reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: goodness


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northport’s woodbine. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

viriginia creeper…after the leaves have fallen. blue berries. it’s also called woodbine. and the instant that david told me that, i was back in northport.

for on the corner of woodbine avenue and main street sits skippers pub. it’s just on the other side of main from the park and the gazebo and the harbor boatslips and that place – at the end of the dock – where i have sat for hours and listened to the clanking of metal-rigged sails in the moonlight. it’s visceral.

some of the berries are gone now – only a few days since i took this picture. but as the temperatures drop, the critters have been busy, i suppose. and i hope that the woodbine berries help them prepare and stoke up.

in daydreams, i go back to skippers. sit at the bar and talk with crunch about fishing or diving or life, eat lobster bisque and baked clams, maybe sip a beer (back in the day). i go back when i was 18 or just barely 19; those earlier times were different than later.

a bunch of years back, david and i were on the island and we spent time walking around northport, spent time on the docks, spent time at skippers. we sat at the bar and ate baked clams and buffalo calamari. he sipped a guiness and i had a glass of wine. it was a little bit of heaven. i pointed out the window and, as he looked out, i knew he was looking out the same lettered window i had gazed out of decades ago. the view was a little changed – both from inside and out – of me.

but i could feel the energy of those times past and i could feel the bits of goodness that still floated about from happy moments spent there. skippers will always be a place of refuge in my mind – not because it was a pub – but because it was a place of joy, a place of innocence, of fun and friendship and tales of fishing and diving.

there will always be places we internally feel good about and, of course, the complete opposite – places that are inherently negative, that drudge up things toxic or painful. each of us can likely rattle off a few examples of each category.

skippers – on the corner of woodbine and main – will remain one of the good ones.

and now, each time i pass our dear westneighbors’ fence along our driveway and see the woodbine curling and stretching and growing on the wooden posts, i will likely smile and think of baked clams and lobster bisque and the long island when i was 18.

*****

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click on image above – aqua agua mit rouge – to view on david’s gallery

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sunrises, rainbows and bubbles. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

it doesn’t take much to get my attention. the drops of water. the juxtaposition of muted color. the use of the add-9 in a 1-3-5 chord. the tension that is created between that ninth and the tonic of the triad, begging for release, suspended to evoke emotion.

if we all spent time in the beautiful details of things, perhaps there would be little time for disagreement, little time for division, little time to perpetuate negativity. i suppose this all sounds a bit idealistic, maybe even pollyanna-ish.

when i was in high school, one of my best friends – marc – used to poke fun at me. he’d point out that i was all about sunrises, rainbows, bubbles. we’d argue the merits of musicians – me defending john denver, him defending bob dylan. i was an innocent back then, living in a family that was almost all a “generation” older, comparatively speaking. while other families were watching the wonderful world of disney and episodes of dark shadows, mine was watching doris day, rock hudson, debbie reynolds movies and episodes of gidget and hogan’s heroes and petticoat junction. my parents weren’t in front of the tv when saturday night live started in 1975 and the radio in the kitchen played wgsm from huntington, which didn’t include led zeppelin or aerosmith in their line-up. the record player in the living room spun robert goulet and jim nabors, herb alpert and the tijuana brass. my sweet momma did not dance to janis ian or carole king or joni mitchell or aretha franklin. my dad whistled all the time, but never a john lennon song or billy joel or david bowie. i wasn’t so much pop-culture-up-to-date-informed.

innocence has a way of exiting the building and sometimes this is by more profound circumstances than others. i’m in that second category.

but i still look back – to before – and think about the sunrises, rainbows and bubbles of that period of my life. sometimes somewhat wistfully.

and as i pass the mauve and olive leaves on the trail, noticing the tiny droplets of dew or the morning rain – still visible, i realize that somewhere in there, the unwavering john denver fan, the jonathan livingston seagull fan, the doris-day-rock-hudson-debbie-reynolds fan still exists. i can see her waving from other there. she stops me on the trail and reminds me. of goodness and beauty. and of sunrises, rainbows and bubbles.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

