reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: in these times


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clematis sisu. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

clematis is known as the “queen of climbers”. it is symbolic of ingenuity, cleverness, mental strength, all clearly relevant to this vine climbing with abandon, climbing wild and free.

out back – next to our potting stand, completely covering the metal peace sign we purchased at a tiny garden shop on the great river road, trying desperately to overtake the tomato plants on the ground and the basil on the barnwood stand – there is a clematis vine. unlike this purple clematis, it is sweet autumn clematis and will have tiny fragrant white flowers late this summer. we didn’t plant this. it was planted by our eastneighbors a few years back, seemingly to block the open visual space between yards created by the wrought iron topper to their otherwise privacy fence. in the last couple years they have not tended nor encouraged this clematis.

but it is unstoppable.

on our side of the fence it is exploding. it doesn’t seem to favor nor suffer the hot weather, the dry days, the stormy torrential rain and wind; it is ambivalent to the forecast and presses on, despite any challenges, regardless of anything in its way. the clematis finds its way around – or through – and continues growing – a burgeoning bundle of green that each day swells in size, thriving on the fence and the potting stand and the tomato and the basil’s clay pot and our wrought iron gate and scrappily winding its way through the ornamental grasses along our lot line. flourishing, flourishing.

it is not unlike women.

and right now, with the warped, conservative, backward, rights-thwarting, chauvinistic, misogynistic, downright hateful view being thrust upon this nation as policy on women, we must draw on clematis-sisu.

recently someone read a post i had written a few years back – one that included reference to an even earlier post from december 2019. it seems inexorably relevant right now and, with your grace for repetition, i’m reposting it here:

“this piece today is dedicated to all the women who have made it through, all the women who are making it through, all the women who will make it through.

your fire has brought you to the edge of the battlefield many times and you have still made lemonade; you have still prevailed.

you have made it through intensely emotionally abusive relationships.  you have picked up the pieces and you have moved on.

you have made it through physical or sexual abuse.  you have risen from the ashes.

you have made it through terrifying health scares.  you have pulled up your boot straps and determinedly plodded through with massive courage.

you have made it through society’s prioritizing of body image and appearance.  you have been measured by your cleavage or lack thereof, by the indent of your waist, by the clothing you choose, by your hair.  you struggle to remember you are beautiful.  you stand tall.

you have made it through vacuumous times, the middle of chaos, the middle of multi-tasking.  you have created.

you have made it through physical summit experiences.  you have scaled mountains.  you have boarded down untracked chutes.  you have trained your body with weights and exercise.  you have run.  you have skated.  you have pedaled.  you have breathed in and sighed an exhale.  you’ve run thousands of lengths of playing fields.  you took the next painful recuperating step.  you dove to the depths.  you have been on world stages.  you have risen with hungry or fevered children night after night.  you have competed.  you have given birth.

you have made it through falling.  you have made mistakes.  you have been human.  you have forgiven and you have been forgiven.

you have made it through an education steeped in gender-inequality and bias.   you have chosen to learn more, to actively seek the resources, rights and opportunities due you, to resist against the discrimination.

you have made it through a system that undermines your success and devalues your value.  you have fought for your place.

you have made it through financial challenges of single womanhood, of single motherhood.  you have been scrappy and, without complaint, you have layered onto yourself however much it took to get it done.

you have made it through work situations where you’ve questioned how you would be treated were you to be a man.  would you be yelled at?  would your professionalism be questioned?  you have asked these questions.  you have stayed, holding steadfast, or you have moved on; you have decided what is best for you and moved in that direction.

you have made it through the skewed-world fray into leadership roles where your every decision is challenged or thwarted.  you have overcome; you have triumphed.

you have made it through being-too-young and through aging.  and you are not irrelevant.

you have made it through.  you have spoken up, spoken back, spoken for.  you have written letters.  you have marched.

you have been pushed around.  but you have pushed back.  and, just like the tortoise [in the photograph accompanying this post], you have made it through.“

we are clematis. we are women. we are: all the women who have made it through, all the women who are making it through, all the women who will make it through.

scrappy.

like a vine.

