reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

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my souvenirs. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

she pointed at the artisan-crafted wooden sconce and said, “did you see the heart?” one of the wooden discs was in the shape of a heart. i hadn’t noticed, which is saying a lot since i always notice hearts. i was thrilled, though, because the thought of her having this heart-infused sconce on the wall of her newly-purchased “dream home” was, well, totally heartwarming. this person was the right person to have these family-handed-down scandinavian birch sconces – and that was the moment i knew it.

each day i am finding something else of which i am ready to let go. it’s not always easy. sometimes the connection is hard to break. but i am trying to make decisions based on the unlikelihood of our actually using a piece versus the chance that someone else might be able to use it, has been searching for it or is just charmed by that very thing. storing something ad nauseum seems completely silly now. despite its charm, the beauty of something hand-crafted, the ancestry strands connected with it, if i haven’t used it in decades, why would i expect to use it now?

it is a tad bit overwhelming – i realize i am redundant-beyond-the-beyond here – to go through everything. the bins, boxes, closets, attic, storage rooms seem neverending. and yet, there are some great stories i am able to tell david, some history of these relics, with mixed emotions that accompany them.

as i move them on, i begin to see that the artifacts of the past – though some laden with positive or negative emotion – are not that which holds the emotion. the curio is merely the vessel of what jolts my memory, pokes at my heart, the physical thing that – when i see it or touch it – brings up whatever the emotion might be.

there are a few things that still don’t pass muster. even if i smudged them with great amounts of sage, they would still be too much for me to hold onto, too much for me to tuck back into a bin or box, a closet or the attic. some things must move on – and there is no reticence whatsoever.

it’s been a big learning. and it has gained momentum for me. as i unearth each bit of relic for release, i see yet another and know it is time.

some of it i send out with bits of my heart and some with a deep exhale. and, either way, i know that – eventually – it all remains anyway. even when the bins and boxes and closets and attic and storage rooms are way less labored with stuff.

i have connected with the memory, acknowledged it, felt it, and stored it back away. i have wrapped my heart around it or dealt with processing it.

and the fragments of memory – now invisible remnants of all the stuff – are now my souvenirs.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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the merit of munchos. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

so we are in the habit of celebrating. not just the big stuff.

particularly in this time – when all the world is in chaos, when we all have no idea what horrific thing will happen next, when there is so much trepidation about losing this country’s very democracy, we – now – celebrate the little stuff as well. and, as you can tell by this photograph, we -big-time – know what we’re doing when it comes to celebrations.

we know that most people choose to, well, maybe go out to dinner as a celebration, or maybe go away on a trip or to an event of some sort, maybe go shopping and splurge on a purchase of something long-awaited for.

we tend to be a little lower-key than all that. but even our most modest celebrations are still celebrations.

it doesn’t take much. in our zeal, we hiked two loops of our river trail. though suddenly exhausted from the toll that anticipation takes on adrenaline, happy kept us going, step by step. breathing the fresh air and feeling the sun – warm enough to take off our jackets – was its own cause for joy.

yes…on this particular day – last week, i might point out – we were beyond excited. our celebration was actually quite thrilling and filled our hearts.

and so we splurged on a $2.79 bag of munchos (on sale at woodman’s) and poured two glasses of wine. we pulled two adirondack chairs from the garage and sat in the 50-plus-degree-sun out on the patio and clinked. when the clouds covered the sun and the wind picked up we went inside, to sit at the bistro table by the window in our sunroom. with dogga on the rug at our feet, we lit a new gift, a soy candle in beautiful cut glass.

and we settled into festivity.

“enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things.” (robert brault)

*****

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

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counter-balance. [kerri’s blog on flawed/not-so-flawed wednesday]

i suppose there will be a day when i look out the front door – to the west and the setting sun – and not see these branches. i suppose wind or ice or age – or even a city crew – might take them down. in the meanwhile, though, they are a statement of the familiar and their graceful shape gives me comfort.

we have been more insular lately. there are many reasons for this, some too close-in to list. the world has felt inordinately harsh – the world IS inordinately harsh – and so, in the name of balance, there has been time simply spent here, at home.

and at the end of a day, when we realize that we had not gone anywhere in that day, i am sometimes surprised.

but engagement is not just getting-out-of-the-house. there are – i suspect – particularly evidenced by the vast numbers of people who still support the cruel, unhealthy, marginalizing agenda of this administration – plenty of people who get out of the house but who never actually engage in the reality of what is happening, never seek the truth, never question their proclivity to pompom this depravity, never utter that they might have been wrong.

they go to the mall or the department store and shop, they go to some supersized – or tiny – evangelical church that proclaims their modified version of jesus, they go out to dinner and feast, they are at soccer games and gymnasiums and gated community parks. they follow the social media of extremism and sanctify voices and leaders without compassion, without empathy, without conscience.

no, engagement – participation – involvement – in this world requires asking questions and participating in discussions, learning, parsing out complex ideas, critical thinking, curiosity, connection, the recognition of one’s impact in the world.

engagement does not suggest utter complicit passivity nor does it suggest giving over of one’s morality; it does not suggest sycophancy nor adulation of horrific ideology. it doesn’t suggest – or not suggest – any of that.

we each get to choose our own engagement.

personally, i will stick to seeking the ideals of kindness, compassion, humanitarianism, equality, truth. i will stick to looking to the constitution and its amendments of this country as the guiding discipline of its laws.

and, even if i’m not engaged with the mall or the church or out-and-about dining or shopping or playing a day here or a day there, i will continue to hold to the kind of engagement that does not ignore reality.

and that kind of engagement requires some counter-balance these days.

which takes me to these ever-familiar front-yard branches drawing grace in the sky.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this FLAWED/NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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

it was his birthday this weekend. he turned 65, a big-deal-birthday. my sweet momma always paid special attention to those big-deal-birthdays – especially the ones that were divisible by 5.

we had plans for friday – particularly because his actual birthday falls on busy valentine’s day – it just figures he is a valentine’s day baby! we were going to go to the milwaukee art museum and then to the public market, to sit at the counter and lunch on divine gumbo.

dogga woke us up early, not feeling well.

and that changed everything.

for this man – this man full of heart – whose very heart aligns with mine – with whom i have mutually – side by side – endured all matters of life for years now – decided he’d rather stick close to home, to be by our dogga so we can keep an eye on him and love on him.

in years hence, it will never matter to either of us whether we went to the art museum on friday, nor will it matter if we had gumbo that exact day. what will matter is that we let our love of our beloved dogga lead us and we prioritized with him in mind.

and this is just one of the reasons i know that “i don’t care about any words on the map besides you are here.”

some stuff just doesn’t matter. and where we spend time together is one of them, for anywhere on the map together – is home together.

i grant you – yes – that we would love to tool about the country – heck, the world – and explore and hike and photograph and write and paint and play music and create joy as we go. we’d love to immerse in places near and far – and feel the actual place, its actual culture, its energy, its gifts – for all places have innumerable gifts to offer.

but at this moment in time, we are happy – content – to be home in our old house, to be sharing our home with each other, to be sharing our home with our old dogga.

there will be other moments. there will be other places to see. there will be maps-with-words and plans and adventures.

right now here – with each other – is the most important place ever.