CHASING BUBBLES mixed media 33.25″ x 48″

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bistro table. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

to sit at a bistro table – to eat a meal, to sip wine, to talk and linger – such a simple pleasure, so rich, brimming with visions of sidewalk cafes and closely sharing time. we bring to any table the joy of being together, the gift of gathering. there is not much Lovely that a bistro table and wrought iron chairs doesn’t elicit for me.

what we bring to the table…this pause in our day…a sacred preparing of foods for those we care about. in those moments of frenetic movement, of too-busy-busy-ness, of emotional or physical overload, this pause – at the table – to slow down and relish taste – to breathe the air of another – to sate our hunger and stoke our energy – moments we so often rush through.

and so, i think maybe i will approach any table instead as if i am about to sit at a bistro table, about to hold time in a little bit of suspension to enjoy whatever the meal may be – simple or fancy – unadorned or with a beautiful table-setting. i’ll bring to the table my utter appreciation for sustenance, for those i am gathered with – even if alone – for the act of living. i’ll bring to the table my knowing that this ritual of goodness – to eat, to carry on, to experience hunger, to eat – is a privilege i have enjoyed my whole life – even when my hunger was bigger but my dinner was cornflakes. i’ll bring to the table gratitude for taste, for texture, for spice and organic, for the delicious.

and i’ll sit at the table acknowledging the very moments there. i’ll collect my table-sittings in my oeuvre of song and prose that will scatter someday into the galaxy. too often we forget we are merely blips in the compendium of the universe and each good moment that is ours is truly a gift of time, a wonder.

and so, i’ll bistro-table each meal.

*****

GOOD MOMENTS from THIS PART OF THE JOURNEY ©️ 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood

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glimmer energy. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

it was like magic dust.

we were sitting on our infamous adirondack chairs on the patio. the sky was brilliant blue – much like in this photograph. so much was going on. we were taking a few-minutes-breather.

and suddenly, it was like tiny sparkles were landing on us – the tiniest raindrops we’d ever seen. one by one we’d sense them landing on bare arms. you could barely see them, barely feel them. but as they floated down they glittered like the eensiest dew drops in a sunrise ray, iridescent shimmers falling from the sky. it is hard to wrap words around this. but it was like being blessed by the universe, like minute stars touching us. grace. light. magic dust.

it’s not like we aren’t surrounded by these. glimmers. moments that radiate. moments that make you feel amazed to be alive. moments of joy or peace. they are – truly – everywhere. gentle touches of reassurance or comfort, reminders of bliss – out there. not magnificently large summits but micro moments in real living, real time, lingering in the air waiting for us to notice.

and when you notice…as a deliberate practice or an unanticipated surprise…the energy of your stardust quivers in goodness.

*****

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

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GOOD MOMENTS from THIS PART OF THE JOURNEY ©️ 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood

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

on just the right day, at the end of just the right week, at just the right place, at just the right time – we found a quilted heart.

a random-act-of-kindness initiative, this quilted heart was tagged and stated, “i need a home.” we plucked it off the tree on the side of the trail and carried it with us – home.

ifaqh (i found a quilted heart) is an anonymous project – they state on their site that “it is not about the maker of the heart; it is about the finder.” it is not affiliated with any organization or group and they “remain neutral”. they “place small quilted hearts around the globe to brighten the day of a stranger.”

and they did.

and the thing it immediately did – in my mind – was make me think about all the fabric i have in my sewing bins with which i could make quilted hearts – and all the places we could leave them for others. much like our planted-out-there painted rocks, these take us out of our own overstuffed angsty brains and into a spirit of goodness toward others. generosity overrides a worried heart. an intention, it turns us outward.

on this very day, at this very place, at this exact time, this little quilted heart was precisely what we needed.

i’m grateful for this simple gesture – being placed all over the world. hearts are the same no matter where you are: a reminder of love understood despite language or cultural differences, a gift given – anonymously – to sow joy.

