reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: hearts


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north stars. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

we pulled up to the recycling tent to drop off the computer-type equipment we had – several old printers and associated cables and plugs. we had been looking forward to this event – an earth day event held locally – in order to continue the purge of stuff, but in the most environmentally-friendly ways.

there were a few people in the tent waiting to help and we really appreciated their work volunteering. they immediately moved forward to our vehicle to help us unload.

i got back into littlebabyscion and glanced over through my fully-open window to repeat our thanks. that’s when i saw one guy glaring at littlebabyscion and saying something to someone next to him. the focus of his gaze was undeniable.

i decided instantly.

“looking at our wheels, eh?” i addressed the guy.

he looked at me, surprised to be caught in the moment, “uhhh….yeah.”

“well, they may not be fancy but this little xb has faithfully driven 280,000 miles,” i bragged.

he stammered. “wow, that’s really cool,” he managed.

“yup,” i said. and then, pretty emphatically, “you can’t judge a book by its cover!”

i’m hoping he felt a little bit sheepish after we drove away. it is not likely, but i still hope he did.

now, to be fair, littlebabyscion’s wheels are the stuff of grimace-potential. the outer layer of aluminum alloy is both peeling and rusting – but, hey, so are we – after a few hundred thousand miles. we have plans to take a steel brush to these wheels – on a non-windy day – to clean them up a bit, make them less shoddy-looking, but it hasn’t been a top priority. glimmering, shiny wheels are not as important as some other tasks or chores, so babyscion’s rims just need to get in line. besides, LBS had really shiny rims back in the day – almost 300,000 miles ago. heck, even 100,000 miles ago there was still a bit of sheen. shiny is part of who LBS has been. so, i, for one, am not going to judge this absolutely amazing little vehicle for a bit of wear or a few wrinkles in the middle of dedicated and extended mechanical life. LBS has a really good heart.

we are relatively used to just being us – in a world of people trying to be more. we are artists, remember.

and so, we are people who have walked this walk – the one of being the book judged by the cover. we have also repurposed with fervor, made-do with less, driven with not-so-perfect rims. and we stick to the be-you mantra. we are not going to participate in the judging of books by their covers. we are going to seek heart. no matter the difference, no matter the sameness – we believe that being you – the best and most filled-with-goodness you – is all you can or should be. and we are here to lift you up in that. we are not going to grimace or glare or make snide comments at you in your pursuit of goodness. our job – as humans – with kindness and generosity and acceptance and grace our north stars – is to be us and to let you be you.

hopefully hearts are more important to you than shiny rims.

*****

GRACE © 2010 kerri sherwood

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

 

LBS…a few years ago….

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💚heart-door people. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

in direct contrast with the front door we pass on our way to the trail – the one that says “go away!” – there are many, many “welcome” signs at the front doors, on the front stoops, propped against the porches of other homes. big wooden signs, rubber door mats, hanging signs – all varieties of these ‘you are welcome here’ messages.

we make assumptions about other places. we believe we are welcome – at grocery stores, in bistros, in boutique shoppes, in schools, in religious institutions, in galleries and museums. they don’t really need a sign because we believe that the whole purpose of their existence is to encourage people to come in, take part in what they offer – whether it is shopping, dining, browsing, studying, being in community – whatever their mission. and we believe that we will be welcomed with open arms, open hearts.

but there are go-away-ers out there, even those without signs of loud proclamation. they are uninterested, unmoved, closed, uninvolved, unquestioning, passive, complicit. they are not with open arms, open hearts. their apathy is clear; their aloofness is cold.

we passed the magical heart entrance to a tiny home inside the trunk of a tree. i was drawn to it, for – as we know – hearts are sometimes where we least expect them. but here it is…the way in, through a heart-door.

there are people each of us know who are heart-door people. the people who are always happy to see you, the people who never turn away from you, the people who hold you when you need holding, the people who listen when you need to talk. heart-door people are not found in one particular place – they are not simply gathered, waiting for you. instead, heart-door people keep their eyes open, their minds open. theirs are doors that open into empathy and compassion. they are the comfy quilts of our lives, the steadfast longtimers, the warm newbies, the balance-givers, the standing-by-you folks, the speaking-up-for-you truthtellers.

there is a big disparity between the go-away-ers and the heart-doors. sometimes it’s easy to see the difference. sometimes it’s not.

it’s important to learn good discernment.

and then, it’s important to be grateful for your heart-doors.