*****

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

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this is the stuff. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

(about this week: there is a peril, it seems, to writing ahead these days. we had decided that this week – the first full week of a new year – we wished to use images of light as our prompts, we wished to linger on the possibility of light, of hope, of goodness. though our blogposts might stray from that as we pen them, it was without constant nod to the constant updating of current events – a mass of indefensible, unconscionable acts. we pondered what to do about these blogposts we had written and decided to keep them. we hope that – whether or not any absence of the happenings of the day, whether or not the chance these written words seem somewhat inane at this moment – you might know that those events – of corruption, illegality, immorality – do not distill or distort our intention – to bring light and hope to this new year – the first days of which bring more insanity and unnerving instability. we are still holding space for light.)

and so…

and what does the ceiling fan see, looking down at the centerpiece on the dining room table? what is the bird’s-eye view of this bit of old peeling-paint chairwood, this tiny dollar store tree, these glass votives, the glittery ornament tucked in? acknowledging that everything is clearly a bit easier if you are a ceiling fan, i wonder – is it thinking, “now, THIS is the stuff of christmas!”?

the piece of wood comes from an old chair that used to sit at the kitchen table. it’s part of the seat and there are two other gorgeous pieces that we can use for some other purpose. how many times i have sat on that chair, how many times a beloved child or family member or friend sat on that chair. i revel in having a slice to carry forward, a slice of those times, an artifact of meals and conversations, a touchable piece of history.

we’ve been talking about our dining room table lately. we have this great teak table – with giant leaves – that i got from a dear friend about twenty years ago. it was her dining room table but it became the perfect work/conference table in my recording label offices on the lake. when i moved from those offices back home, the table came along and became my dining room table. it’s been the gathering place for so, so many dinners and parties – i would be hard-pressed to even venture a guess how many. it has served us well.

there is definitely evidence of all that life. there are the stains: the rings from water glasses, the lighter blob from a pumpkin that was secretly aging, the scratches from babycat or a multitude of projects created on this surface.

and so now it needs some refinishing. the chairs need to be reupholstered. it needs some work.

and we have begun to think about this.

downstairs, in the storage room that houses the boiler and the hot water heater, there are doors. many doors. six-panel doors with some heft. doors from old closets. screen doors. cabinet doors. a bunch of doors.

one of these doors is a french door with windows, the glass still intact, the white paint just weathered enough. it’s not as wide as the dining room table – which has been a great workspace, a terrific staging ground – a place where one can put a plethora of serving bowls and accoutrements for a big dinner.

but it’s – this door – it’s got some charisma. there is a certain charm to the possibility of having a dining room table that is actually a door from this very house. with a good piece of glass – or plexiglass – or whatever the good folks at town and country glass recommend – this could become our new gathering table. food for thought, we consider it.

but then we’d need chairs, for the chairs at the teak table are also teak and would need to be given away with the table.

so. chairs.

i suppose we’d be off and running on a fantastic chairquest – odds and ends of vintage (read: old) and repurposed chairs with personality to circle the perimeter of the new doortable.

and thus would begin a whole new set of relationships and stories and memories – between us and the dining room table and the chairs and all the people who would sit there, with us.

and the ceiling fan would then look down – with its bird’s eye view and its ceilingfanlife perspective – and giggle – once again, as ever – at the thought of just how many times it has taken a screenshot in its mind’s eye (assuming the ceiling fan has a mind’s eye), how many times it has wanted to memorize the moments below it, how many times it has thought about how lucky it is to be hung over a gathering space, how many times it has thought “now THIS is the stuff. of life”.

*****

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

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just in case. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

(about this week: there is a peril, it seems, to writing ahead these days. we had decided that this week – the first full week of a new year – we wished to use images of light as our prompts, we wished to linger on the possibility of light, of hope, of goodness. though our blogposts might stray from that as we pen them, it was without constant nod to the constant updating of current events – a mass of indefensible, unconscionable acts. we pondered what to do about these blogposts we had written and decided to keep them. we hope that – even if any absence of the happenings of the day, even in the chance these written words seem somewhat inane at this moment – you might know that those events – of corruption, illegality, immorality – do not distill or distort our intention – to bring light and hope to this new year – the first days of which bring more insanity and unnerving instability. we are still holding space for light.)

and so…

we didn’t burn the chiminea this past summer or fall. but it sat outside in our backyard, waiting, just in case.

and when winter came and we were in the middle of the middle of rearranging and sorting and all that other stuff I’ve been writing about in the going-through of one’s trappings and baggage, we looked over at it waiting and decided to bring it inside.