*****

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

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holding on. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

because we hike these trails often, we notice subtle changes. new sprouts, thicker vegetation, fallen trees, vole-holes on the path.

this day we noticed this large limb – suspended. it had fallen. because we’ve had large limbs fall in our yard, we know that their size – particularly from far away – belies their weight. this broken branch, even dead wood, had to be mighty heavy.

and yet – the next tree over caught it and was holding on. merely three points of contact, like one hand and two feet on a ladder, these three little v’s where significantly smaller branches met. three points. and so, we will watch it. we wonder how – nestled into the other tree – it happened to fall just right. we wonder how long it will be there – high up in the other trees that show no sign of leafing, of life.

support doesn’t take much. it’s astounding to walk in forests and see evidence of mighty holding up mighty, mighty holding up small, small holding up mighty. nature caring for nature.

i stood staring at the tree from the trail. i looked at david, also staring. we know that the physics of how this branch fell into these three points, how it distributed the weight, must play into why it was held there. but as i stood there i could only think about how that could work in the people-world.

points of contact. support. extending branches of encouragement, reassurance, compassion – these could make all the difference for others. how often i have seen a plato-esque meme on social media reminding us to be kind – for everyone we meet is fighting a battle we know nothing about.

big limbs holding tiny branches. tiny branches holding big limbs.

points of contact.

they will hold a fallen tree in the woods. they will hold you stable on a ladder. they will hold your heart steady.

and – in this forest of humankind – at any given moment, you might find you are one of someone else’s branches, the bridge between falling and held, the difference between holding on and letting go.

*****

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our dividends. [k.s. friday]

we did not birth a baby together. until all these bunnies. our new-parent-juju is rising. together, we watch over them, noticing how they are growing, changing, their different puff-ball tails, their different markings. truth be told, we are not sure how many bunnies we actually have. we suspect that the number is rapidly increasing – as different sizes are showing up – all in the same day. so we are likely parenting multiples – twins, triplets and beyond.

my sweet momma used to tell me that when she discovered she was expecting – a decade after having my sister and brother – she wanted to have twins. she wanted me to be twins. she didn’t get all regretful or anything, but she just wanted me to know that she wanted me to have a sibling close to my age.

i wasn’t a twin. and my sister and brother grew, lightyears ahead of me, leaving home and marrying while i was just reaching double-digits. i, ever the little-sister, had special relationships with both of them and treasured time and sleepovers at their homes. but i can see the wisdom of my mom’s wish for twins. she called me their “dividend”.

and so i grew up – post-just-turning-double-digits – with older parents. they were already in their mid-fifties when i was a mid-teenager. and they were from a generation a little bit more old-fashioned. so, i s’pose i was a little bit more old-fashioned too.

they were already at the stage where suddenly they had a little bit more time to pay attention to the birds, the animals around our growing-up house, their garden. while i always appreciated their zeal, i didn’t stop in the zooming-around of a teenager to partake in much bird or wildlife watching or spend a lot of time in the gardens. after they moved to florida, in their last home together, they would sit for hours gazing out at the lake behind their home, watching for waterfowl, tiny lizards and traces of lurking alligators. witnesses of nature. it always brought them peace.

and now i get it.

last night we sat on the deck as the sun began to fall behind the horizon. the night air was cooler and the birds, chippies, squirrels, bunnies were busy. we marveled at the hummingbird flitting in to the feeder and we laughed at the antics of a gleeful dogdog, who was outsmarted every time by whichever bunbun was in the yard. we both sighed. the day was coming to an end and our yard-family was getting ready to tuck in.

the joys of dividends are numerous we see. old-fashioned goodness.

my sweet momma and my poppo – over in the next dimension – smiled knowing smiles and clapped their hands as they watched me, as they watched us.