with abandon.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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bluebell criers. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

as much as I’d like to – perhaps – write a post about historical town criers traveling town to town, city to city, ringing a bell and crying “hear ye, hear ye!” delivering important news for all to know….as much as i think it might be more effective than today’s mainstream media or social media or propaganda-filled decrees from the top down….as much as i think there are many, many people in the dark completely or in the dark catacombs of conspiracy theories….i will pass on this temptation and share – instead – that these virginia bluebells made me think of past years and years as a handbell director.

from my post and the handbells (july 2023): i’m not sure the handbells are played anymore. we had three octaves and a dedicated choir of players. it was the last rehearsal of the night – after choir, after ukulele band. by the time we got to handbells everyone was a little bit giddy. many of the bell players were also in ukulele band, so these amazing volunteers spent quite a bit of time in the choir room. 

playing handbells requires a bit of hand-eye coordination. you are reading music while you have this bell as an extension of your gloved hand…counting, counting and then…you thrust your wrist forward, allowing the clapper to strike the bell, hoping it’s at exactly the right moment. there are many evenings when laughter was the music we produced. as the director, i was always grateful for the generous collaboration of this group. and every time we played – from old hymns to gospel songs to contemporary pieces – it was beautiful. the bells would ring out into the high-ceilinged sanctuary and, i suspect, each player would marvel at their own contribution to such beauty, to such a particular lift of melody, of harmony.

if the handbells are silent now, i am sad. handbells harken back to the late 17th century and early 18th century and are considered percussion instruments. their sound is particularly unique, meditative in isolation, exuberant in chorus.

the virginia bluebells play in tutti every may over by the fence of the house that has signs about migratory butterflies and many butterfly-attracting plants. each early may when we pass this house on our ‘hood walk i photograph these early bloomers. and this may was no different. these stunners – excellent pollinators, particularly in their spring-is-springing appearance – were waiting, perfect flowers for bees and butterflies and hummingbirds. and really exquisite at being photographed – it’s like they beckon “hear ye, hear ye! take my picture!” and i comply.

clearly, they bring back memories of decades of the ringing of handbells and gleeful groups of people performing in laughter and collaboration with each other.

but, just as these flowers conjured up the quieted handbells in my mind, this year these tiny bells also made me think of the old town criers. it made me think of the utter importance – the imperative – of the spreading of true news, of honest reporting to the people, of virtuous dissemination of facts, of telling it like it – really – is.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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to practice and to be. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

there are small house sparrows that make themselves at home under our awning. they perch and flit about and, every so often, attempt to start building a nest, from which they usually fly off after a bit. but they are clearly at home by our back door and we can see them through the window and across the deck as we sit on the raft and write.

as we entered the back door the other day – home from the market and with bags in our arms – i saw the feather, tucked into the old screen door. a sweet i-was-here…maybe a little we-are-all-in-this-universe-together symbol of reassurance, hope. this tiny grey feather – stuck on our back door – a tiny sign of encouragement, perhaps a nod of being watched over in distressing times. any way you look at it, we won’t remove the little feather,

distressing times. i’d say so.

from the smallest concentric circle in to the furthermost concentric circle, these are distressing times.

and, in the middle of reading tarana burke’s book unbound i read this sentence: “indeed, i don’t believe you can practice love and be in community with folks without an incorporation of accountability as an ethic and a practice.”

her book – all of it – was profoundly moving. she is the originator of the #metoo movement. her story resonated with me over and over again. accountability. accountability. i read and re-read it, this simple statement of ideology.

particularly in the context of this country as it is right this very minute, i stopped re-reading and snapped a photo of this sentence.

for there is not much more infuriating than to be in community with others who stress their transparency and, thus, following, their accountability to the others in the community but who are the least transparent and the least accountable. there is not much more infuriating than to see those who have wronged others – regardless of the community, the institution, the organization – big or small – get away with it, to take in those silently complicit, to watch the fallout, to bear witness to the lack of ethics indicative in letting others “get away with it”. there is not much more painful than being the victim of a lack of accountability, the dust – radioactive gossip, the decimation aimed and fired, the shock long-lived.