we tucked its gorgeously sculptural clay form into the corner of the sunroom, eliminating a high stool we tended to pile upon, simplifying the space. we added a strand of happy lights and a timer and we placed a heart-leafed philodendron on top of the chiminea’s cap.

we stepped back to see it. to decide.

the chiminea has been there every day since and every day since we have exclaimed (yes – exclaimed!) how much we love the chiminea there – inside – in our sunroom – across from the backdoor – tucked in the corner – lit.

i suppose were you to step into our house you might wonder about it. we have these two chunks of concrete, a salvaged architectural column, a reclaimed repurposed piece of old desk, a weathered deck-glider, old suitcases, driftwood, an aspen log, old doors as tables or propped against the wall. in my studio there’s a metal slatted swivel patio chair topped by furry pillows, an old stool, the skeleton of a lampshade. there’s a vintage mailbox with our house number in the bathroom that holds magazines, glass doorknobs that hold towels, an old black shutter that holds space. old coffee pots hold teabags in the kitchen and an old trunk holds a metal sculpture in the hallway. there are two old window frames on the radiator in the sitting room across from a small rickety farm table. and we haven’t gone upstairs yet.

sometimes we take a little walkabout through our house and talk about these things. we kind of glory in the repurposing of these old objects, otherwise possibly put out to pasture. i’d like to think of them all as just waiting.

relevance is a funny thing. like most everyone else, we could certainly go to the local furniture stores and pick out contemporary (as in at least this decade) pieces with which to furnish our home. we could have things that are more – say – typical, more – say – normal, less – say – unusual. but those would also be less relevant to us.

because we are just like the chunks of concrete, the old desk, the weathered outdoor pieces, the old doorknobs and coffee pots, the chiminea.

we are artists. always waiting to be seen. always creating. just in case.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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less and less sand. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

about this week: there is a peril, it seems, to writing ahead these days. we had decided that this week – the first full week of a new year – we wished to use images of light as our prompts, we wished to linger on the possibility of light, of hope, of goodness. though our blogposts might stray from that as we pen them, it was without constant nod to the constant updating of current events – a mass of indefensible, unconscionable acts. we pondered what to do about these blogposts we had written and decided to keep them. we hope that – whether or not any absence of the happenings of the day, whether or not the chance these written words seem somewhat inane at this moment – you might know that those events – of corruption, illegality, immorality – do not distill or distort our intention – to bring light and hope to this new year – the first days of which bring more insanity and unnerving instability. we are still holding space for light.

and so…

on the coldest of days, in any weather, we have gone down to the beach to dig a big contractor-sized pail of sand. once you have waxed bags, sand is the first thing you need for luminaria.

we’d add a couple cups of grainy sand to each bag and then center a votive candle into it for a flame that would linger for several hours.

for a few years we’d line them up on the sidewalks along our street – on both sides – to bring light in the latest of christmas eve hours, to gather a whole bunch of people together, to celebrate around a couple bonfires in our driveway.

even on the coldest of nights, we loved our new tradition.

until the pandemic.

since then our luminaria have been set up in our backyard, small groups of dear ones or just us watching them glow into the night.

this year – a rainy eve – we lit them inside our house. and we simplified.

waxed bag, glass votive, tea light candle.

no sand.

there was no reason to believe that our luminaria might tip over or blow away. so, we simply didn’t need the sand. we didn’t need anything to weigh down the bags. they were still ever-so-captivating.

in these days now since the holiday we have continued to clean out, to sort, to ponder things to keep, things to no longer hold onto.

each and every thing we donate or sell or discard has made me feel lighter. even the tiniest bric-a-brac that finds its way into the “go” pile has given me reason to celebrate.

space.

more space.

less begets less. it’s invigorating, refreshing, addictive.

each new piece i am pondering ends up on our dining room table. it has become the staging ground for decision-making. it has become the weigh-station…the place to weigh if what is weighing us down holds weight for us.

