reverse threading

the path back is the path forward


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saved from away. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

almost every time we mosey around an antique shoppe – likely every time – i find myself musing about how no one should buy anything new. at all. ever. we should all just go peruse antique shoppes, flea markets, thrift stores, for – in those places just brimming over with possibility – it is probable that we would find all we need. and more.

we really do love a good antique boutique filled with vintage treasures just waiting to be re-homed.

because i agree with annie leonard (greenpeace), “there is no such thing as ‘away’. when we throw anything away it must go somewhere,” we have not yet disposed of our (decades and decades) old range. we have, instead, cherished it and putzed with it when it was struggling. but it is not in a landfill somewhere and, for that and for its long, long lifeline, i am grateful.

we were on the quest for a single ladder – to add to our deck with a purple sweet potato vine. we wanted a bit of interest over in the corner and found a stack of single ladders outside our favorite antique shoppe. but in the steps between where we parked big red and the ladder stack, there was this little garden table. d instantly stopped and drew it to my attention.

because our backyard is – indeed – our sanctuary, a small peeling paint white garden table could be the perfect addition – over there, on the deck, next to the railing that defines the potting stand garden.

$20.

but there is a sale. 20-40% off.

we buy our chosen ladder (who knew there were so many different widths?) and bring it out to the truck, ready to leave.

but that garden table.

it called us as we walked by. the second time.

so we went back to look at it, to wonder at its story, at where it had been, at its character as evidenced by its patina.

we snapped a photo and went inside – just to ask.

because we have been there many, many times, the gal at the checkout knows us. she asked me what I wanted to pay (though we weren’t yet sure we wanted to purchase it.) i replied $10 and her quick answer was, “sold!” i couldn’t help but wonder what a small garden table with as much joie de vivre would cost in a retail shop, a garden store, a catalog.

we happily loaded up this small sweet table and readily re-homed it on that spot on the deck, placing a soft green petite licorice plant on top.

every day – several times a day – we step outside and are deeply sated by this place of sanctuary. we wander to each plant, each herb, each grass, our aspen tree, and marvel at the growth in this hot-humid-greenhouse-type summer. we express, once again, gratitude for this space and its stuff.

and we plan our next trip – just to stroll about, to tell stories as we see items with which we had grown up, to goof about purchasing items completely out of our taste or – sometimes – completely out of taste at all. it is always an adventure.

to borrow from home goods advertising, we go finding. only our finds are the things people no longer want and wish to sell, the items that may have ended up disposed of, tossed out. our finds are filled with the magic of repurpose. they have stories we don’t know and can only imagine. they have new stories we have created for them. in turn, they create a place of tranquility and easy serenity.

and in some small way, we have saved the earth – even just a little – by saving one more thing from ‘away’.

*****

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

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consider the butterfly. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

a little summary of the 1972 picture book – hope for the flowers (trina paulus)

stripe, the caterpillar, after eating many leaves and crawling many crawls, was driven to climb a pillar of caterpillars he could see that stretched way, way high up into the clouds. it seemed an imperative – the thing every other caterpillar was doing. without question, he began to climb, stepping on other caterpillars in his zeal to get to the top of the pillar. he couldn’t see what was up there and he did not know where they were all going. he begins to wonder aloud. yellow, another caterpillar close by, agrees that she was also wondering, but that “no one else seems to worry about where we’re going so it must be good.” stripe needs to keep going and so he steps on yellow who is in his way in the caterpillar pillar, stating, “well, i guess it’s you or me.” he then crawls off and apologizes to her.

stripe and yellow continue climbing the pillar. but stripe is feeling bad and wonders, “how can i step on someone i’ve just talked to?” together – realizing that the pillar made no sense – they decide to climb off the caterpillar pillar and make a peaceful life together crawling and nibbling grass.

after a bit of time, it seemed that crawling and nibbling grass and hugging each other in a caterpillar sort of way was not quite enough, that there was more to life. stripe felt the call of the pillar once again and, leaving a reluctant yellow behind, went back to climb high, high, high with all the other lonely climbing caterpillars that had no idea of what was at the top.

yellow, desolate without stripe, wandered away from their home. she came upon a caterpillar spinning a cocoon and it spoke to her, telling her it was doing what was necessary to become a beautiful butterfly. it told her that “without butterflies, the world would soon have few flowers.”

yellow could not believe that there was a butterfly inside of her, but the cocoon explained to her that she had to wish to fly with beautiful wings so much she need give up being a caterpillar. it explained that “life is changed, not taken away.” it explained that a cocoon is “an in-between house where the change takes place” and though “it will seem to anyone who might peek that nothing is happening…the butterfly is already becoming. it just takes time.”

and then it tells yellow that “once you are a butterfly, you can really love – the kind of love that makes new life.”