*****

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

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a reminder. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

they are everywhere. if you are open to them. hearts just sort of show up. it’s our job to notice them.

this one is simply a dogga-fuzz on the quilt. but it’s clearly a heart and i had to take a picture of it before dogdog rolled over and it disappeared forever. a simple symbol. a breath of warm air.

she bought a heart clock in a sweet antique boutique up north a bit. my dear friend is a collector of hearts and this one – well, it was obvious. a small red heart clock with sweetly-fonted numbers and a tiny heart at the end of the hour hand. it’s her. and i really love that about her. she surrounds herself with hearts and exudes warmth just the way you’d anticipate from someone who has hearts all around her.

i don’t have nearly the number of hearts she has, but i have a zillion photographs of hearts. naturally occurring as puddles or stones or leaves. purposely created – hearts in sand, in snow, painted on rocks.

it doesn’t take much to see them. but to stop all action and photograph them is a commitment.

yet, every time i do – stop traffic – stop all movement – stop our hike – stop the dog from rolling over – i feel like the universe smiles. and one more time i am reminded of love. every kind of love, every display of love, every bit of love that surrounds me.

maybe that’s why i notice hearts all the time. to remember just that.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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

we are clearly the three musketeers together…20, d and me.

our discussions range from ridiculous kidding to profound artistic center to current events. we cook together and spoil dogdog together. he has been a constant – for thirty years – and our friendship is cherished. he is my brother; after my own big brother was on the other side, he chose 20 to be so.

he has a thing about faces. and so, because he sees them everywhere, so do we. happy faces, silly faces, sad faces, worried faces, upside down faces. i have stopped in my tracks to snap a photo of a face – regardless of the place – just to send to him.

and then, at the coffeehouse in madison, there was this face on the door. 😐 d was engrossed in something else, but 20 and i went off into fits of laughter – talking as if we were the face on the door. it doesn’t take much to entertain us.

it’s a good learning.

because – really – isn’t that the point? to see the tiniest thing with someone you care about and laugh the biggest guffawing-snorting-tears-running laugh. to admire the tiniest thing with someone you care about and be awestruck with the biggest swelling heart. to share the tiniest things – and the biggest things – with someone you care about and know – deep in your soul – they are standing there with you, every fiber.

i’ll always stop for faces now.

well, faces and hearts.

because they’re important. 🙂

*****

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

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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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found hearts. [two artists tuesday]

it was snowing and we were walking along the lakefront – on third avenue. we cut in through the park and walked along the shoreline. though it wasn’t obvious in just a glance outside, the wind was pretty fiercely blowing the falling snow south, so walking north meant keeping our heads down and imagining that we would look like all our pals on life below zero after our walk – frozen eyebrows, d’s beard all crusty with icicles, my hair frozen to my hat. later, on our return trip home, it was easier walking south than north.

i’m not sure how the tree above the sidewalk melted the snow to be a heart. no person was involved – ours were the only prints on the walk or anywhere nearby; i suppose no one else wanted to be outside in the storm. it was a mystery. but it was a perfect heart.

it’s our tenth valentine’s day. we don’t celebrate this holiday in a big way. it is also his birthday, a valentine baby for his momma. a few years ago he sent me a dozen roses for the first time. expecting them to be exquisite, they arrived – as you remember – disheveled and mostly petal-less. all the buds had fallen to the bottom of the hefty delivery box. i gathered them into a crystal bowl. rose petal lemonade.

it is not likely that he will have roses delivered again. but hearts – on the other hand – we find them together everywhere. on-trail rocks, caramel autumn leaves, tucked inside acorn centers, maple tree winged seeds, puddles, morning glory leaves, pieces of shredded prayer flags, raindrops lingering on the leaves of plants, in snow. i don’t think we actively look for them. but they show up. much like real hearts.

found hearts are different than purchased roses. in pretty much every way. they don’t try to be beautiful. they don’t arrive all glitzy and wrapped. they don’t make statements. they are not haughty nor does the color matter. they are simply waiting to be seen, to be recognized. and they don’t cost anything.

they are a gift – like real found hearts are.

*****

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fuchsia shibui. [k.s. friday]

“rather than being a fall away from beauty, ageing can be the revelation of beauty, the time when the inherent radiance becomes visible.” (john o’donohue)

perhaps i would have noticed these leaves in the prime of their life, clotheslined on the branch, hanging in the sun. their verdant green might have captured my attention and the focus of my camera. but i kind of doubt it. for, indeed, they would have blended into the rest of the woods, the rest of the underbrush, the colors, the shrubbery, the landscape.

in the autumn of their lives, these leaves are ravishing. they gesture to the camera and invite my study. their ageing is their invitation to relish their presence, the visual “hey! look at me!”.

these days it is predictable. there is something – each day – we will say that is a reminder, though gently and with soft humor, of the very fact that we are ageing. we poke at ourselves, with self-deprecating comments about wrinkles or crepey skin or bellies changing or achy joints. we roll our eyes and then one of us reminds the other to be present in it and joyful and grateful, mostly grateful. we are not eloquent in those moments. they involve words like “sheesh!” or “stahhhhhhhhp!” or comparisons “but look at MY wrinkles!”. to suggest we are ageing gracefully is to ignore the american cultural emphasis on youthfulness, with ageing depicted negatively. in contrast, ageing in japan is revered. the elderly have the utmost respect. in the autumn of their lives, turning toward mid-life and beyond, the flaws earned throughout life are considered the very things that intensify beauty. shibui, it is said, is an aesthetic turn toward subtle and unobtrusive beauty, textural in elegance and roughness, diverse in spontaneous and restrained, a balance of simplicity and complexity, understated but not innocent, gorgeous words about meditation over spectacle. (wikipedia)

yesterday, in the middle of thinking about kneeling on the stripes, i found myself stumbling upon hearts. there was the heart – a random piece of ripped tissue – on the hinged lid of the stainless wastebasket. the hearts on the shower curtain, light somehow filtering through the holes holding curtain rings, reflected down onto the curtain itself. the heart leaf on the sidewalk. this morning the heart, shaped from the skin of the potato, on top of the tiny wedge of breakfast potato. it was a little uncanny. but was it?

or perhaps it is some kind of universe message – raising its voice over the din of flaw-noticing and in-the-pause-thinking and liminal-space-white-noise – reminding me of being loved. in this autumn-of-my-life. that the fuchsia is showing up, is a statement in the middle of a dense forest, raising the ordinary to extraordinary, the natural presence of shibui.

*****

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EVERY BREATH from AS IT IS ©️ 2004 kerri sherwood


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dog and cat. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

his best friend. he waits at the door for his best friend to return. his sorrow is quiet, subdued. his grief is confusion, dedication to a belief that babycat will come home. he has never been in this house without him – not even a day – and this last week has been heartwrenching to watch his reaction. his sadness is palpable, his loss profound.

the first few days after his babycat disappeared he was almost silent. dogdog is never a silent dog, so this was noticeable. without a sound, he looked everywhere for his cat. with lydia’s wise recommendation i tried to visualize for him all that had happened once his babycat had left the house, to give him some context, to let him know he did not have to wait, to tell him that his babycat was now in our hearts. he looked deeply into my eyes and then looked away, as if to dismiss my explanation, to hold close his own perspective, his own interpretation.

‘the boys’ spent the days together – every day since we brought dogdog home as a puppy. they’ve navigated through changes and ups and downs with us. they’ve kept us amused and entertained. they’ve nuzzled us in our times of angst. the rare times they were apart were very few times that we were on a trip. they moved to the littlehouse on island with us and adapted, finding mutual spots at the place where the kitchen met the living room and the sun streamed in. the noise of the ferry on the crossing scaring babycat, dogdog stayed close to him, signaling all was well. they channeled reassurance to each other, touchstones of steady, ever-present. they shared their water bowl and cheered each other on when it was time for treats. where one would go, ultimately the other would follow. and at the end of the day, butt-to-butt, they lay on the raft, waiting for us to sleep. babycat ruled. they were best friends.

last tuesday morning as i sipped coffee on the bed and babycat lay curled up down by my feet, dogga jumped up and laid down. gently, with all absence of play and what seemed in all seriousness, he moved his face over to babycat’s face. they laid nose to nose, heads on the soft old quilt, their hushed stillness, in retrospect, a clear display of their great love for each other. after a bit of time, babycat’s symptoms surfaced suddenly. and everything in the world changed for our sweet dedicated-to-his-cat aussie.

i understand dogdog’s quiet. though our presence and snugs and words to him might help, solace will only come in time. “woundedness is one of the places where normal words and descriptions break down.” grief is not limited to human hearts.