to practice love and to be in community would suggest holding each community member as important, as a cog in the wheel, as contributing, as morally obligated as the next.

to practice love and to be in community would suggest a set of expectations – rules, bylaws, laws, moral codes – that would reign supreme, guiding the steps and actions of the community.

to practice love and to be in community would suggest holding the fragility of love and its mutual obligation to each other as paramount. it would suggest leading with love, leading with respect, leading with support.

to practice love and to be in community would suggest holding to truth, to honesty, to responsibility and, thus, to accountability.

to practice love and to be in community would suggest that not taking responsibility, skipping any kind of ethical standard, having zero expectation that all in community would be accountable to each other and to the bigger picture would be the very antithesis of practicing love and being in community.

to be in community – in a freeforall devoid of moral compass – in a lack of answerability, no effort of liability, a structure without structure, without compassion or empathy, without the abiding of laws, sans checks and balances on the collective or those in charge, a governance with leadership lacking virtue – this is not a practice of love nor is it being in community. this is here and now.

grey feathers are said to be a sign that there will be a period of calmness and clarity. it is a buoying keep-on-going.

it will stay on the door as long as it stays on the door. and tarana burke’s words will echo in my mind as a north star message.

*****

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

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pathetic. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

because most of us in this country have deep ancestral roots in other parts of the world, most of us have actual relatives in other parts of the world.

in the social media free-for-all that is the current environment, we are privy to what these folks are doing just as they are – at least superficially – aware of what we all are up to. i shudder every time i think of this.

i wonder what on earth they are thinking – as they watch the pathetic taking place here in these un-united states. i wonder if they are careful to discern what each of their american-soil relatives believe in – individually – rather than generalizing and lumping us all together in one universal stance, distilling us onto one political bandwagon and its associated numbness of morality. i wonder if they notice who is speaking up, who is tacitly – complicitly – silent. i wonder if they are shaking their heads, grateful to not be here, not to be gathered around the “family” table, not to be sitting and visiting in a lazy boy in the middle of the great divide. i wonder if they wonder about what happened to the heart of it all.

no national moral compass. fatal wounds to people’s most basic needs – physiological, safety, love and belonging, esteem. nary a nod to the constitution, to the law of the land, to staunch protection of democratic principles and freedoms, to respect of the people…of all the populace.

the depravity is pathetic.

it is all pathetic.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

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the real. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

104. in the moments i am writing this post – a couple days ahead of today – my sweet momma would have turned 104.

i wasn’t sure about using this photograph. it isn’t something we stumbled across when we were out and about; instead it is a photograph i took in my studio. but, it is an effort to continue an effort we are making – which, i might add, is a big effort considering the here and now – to list over to presence and gratitude for the other parts of the here and now…the real…the stuff that i simply cannot imagine that the rabid purveyors of cruelty ever notice. for, if one can see the stunning in the falling dusk or feel the heart-stopping of a simple james taylor song or taste the fresh basil in the stockpot of sauce, one cannot also relish the sheer and abject depravity of current events.

my sweet momma – always – her message to me, “live life, my sweet potato.”

and to that i would add – as i stood in the kitchen – his arms wrapped around me, with our birthday dog at our feet – “never, never, never give up.”

there is a visceral response – breathing – i have to seeing the wild horses in the documentary, the dueting voices in the music video. there is a fascination of the munching-munching caterpillars on our dill plant, the finch drinking from our birdbath, the tomato plant’s explosive growth, the jalapeños becoming peppers from tiny blooms. there is an appreciation of the eye-to-eye contact of our amber-eyed aussie, the feel of flipflops on a hot summer day, the wafting scent of basil on the air.

we didn’t go to any celebrations on the fourth. we did not feel that this very moment in time was aligned with commemorating the democracy and freedoms as written into the declaration of independence for these united states. this moment – instead – feels like the antithesis of all of that – the un-uniting of this country, the dismantling of freedoms, the fall of democracy. so we stayed home, away from the carnivals and the parties and the bands and the fireworks (though our neighbor set off fireworks right above our backyard for hours late into the night).

and this morning, while d was picking up the vestiges of those fireworks which, thankfully, did no harm to our home, i watched the caterpillars on the dill. while he brushed away the chalk marks of firecrackers landing on our patio, i watered the herbs. while he made doubly sure there was nothing pyrotechnic-like left that dogga could ingest or could cause him harm, i watched and listened as the birds returned on a refreshingly quiet morning.

we have a list. i mentioned it the other day. it’s simply a list – not far away – of places for us to go, to visit, things to immerse in. to do the best we can, right now.

to the top of the list i am going to add “never, never, never give up.”

because momma was right. live life. it is not unlimited.

sweet potato out.

