reverse threading

the path back is the path forward


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protect the value. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

my sweet momma had some quirks.

instead of taking a shopping bag with us when we shopped, she did the opposite. it seemed to work – we’d find the things we were looking for when we did not have the shopping bag.

instead of taking an umbrella for the impending rain, she’d take an umbrella to quell the rain. that also worked much of the time.

it was sort of like the opposite of preparedness. manifesting what she wished for, staving off the rain, inviting the bargains – all seemingly achieved by opposite actions. even though my sweet momma was a staunch girl scout supporter and volunteer – with the motto “be prepared” – she also exercised her own juju as she went about life.

though i laugh when i think about it – and have told d about these itsy-bitsy quirks of my mom (unlike me – with no quirks at all – teehee) – i tend to take the polar opposite action. i put the umbrella in my backpack. i take the fold-up shopping bag. i put snacks in my purse. i tuck duct tape and tools, extra oil and blankets into our old vehicles. and i bring the phone charger when we leave home for any destination, event or activity over an hour away.

so when we saw the weather report that issued wind warnings – which we and our new electric mast can now certainly attest to – we brought in the windchimes. they are really beautiful and their soulful, resonant sound is of reassurance to us from the backyard, so we did not want them harmed by the coming winds. we often take off the clapper if the weather is too gusty, but this time d brought the whole kit-n-kaboodle inside. we both felt better seeing them safely on the rug in the sunroom. just a small action, but a nod to being prepared for what was on its way, to protecting their value to us.

it’s hard – extremely hard – not to take these little lessons we have all learned along the way and apply them to the present-day in our country. it feels like utter chaos, with no real preparation, no real plan, nothing but self-serving agenda reeling around and running the show. it is utterly exhausting.

we are in the very tiny lull in the middle of the blizzard that started last evening. radar shows that we are in this small white blob in the middle of a gigantic blue blizzard field. soon the snow and the winds will start howling again; it is to go on for several more hours. the gusty sleet pummeled the windows last night as i worried about trees and power lines and electric poles and new electric masts. we take a deep breath, getting ready for the rest.

it temporarily took my mind off of war and mass deportation, healthcare and social safety net programs and exponentially rising costs, extremism and voter disenfranchisement, a justice system and leadership sycophants hiding blatant sex-trafficking, abject cruelty and an absolute lack of regard for fellow humans complete with disdain for any social differentiation.

i don’t know what that all says about preparedness. it certainly raises some outraged emotions. i do feel like “they” have been preparing for years – stoking up hatred and bigotry to the gills – conniving and in cahoots with the richest – and clearly most cavalier – people in the world – with the dedication and commitment to take over everything. they have prepared. and they have not prepared. they have plans and they shoot from the hip. they are the wind blasts and they are surprised by the pushback and the guards against the battering wind.

the wind last night kept me awake. because i know what can happen. and i want to protect us from all that harm.

why is it that so many in this country’s leadership seem to care so little about how battered this country is becoming? where are the checks and balances on this administration? how is complicity so rampant? how is it that there are so many citizens who seem to care less about being in the middle of this storm – the unbelievable corruption, the outrageous grift, the isolation, taunting the rest of the world, the clear attempt of authoritarian takeover? is there no natural tendency within them to protect the country – our cherished country – from all that harm?

what is the value of this country, its democracy, its people, and its laws to all of us?

i glance over at the treasured pipes on the rug. knowing that soon we’ll hang them back in the tree and the chimes will once again float in the air, i’m grateful we took precautions to keep them from being destroyed.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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what harbors are for. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

even in torrents of rain i wanted him to hear the clanking of metal-rigged sails. even in torrents of rain i wanted him to sit on the benches and watch the water. even in torrents of rain i wanted him to feel the dark sky blanket this harbor.

the design of the small pavilion at the end of the dock has stood the test of time – this slip-less harbor site where most boats are moored off-dock, with skiffs back and forth.

it is one of the places i go – in my mind – when i go ‘home’.

i spent a lot of time in this little coastal town. many poems and lyrics got their start on the boards of this dock, the waters of this place. there is a deep vibration here that resonates in me. i was grateful to immerse in a bit of time there with d. i knew he would love it too.

so as the tropical-storm-nor’easter pounded the island, we walked in its fury. drenched, we sat on the dock, watching the reflection of lights on the churning water. we were silent and we leaned in, to speak over the wind.

it seemed right to be there in the middle of the storm.

the sun came out after a couple days. we sat on the dock again. the waves had calmed, the wind had lessened, the rain was gone.

but the harbor remembered. it remembered sheltering the coast from the pummeling.

that’s what harbors are for.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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“every storm runs out of rain.” [merely-a-thought monday]

every storm runs out copy

“i want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.” (oriah mountain dreamer)

in the middle.  of the storm.  of the fire.  the stallion of human nature rears up; we push back; we flail hooves with words, with rebuttals, with defenses.  and the circumstances that have created the storm or the arsonists who have built the fire prevail, deaf, obstinate, bullheadedly dogged.

after a bout, we raise our beaten heads up, panting.  and we silently stand.  we slow our breathing down, and begin to calmly wait, deliberately, intentionally trust that the storm will pass, the fire will go to ash.

for “every storm runs out of rain.” (maya angelou)

and we will come out on the other side.  joan once told me that the only way to the other side is through.  those wise words have echoed in my heart time and again.  there is no circumventing, no avoidance.  the fires, the storms will come.  no matter.  and although we will live in them longer than we wish, longer than we ought, they will not last forever.

“this too shall pass.” (my sweet momma)

the pain will subside, even a tiny bit.  the angry words will run out.  the crisis will start its labored, interminable return to zero axis.  good will begin to tilt the seesaw.  the sun will rise.  next will come.  and we will have survived a worst day, worst fire, worst storm.  we will still be breathing, having passed through hyperventilating, catching our breath, slowing our pulse.  we will be standing.

” i don’t care what’s in front of me or what’s behind me; i just wanna stop the wheel and stand still…” (phil vassar, ‘stand still’)

and we will be in this moment, this one we won’t ever get back.  the fire, the storm attempt to rob us of these very seconds, to draw the breath from our ashy-rain-filled hearts.  but we stand still.  we know it will pass.  we know that every storm runs out of rain.

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

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