yellow chooses to spin a cocoon.

stripe – on the caterpillar pillar – determined to get to the top – watches the caterpillars squished at the top falling off to their deaths far below. he is ruthless, with the words “don’t blame me if you don’t succeed! it’s a tough life” at his lips for any caterpillar on the pillar who would complain. nearing the top he felt the pressure of the other caterpillars jammed in around him.

one day a beautiful yellow butterfly with eyes filled of love flew near him. “looking into the creature’s eyes he could hardly bear the love he saw there. he wanted to change, to make up for all the time he had refused to look at the other…the others stared at him as though he were mad.” and stripe realized that to get to the top he needed to fly, not climb, delighted to believe this possibility – that there was a butterfly inside of him.

stripe began to carefully descend the caterpillar pillar, looking each caterpillar in the eyes and whispering, “i’ve been up; there’s nothing there.” other caterpillars were shocked, refusing to listen, dedicated to blindly climbing. one asked, “don’t say it even if it’s true. what else can we do?” stripe answered, “we can fly! we can become butterflies! there’s nothing at the top and it doesn’t matter!”

the other caterpillars were not as convinced and it was a struggle to get down off the pillar. one “crawler sneered, ‘how could you swallow such a story? our life is earth and climbing. look at us worms! we couldn’t be butterflies inside. make the best of it and enjoy caterpillar living!”

stripe made his way to the bottom, exhausted, falling asleep.

and just as in every good story – yellow, the butterfly, flew to him and – with great love – helped him to spin his own cocoon and then waited. until one day stripe emerged as a beautiful butterfly, able to fly to the heavens and bring love to the flowers. 💛

the simple metal coneflower sculpture outside in the garden of the shop in the tiny town of stockholm on the river road invited me to walk to it. soldered slightly askew, it was the perfect flower for our ornamental grass garden right in the middle of our backyard, right next to the old bricks from the standing basketball hoop, right next to breck, our aspen tree. a permanent flower.

i could not help but think of this little book as i looked at this photograph. published in 1972, it is completely relevant in today’s world.

if you need a visual for kamala harris that is different than all the joy and positivity she is already offering our country, you might think of this story. she is a butterfly.

it is without a doubt the maga party is the caterpillar pillar, full of ruthless pillar climbers, of crushing pressure and no compassion, of nowhere to go, of no one asking questions, of no love.

it’s a clear choice, worthy of thoughtful consideration.

i choose the butterfly life, just like stripe and yellow.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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

in the way that dads are corny, my sweet poppo was just that – a little bit corny. somehow, it seems it’s supposed to be that way. his humor was lighthearted and the way he repeated some jokes was comforting. “do you think the rain will hurt the rhubarb?” he’d quip. waiting just a few seconds, he’d respond to himself – if you didn’t beat him to it – “not if it’s in cans!!” and then he’d laugh. every time.

i think he was buying time to think when he’d quip about the rhubarb. it wasn’t like he was intently concerned about the rhubarb. matter of fact, i only remember them growing rhubarb maybe one or two years, back behind the house. and even then, it wasn’t like he was a huge rhubarb fan. i think the only way he liked it was with strawberries – in a pie.

but his jokes were harmless and predictably silly. no stand-up routine for him, he was just daddy-o, trying his best to carry on. and because he wasn’t a giant conversationalist – he turned that over to my sweet momma – he’d just fill in the gaps. “well, how do you like them apples?” he’d say.

i’m pretty sure he’d had loved the corn we grew in our backyard this summer. the squirrels and chippies had everything to do with this crop. they’d deplete the birdfeeder in mere hours, tossing kernels and seeds everywhere. i have no doubt where the cornfield came from. but it was pretty astounding to see. we suddenly became prolific mini-farmers.

it was everywhere. next to breck, our aspen. inbetween the ornamental grasses. under the birdfeeder. under the potting bench with our herbs. next to the garage. yesterday we found it in the front garden bed.

i could hear david’s dad columbus chuckle from the other side when we found it in the front garden. a cornfield-lover from way back, i figure he might have had something to do with that. we laughed as well, delighted in a – hmmm – corny kind of way.

for the longest time we left it all right where it was. there was something really pleasing about glancing out at the corn.

but then we decided it was time to pull it out, so that it wouldn’t suffocate our intentional plantings. we took pictures and then pulled it, thanking it for the entertainment it had provided.

outside on the driveway we talked to our westneighbors. we talked about our hummingbirds and our feeders and the birdbaths we had placed in our yards and the chippies and squirrels stealing seed and the birds gathering in the bushes. we were all zealous, loving the little creatures in our yards. “we’ve turned into our parents,” i noted and we all nodded and laughed.

“well, how do you like them apples?” i thought.

*****

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

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