*****

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

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what to say. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

as we drove north we talked about these blogs. i pretty much know that nothing i might write – or ponder – or rant about – will change what is happening in this country right now. i write anyway.

i am typing this blog post ahead – at the very moment that the u.s. house minority leader is speaking on the floor before a final vote is taken on the big __ bill.

and i truly want to cry.

because even the briefest scroll through social media today reveals a country being led by an administration rife with cruelty and it takes my breath away. i just cannot wrap my head around this – in 2025. i barely know what to say.

we had decided to go on a much-needed get-away-from-all-of-it date with each other and drove to walkers point in milwaukee where there is a spanish bistro that has sangria and tapas for happy hour. it was an early evening, but the tapas are $1, $3 and $5 and, as we ordered three to share, we knew that could fit in the budget we had saved for these moments.

because the moment we were in was overwhelming and last night’s date out – requiring an hour drive to and fro and some time on barstools talking – really talking about real stuff – with a young man bar-and-soul-tending was a reminder to stay in the here and now (at least for here and now).

i’m going to go out on a limb and guess that the bill – with the knee-bending, capitulating, hate-perpetuating, sycophantic incentive not to piss off their madman prez – is going to pass. [which – as an addendum – it did.] and the cruelty and inhumane treatment of real-life people will not only continue, but will escalate exponentially. the absolute cowardice of those who are supposed to be representing the needs and wishes of their constituents – the american people – is beyond appalling. i barely know what to say.

and then – in moments of their glee and gilded-golden-glory – in the sad moments of watching the cheer squad justify and cheer – in the aftermath of hope hobbled by hatred and greed – this beaten-up country will stagger into tomorrow, tears streaming down its face as its e-pluribus-unum heart shatters into a million pieces.

and i barely know what to say.

i keep writing anyway.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

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wilted. [kerri’s blog on flawed wednesday]

there are definitely days – many of them – during which we would love to just run away. go to some far away remote place and hole up together, sans current events and other people. because it is all sometimes unbearable.

a writer and former pastor, john pavlovitz said it well, “the greatest tragedy to me isn’t him. it isn’t the reality that the person in the highest seat of power in our nation lacks a single benevolent impulse, that his is impervious to compassion, incapable of nobility, and mortally allergic to simple kindness. the greatest tragedy is how many americans he now represents – and that he represents you.”

there are too many “you”s.

and, like this dill in the middle of the heat-dome-heat, we are wilted. because it is exhausting. utterly exhausting.

i don’t honestly know how this country can ever regain its heart.

i don’t know how we got here – though one can certainly track lines of bigotry and hatred and violence through history. the ebb and flow of the heartless seeking of power, control, profit through any means whatsoever, without any scruples, ethics, or conscience.

the things that are happening, the things that people champion – people i have known or loved or cared about – the things that diminish support for others, marginalize groups, perpetuate cruelty…it’s just too much.

and…the grief. not just the grief of the arc of this history, but the contemporaneous grief. it is exhausting. utterly exhausting.

no amount of water will unwilt this dill. it will turn yellow and then brown and these stems will die. for these stems – in the extreme heat – have reached the point of no return. i must be more vigilant to protect the rest of the plant, to – figuratively – keep its heart beating and its spiny stems upright.

so it is here – in the middle of this reeling and this vigilance and this burning grief and this already-deeply-bone-aching tiredness i wonder how – exactly – we can keep the heartbeat of democracy when the moral spine of this nation is so compromised.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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but sometimes. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

we started a list. things we haven’t done before, things we’d like to do, things we’d like to repeat sometime, places we’d like to visit locally, things to explore. since we aren’t traveling this summer – on a vacation anywhere – we want to try some other things.