*****

and goodnight ©️ 2005 kerri sherwood

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both exist. [two artists tuesday]

the owl feather lay on our trail. soft down curled at its base, it was striking against the dirt of our path. we stopped.

the trail has different rules. the point is never to hurry. it is never to walk without open eyes. it is never to pass by that which draws or beckons. instead, it is to take the time, to go slower, to see what is there – in all its mysterious beauty. and, though this is the most familiar of our trails, there is not a time we have hiked it that we have not seen something new, something informative, something so beautiful – even in its simplicity – that we had to stop and photograph it.

it IS how the world is, she said. it exists just the same way as the dark exists. we were talking about goodness, the presence of goodness, the pay-it-forward of goodness. i was wistfully talking about a world that valued goodness, that lingered in kindness, that held beauty in gratitude, that was full of light and hope and the love of one another. her words stopped me.

it does exist. and, yes, it exists the same way as all the dark in the world exists. it’s a profound thought.

we were walking out to big red to go take a hike. a beautiful black crow feather lay waiting on the driveway.

next to littlebabyscion was a smaller feather, perhaps one from a robin that sang the sun up earlier in the day.

to read about owl feathers and crow feathers and robin feathers, one finds a plethora of information, some seemingly opposite in meaning. but the one thing that all feathers seem to represent across the board is that there are angels with you, there is a connection to the spiritual world.

whatever you perceive that to be, it would seem that a connection to the comfort and love of those who passed before or the eternal wisdom, the resilience, the goodness of the universe would be a good thing.

all the light exists just as all the dark.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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wild giraffe flower. [two artists tuesday]

and it grew and grew. up from the forest floor, where it was surrounded by decaying leaves and bits of branch. next to the big meadow and not far off the beaten trail, it pushed its way past the low grasses next to it.

this wildflower – a somewhat historically unloved taproot – with an abundance of early spring juju, kept sprouting up, up. it looked around to see many just like it. suddenly, it was surrounded by a village of yellow flowers – each maybe a bit hard to discern from the other.

but the flower still knew it had a place in the world.

and so, it held its bloom until it was time to close and then it grayed. it stoked up seeds and waited for the right time to release them, a puff of magic.

and then it bent its head to the sun, content in its cycle on earth, knowing it would be back and that – for a time – it had been a wild giraffe.

*****

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magical time-lapse by neil bromhall

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footprints. [d.r. thursday]

one single deer walked across this frozen marsh. it left its footprints behind and we could see that it was alone, at least as it crossed. we wondered where it was going, if it would be meeting other deer, if it was young or older, if it had been seeking food or a little open water. we’ve seen many deer on this stretch of trail. they are usually in the woods, gazing out at us as we pass. they stand silently and watch, making sure that we mean no harm. and, of course, we don’t. i always whisper to them how very beautiful they are and i thank them for their quiet presence.

i wonder – after we leave and our boots are printed in the snowy trail – if the deer ponder us. if they wonder where we are going, if we are meeting others, if we are young or older, if we are seeking food or open water.

one of the reasons we love being on the trail is to mutually share that space with wildlife as it surrounds us. we know that there are many creatures, many critters we will not see, though they likely see us. and while we can usually identify them and whether we are in jeopardy – if we see them – we know that identifying humans is harder. for creatures and critters do not know the intent of humans as they pass. they do not know who humans are nor if they are in danger because humans are nearby. the sun rises and sets in their neck of the woods and they must always be vigilant. few natural predators, their vigilance is mostly because of the humans.

they do not realize that it is also necessary for humans to be vigilant of humans. for not all are well-intended and some mean harm. some are singularly focused on hurtful agenda, some are dedicated to marginalizing others, some are dangerous.

i hope that our footprints – now and later – reveal goodness, cause no alarm, are no menace. there’s already enough of that in this world.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY