reverse threading

the path back is the path forward


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divergent paths. [kerri’s blog on flawed wednesday]

(a note: i wrote this blogpost and initially thought i would not share it. i gave it much consideration, time to brew and ruminate over it. i share it now because i fear that too many people out there are feeling this grief, too many people have lost beloveds in this way, too many people can relate to these words, too many people feel alone in this: the brutal division stoked by the actions and attitudes of the current administration and all those perpetuating its ruthless inhumanity. my heart holds space for each of you hurting in this way.)

***

and, though we came from the same place and the same parents, the same set of dna, the same ancestry, we are on divergent paths.

i always held you in high regard. i deferred to you when i was younger – watching you when i was a teen – inspired by you – thinking i wanted what you had built for yourself: a little family, a sweet husband, a house, a good job, a nice car, a pool. i thought you had it all and i believed that, even though we were at different places in life, you and i would always be close – on tightly woven parallel paths, weaving in and out of each others’ lives, forever.

i never expected to be exact samesies. you are more than a decade older than me. that sets up two different social cultures – you are leonard cohen and the righteous brothers and i am john denver and james taylor. you are teased and hairsprayed and i am long and loose. you are eyeliner and lipstick and i am mascara and lipbalm-at-most. you are queen-of-the-prom and i am studious nerd. you are fancy cars and leather pocketbooks and i am high mileage and backpacks. you are hot temper and i am keep-the-peace. you are brand-name and i am whatever-costs-less. you are mani-pedi and i am do-it-myself. you are lovely restaurants and i am modest recipes and leftovers. you are white wine and i am red. you are palm trees and i am aspens. you are the south and i am the north. you are gold and diamonds and i am basic silver. you are generous and i am frugal. you are ethan allen and new and i am peeling-paint-vintage and repurposed. you are worked-for-companies and i am owned-small-business. you are sometimes a bit unaware and i am sometimes ridiculously over-sensitive. you are financially secure and i am ever-teetering.

none of that was or is deal-breaking. of course not. it is simply two people becoming who they are.

i haven’t always been happy with you. it’s likely you haven’t always been happy with me. because of our age difference, you have often chosen to act more like a mother-figure than a sister, judging or instructing instead of supporting. and, at times of true emotional turmoil, you have sometimes chosen to be betraying to our sisterly sisterhood. during the time that our daddy died we stuck it out together. during the time our sweet momma died it was tough. in a nod to avoiding conflict, i didn’t say anything and we continued on in life, still in the same tapestry of family, riding the coaster of both confusing, hurtful missteps and loving support of each other. even with all the reasons i may have been upset with you and you upset with me – through decades of living – i never thought there would be a time when there would be irretrievable distance between us.

until now.

every day i shudder to read what is happening in this country, what cruelty and destruction this administration has now wrought upon the populace of our nation. every day i cannot believe that you are in favor of this hideousness.

it absolutely breaks me.

my sister…our faces look the same. the more i age, the more i see you in the mirror.

and yet, there is something so very basic about our hearts that is different. something so fundamentally and extremely opposite.

and that, my dear beloved sister, has placed us on such divergent paths – such chosen disparate and conflicting paths – that i wonder if we will ever recover.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this WEDNESDAY

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so many adjectives. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

i suppose in-disbelief would also apply.

and horrified.

and sickened.

frustrated, repulsed, outraged, heartbroken, scared, exhausted, disoriented…

…overwhelmed.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

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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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my cello. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

i sold my cello this week.

i would be lying if i told you i didn’t cry at the string shop.

i did cry. i’m crying now.

i am a professional pianist. a composer. proudly a yamaha artist with an intensely beautiful C5 in my studio and fifteen albums plus of vulnerability out in the world. i play the guitar and the ukulele. i dabbled on the trumpet in college for five minutes or so. but, oh…the cello.

the moment i touched my cello i had a bond with it. and, holding the idea close of learning to play mournfully heart-draining melody lines, i purchased it. because artists dream, i played.

but reality is reality.

and now – with 45° of wrist forward range of motion – my cello needed a new home. it’s just a fact.

i held onto it long after i knew this. it’s hard to let go a dream. and i’ve never before sold a beloved instrument.

yet, cellos – like all instruments – need to be loved on: played, listened to, tweaked, played more. a paesold, german-made, warm and resonant in tone, it begged to come out of the corner of my studio. though i tried to ignore it, it is like ignoring the stare of an australian shepherd who clearly wants you to do something (and we have experience with this). so my cello kept staring at me and staring at me. even without entering my studio – for i have not spent much time in there in these most recent years – i could feel the stare of the cello through the wall.

until finally.

i know this cello is valuable. yet, the string shop i sold it to – for much less than its value – was full of string music and luthiers working, a performance space and a full marching line of cellos on the wall. it will not be lonely as it waits to be re-homed.

the shopowner knew how hard it was for me to sell this cello, to leave it behind, to leave at all.

i touched its maple and spruce, exquisitely varnished. i spoke to my cello. and i blew it a kiss as we left, entirely and utterly choked-up.

and i wondered how my cello-dream might morph into something else.

because it’s still raw.

*****

LAST I SAW YOU from THIS PART OF THE JOURNEY ©️ 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood

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