*****

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the gallery on my phone. [two artists tuesday]

the gallery on my phone: there are photos of any minutes any where with or of my children. there are photos of trails and woods and my husband’s face and heart-shaped leaves. there are photos of dogdog and babycat, family, friends, photos of wildflowers, bushes, gardens and happy lights, recipes, screenshots of funny snapchat-filtered faces, cairns, and mountains, lots of mountains. there are photos of our feet, laughter, redrock and snowmen, lakes and oceans, streams and frozen ponds, birds and butterflies and preserved text messages, trail magic greenery, sunrises and sunsets, the sun and the moon. there are photos in the united states and photos abroad. photos in canoes and fishing skiffs, on pontoon boats and stand-up boards, riding ice-cutting ferries. there are photos of pianos and pipes and pumpkins, wooden stages, stages of rock, prickly cactus and my casts. there are quaking aspens and forests of pine, wizened old trees, towering oaks and radiant maples, highways and back roads. there are squirrels and deer, raccoons, horses and heart-shaped rocks. there are snow pictures and desert pictures, sandy pictures and muddy pictures, city skylines and small town main streets, wine glasses, thoughtfully-prepared meals, candles burning, bonfires, and masks littering the ground iso faces. there are tree stumps, tree trunks and bark and branches, interesting shapes, shadows, buildings, sayings emblazoned anywhere, articles to remember to read later, signs and designs, horsehoof and deer and bunny tracks, and heart-shaped designs that waited in the dirt, in the snow, in rock formations.

there are thousands of photographs. thousands.

i look back on them often. there are times i will select a whole bunch and transfer them over to my laptop so that i can print them and put them up on a bulletin board in our hallway or on the big piece of tin in the kitchen or frame them for one of the flat surfaces that doesn’t already have a photograph. but mostly, i look back on them to spend time – again – right there.

right now, in a country devastated by a raging pandemic and out-of-control political chaos and violence, in a town riddled with inordinately tough emotional disparity and a lack of social justice over the district attorney’s ruling in a case involving a police officer who shot a black man in the back seven times, now on the outermost fringes of what was an up-close-and-personal community lacking transparency to its members, in sadness and angst, i need to be back there.

back with people i love who love me back.

back at places that brought me peace or laughter, challenged me or rewarded me with a sense of calm.

back where every heart is noticed, whosever it is, wherever it is, even whether it be a rock, a leaf, a knot in a tree in the woods, or the funny way that the ice melted on the deck.

*****

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reminders. [two artists tuesday]

heart leaf

i stopped and went back.  i had to take this picture.  reminders are everywhere and right now, although, truly, as always,  i knew i wanted to capture as many as possible.

it feels as if we are surrounded by whirling hypocrisy.  those people who proclaim one thing and treat people in an extraordinarily different way.  i’ve been stunned into i-don’t-even-know-what-to-say-silence more than once lately.  people who demand respect but don’t give it, people who are unnecessarily controlling, people who go behind your back, people who list toward cruelty, people who declare appreciation but tear down, people who hide behind glossy words.  what is going on?  narcissism seems to be alive and well as we suffer the effects of those-who-believe-they-are-on-pedestals, pedestals that seem to exist on every step of the ladder.  it’s shocking and more than a little disconcerting.  we each have first-hand in-our-own-life experience.  what a disappointment.  we are humans capable of so much more.

and so, the reminders are incredibly welcome.  the heart leaves or rocks, the sun’s rays glowing through clouds in the sky, the presence of a cardinal or two blue jays crossing our path in the woods.  a text message or call out of the blue, beautiful generous raw-matte-finish words spoken to you.  all reminders.  a kindness extended by a stranger, an eye-contact smile.  the big initiatives, the little gestures.  not picking up the tug-of-war rope.  reaching out to offer the olive branch.  life-giving.  practicing.  we are truly capable of so much.  we need be reminded.

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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