this will go on for a while. there is much to sort. as you know, thirty-six years in one house – a house with a basement and an attic – means there is a lot tucked in all the nooks and crannies.

but there is time. and in this time during which i am touching all these pieces of the past, i have a chance to touch all the emotions of these times-gone-by as well.

and so, it becomes a time of letting go. letting go of stuff, letting go of unnecessary goopy angst, letting go of emotions that get in the way of greeting the new days of what’s next.

the three luminaria in front of our fireplace stayed lit for a couple hours. without the challenge of the wind, they burned brightly. we turned off the room lights and sat in a living room illuminated only by happy lights and tiny tea light candles.

sinking in under furry throw blankets, we reveled in this place we call home, grateful and cozy.

with less and less sand.

*****

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

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front door fan. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

we are back door people. we haven’t always been back door people, but years ago the handle on the front door refused to unlock properly, so the only sensible thing to do was become back door people. and so, ever since then, i could count the number of times we have used the front door as our entry – even since the locksmith came and fixed the front door lock.

but lately – with the significant amount of ice on our driveway from the ice-damming of which you are weary of reading about – we have been parking in the driveway a bit further down and – drumroll – going in the front door.

this confuses the dog. he has gotten used to our entry through the backdoor – it’s been the norm for most of his life. when we come in the front door, he arrives in the living room looking a bit befuddled. but dogga comes around quickly – acknowledging our arrival home – and his aussie wigglebutt starts wagging.

i have to say – though it’s been quite a while now since the locksmith smithed the lock – having two options as doors feels rather decadent. and gives one a different perspective on one’s home.

i haven’t been an attached-garage person for three and a half decades – though that was fun while it lasted. the never-get-wet, never-get-cold, never-get-hot, never-get-misted on – all of that – is rather nice. but that ended in florida and I wouldn’t trade the non-attached-garage personhood identity for florida residency.

so. the front door.

because we used to exit LBS or big red and walk down the driveway toward the garage and through the ever-popular metal accordion-folding ghetto fence, up the deck steps and across the deck to the back door, we would see back yard things on our way in. we’d gaze and stop and comment – on breck-our-aspen, on the flowers, on the deck seating areas, on the birdfeeder or birdbath birds, on the squirrels – whatever caught our interest, struck our fancy.

now – at least in these last two weeks – we have been – really – noticing the front door stuff. it is impossible to not appreciate the grasses as you walk to the front door. and in these last snowfalls, these grasses are utterly gorgeous. bent under the weight of the heavy sticky snow, they gracefully give to the season, knowing that their return in the spring and summer will be mighty. each blade, each frond – yellowed with autumn – now covered with pristine white fluff.

when you allow things to take your breath away – even simple things – it is amazing how many things will do just that.

one of these days we will go back to primarily using the back door. there’s always lots to see, despite how well we know these bitty routes in daily life.

in the meanwhile, i’m gonna be a front door fan.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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

the day I looked out the sunroom window and saw two black-capped chickadees perched on the-branch-we-brought-out-of-our-living-room was the day i realized all was well. this beautiful branch – from the big old tree in our front yard – was having a renaissance. back in the great outdoors, it was experiencing life – all over again, in a new way.

we missed the branch as soon as we removed it from the living room. it had been there for four years – ever since the water main in our yard burst and the ultra-supersized equipment brought in knocked this big branch off our beloved tree. we pulled it aside and then brought it in, putting it in a big clay pot and right next to the front window, bedazzled with happy lights and in a place of honor.

it was our christmas tree that year and has had a variety of ornaments on it each holiday season since – old vintage shiny brites, silver and glitter silver round balls, crystals. it has held a metal star and a peace sign throughout the year and it has been a tad bit difficult to maneuver around the entire time. regardless, we kept it there – in spite of the difficulty to open or close the mini blinds and open or close the windows. to sit in the recliner next to the tree, one had to be mindful of the little branches blocking the way, waiting to poke one’s eye out. nevertheless, we were dedicated to this tree in our living room, even though it truly took up a lot of space.

