bring those places to others so that they might explore them as well. past the horizon. past the stage. you can still hear elton from the obscured-view seats and you can still feel the energy.

in a thirty-plus year career as a minister of music i always felt that it was my job to introduce the obscured secret garden to others. for faith – regardless of denomination – is that which we cannot see, that which we cannot touch. my mission was simply to open hearts through music to see beyond what you can see, to explore beyond sight. grounding in the most basic of tenets – love, kindness, generosity, peace, embrace of all others, support, truth, fairness, equality, grace – i felt it imperative to offer music that might viscerally touch a person who might not otherwise be touched, to hold it all out there gently so that a soul could easily grasp it, hold it, be wrapped in it, be comforted by it. faith in something bigger in this universe is found in a river of changing times and circumstances and staying steadfast is like the path a leaf takes on that river, both raging whitewater and lazy currents. we open our hearts to explore, even though we cannot see.

it might be time to play my piano again. maybe. it’s been a long time – a couple years now, save for a few moments a few times. i haven’t been able to play it – the magic has been obscured from view – since, well, since i felt blindsided. but now…maybe now…finally…i can see the trail into the studio. maybe now the black and white notes lifting into the air – will heal hurting even just a little, will allow exploration and sight beyond the obvious tangible horizon, will open a heart again.

mine.

*****

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


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the west wall. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

it’s the west wall. and every morning as the sun streams in across the room, we comment. it’s one of those images that you anticipate, that stays with you, that you miss on cloudy days – a new day captured between miniblinds. and, because we were there and so was he, we know the shadow in the bottom left window pane is a shadow of dogdog’s furry ear and the nape of his neck. his ritual – laying on the bed with us in the morning as we sip coffee and the sun works on rising.

it will soon be a year since columbus – david’s sweet dad – died. it is now just days away. i knew him for merely eight years. but he was easy to adore. he still is. i talk to him every time i get into big red, feeling his presence as i crank up country music and roll down the windows. i don’t even know if he cranked up country music and rolled down the windows, but i sense his approval and it makes me smile. he had a gentle way about him and his shadow leaves soft edges in my heart. i told david that it will get a little bit harder each day now. there is no changing that. not feeling his absence is like trying to keep an open candle lit in the wind. impossible.

the anniversary of his leaving-this-earth forces one to recognize mortality. when my big brother died, it foisted upon me an absolute sense of a lack of infinity – time goes by and the world continues on, yet there will come a time that our relationship with the world will no longer feel the same and our shadow will be a little less pronounced, a little less definitive, a little fuzzier, though no less present. when my poppo and then, three years later, my sweet momma died, i was struck by the sheer ludicrousness of how wrapped up we all get in everylittledetailofeverything. it felt like we should spend more time shadow-dancing together in the sun and less time in the actual shadows. there is no time to waste. we learn it – and forget – again and again. and again.

in the way of shadows and energy and love, we know that our dogga can feel us, despite our temporary absence from him as we travel. just like the people we love – here and not here – he is right with us.

the west wall reminds us.

*****

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


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vine-climbing. [merely-a-thought monday]

the 1977 graduating class of john glenn high school chose this song as our theme song. before the decision and ever since, it has remained a favorite. seals and crofts dominated our senior variety show – the one for which i wore a full wet suit including fins and played a piano duet -, our graduation, our prom, our yearbook. they played over and over in my bedside cassette player, on radio, on stereo systems throughout elwood and, likely, everywhere.

“so, i wanna laugh when the laughing is easy.

i wanna cry if it makes it worthwhile.

i may never pass this way again,

that’s why i want it with you…”

(jim seals, dash crofts – we may never pass this way again)

just last week jim seals died. he was 80. and suddenly, again, time flashes in front of us.

because somehow, listening to their music, i am back at 17 or 20 and they are in their early to mid thirties. but the years come and go and the journey keeps journeying, faster and faster it seems.

and so the moments and presence become infinitely more important and the stuff becomes less. the grand illusion of foreverness becomes foggy and we learn – little by little – sometimes, though, with ferocity – that we must be-here-now. we graduate and grow and regress and grow again and start to see that full spectrum is not so bad – that belly-laughing and weeping are both, indeed, necessary and that as we vine-climb from dirt to sky we are only really here to be with each other.

our beloved daughter was here for a couple days. any time we see her or our beloved son are those kind of rare-gift moments. we giggle and poke fun and talk and reminisce and ponder and there’s eye-rolling and i am astounded by them and, always, i cry upon their leaving or upon our parting. it is the hard part.

i know that we just never know. life has a way of teaching us that – again and again – though it is easy to forget, to push it aside. but the further up the vine we get, the more we recognize it. it is all so fragile. we may never pass this way again. simple. true. a calling, an imperative to say the stuff, to be vulnerable, to experience, to love, to acknowledge, to laugh, to cry, to be-with.

good choice of song, jhghs.

“all the secrets in the universe

whisper in our ears

and all the years, they come and go

and take us up, always up…”

*****

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


					
		
	


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watershed. [k.s. friday]

WATERSHED SONG BOX copy.jpg

watershed definition

i can feel it.  it’s not something i can put words to.  it’s mysterious and undefinable.  but it’s coming.  there is a turning point.  right around the corner.

i walk into this new year and there’s something different…there is an underlying vibration i can feel – viscerally – a pulse, a quivering – that is present.

when it was time to pick a piece of my music for this week’s studio melange, i was drawn to this one….full of angst and wonder and sedimentary layers and mica and minor…..full of questions.

2019.  it has been nine years since i recorded a full-length album of any sort and seventeen years since a full-length vocal.  is it time?  to record?  to let it go?

i can feel it.  it’s not something i can put words to.  it’s mysterious and undefinable.  but it’s coming.  there is a turning point.  right around the corner.

a watershed.

download AS IT IS on iTUNES or on CDBaby.com

read DAVID’S thoughts on WATERSHED

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WATERSHED from AS IT IS ©️ 2004 kerri sherwood