this year – as we started our zealous clearing-out, we decided it was time for the tree to move outside and take up a new place on the deck, where we could see it out the sunroom windows. d secured it to the deckboards and the railing and we placed new happy lights on it, along with an outdoor timer so it would greet us at every dusk.

i had a few moments – staring at the blank spot in the living room where the tree had taken up soooo much space – missing it. we will fill the spot temporarily with a little wrought iron table and a curly corkscrew rush plant — which will hopefully last through the winter. but in the long run? i’m not sure. it is kind of nice to be able to open and close the miniblinds without ducking or trying to avoid breaking smaller branches.

my temporary sorrow – at change – eased when i looked out the sunroom window and saw these two chickadees sitting on our old broken branch. one flew away and another landed. i could practically hear the branch sighing, its soul happy. and why not? it was a tree again.

life, change, renewal.

there are many ways to learn lessons.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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backer rod, oh backer rod. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

we have become backer rod junkies. having never heard of it before this fall, it has been a quick conversion to fanhood, but we are there, nonetheless.

it’s been a week now since i woke up at midnight to the steady drip, drip, drip in the next room. yes. IN the next room. i threw off the covers, which woke d up immediately. and then i ran into the sitting room.

pulling up the miniblind disclosed what i expected: internal window sills of ice and a steady drip from above. it’s called ice damming.

the ridiculously frigid temperatures have caused the water in the gutter above these twin windows to freeze. we have a heating cable in that gutter, but – and here’s the big but – despite checking it before the snowfall, we didn’t know that the outdoor outlet the cable is plugged into had since failed.

so the water in the gutter froze and then the heat from the house started to thaw the snow on the steeply pitched cape cod roof which then melted toward the gutter – which had somehow misaligned itself – and, with the ice filling the gutter the water had nowhere to go but into the window structure behind the wall and voila! an interior (of the double hung windows) filled with ice. this – as you may guess – is not our favorite thing.

so, there we were, at midnight getting our equipment together. david with his 32 degrees base layers and boots and the infamous nike jacket, the ladder and plastic pitchers from which to pour hot water – and me, with my blow dryer, lots of old towels, a heater, a rubber spatula, mallet, and anything i could get my hands on that might waylay water from actually spilling INTO the room.

it was 2:30am before we went back to bed after d had climbed the ladder about 57 times in the frigid night air, melting the gutter and the downspout and replugging the heating element wire into an extension cord.

and then it all started again the next day. and the next. and the next. we are hoping for a 50 degree day, but it doesn’t look promising.

i’m writing this ahead so i am hoping that we have gotten it all under control by this time – hoping the backer rod and the towels and the cold-weather flex paste and the overburdened gutter guy have – in combo – solved this. but, for right now, as i write this, we are still in midstream, dealing with it. yep. midstream.

it is my hope (against hope) that the inordinate amount of backer rod we now proudly own will do the trick – being impermeable to water and such. we are counting on that impermeable thing. we shall see.

but in the meanwhile, we are nevertheless hope-filled-backer-rod-fans and will not hesitate to do the backer rod dance should backer rod help to solve this issue.

ice damming is a royal pain. we do our best to avoid it. every time it snows i hopehopehope it won’t be followed by a period of melting and then frigid sub-zero temperatures. not to mention a failing outlet or a gutter that has shifted out of alignment. eh.

we try to keep it in perspective, though, as we punt through our improvised fix. we feel fortunate, even as we damn the ice damming.

and mostly, i’m trying to decide if we should publicize my new backer rod theme song (to the tune of “edelweiss”) “backer rod, backer rod, every gap you are sealing. backer rod, backer rod, our love for you is revealing…joints and gaps will be waterproofed, that’s no spoof, we’re cheering…back rod, backer rod, you can’t know how much we’re feeling.”

*****

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

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

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