we added a few different herbs to our potting stand. we added dianthus and sweet potato vine to the planters on our deck. we added books to our list. we added recipes to our stockpile.

we are appreciating being home.

on friday night – just a few nights ago – we lounged in the old gravity chairs on our deck. it was cooler, the slightest of breezes off lake michigan. the air was soft. dogga was laying on the deck just feet from us. we watched the birds and the pond fountain. sipped a glass of wine. marveled at our quaking aspen. it was quiet.

we had had a hard time deciding what to do on that friday-night-date-night, as we call it. we had been thinking of driving up to milwaukee or down to a harbor in illinois where there is live music. but, for some reason, we just didn’t do either. dogga looked at us – with a big-eyed, sorrowful look – as he anticipated our departure. and we just agreed, “let’s stay home.”

dusk arrived and we finished dinner outside. not anxious to end the peaceful evening in our backyard, we stayed put.

we could spend all our time – all our words – on what is happening in and to our country and the world – and that would be a worthy thing.

but sometimes, even in the middle of all the madness that we simply cannot forget or put out of our minds, it is good to step aside, to go nowhere and do nothing, to zero in on the very simplest of things.

like the dianthus after the rain.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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it is time. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

it was rafiki who said, “it is time.” in a pinnacle moment of the movie the lion king, mandrill rafiki – an insightful spiritual guide – discovers that simba, the lion, is still alive and declares that he must return to the pride lands and restore order and balance. simba’s life force – to defeat evil, overcome adversity, to perpetuate a legacy of the interconnectedness of life – the circle.

it is time. it is way past time.

order and balance, goodness and kindness. the concentric circles of connection.

yes. way past time. already.

in these moments – the anguish-filled, agonizing moments before the figurative return of simba – we might turn to others – next to us – near us – far away though connected with invisible filaments of love and care – and say, “i am glad for you.” the tiniest message.

in these times of so much uncertainty, so much angst and pain, so much loss and grief, so much frustration and anger, it would seem that uttering five words might be a powerful salve. thought it may not change the heinous circumstances of our current world, it will wash over the person upon whom we whisper – or shout – these words.

it may be in the post “i-am-glad-for-you” moments that one is able to – once again, tirelessly, with great courage – reach deep inside to pull up bootstraps of bravery and pushing-back, bootstraps of protest and protection, bootstraps of generosity and altruism, bootstraps of humanity.

i am glad for you.

so, be weird – extraordinarily heart-on-your-sleeve weird – and tell all those people for whom you are glad that you are glad for them. i can’t imagine that not feeling good in your soul and i can’t imagine a response that does not carry the extraordinary, raw power of this message forward.

it is time.

way past time.

*****

“i see you. you are beautiful. i am glad for you. i am glad you are here.” (michelle obama)

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

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the real problem. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

the heat dome has driven us to this place – under the steps in the basement – back past the really big bin with roller blades and tennis rackets and a kickball and badminton set – where there are a few old window air conditioners.

we pulled one out and installed it – just like last year – in the dining room window.

but this heat dome is incessant and suffocatingly hot – particularly in our old house – a house with charming radiators but no duct work for central air.

so we went back on the prowl under the steps, specifically looking for a slimmer-lined air conditioner i remembered from decades earlier.

we found it a little further back – in the spider web zone – and pulled it out to plug it in and test it before any attempt at installation.

written in sharpie on the pull-out filter was “1999” and as i washed it i pondered how we might make the air conditioner work. both accordion pleat side wings were broken and, clearly, the unit was far too old for which to find replacement parts.

we put on our thinking caps.

after a couple of hours of rube-goldberg-ing a set of wings we uninstalled from a different broken unit – to applause by my dad – who was seemingly guiding us from the other dimension – we used a combination of 2×4, hand towel and black foam to brilliantly – and in a clearly, umm, aesthetically pleasing way – install the air conditioner in our bedroom window.

it occurred to us – during both the thinking-cap-period and the period-of-installation – that we did not know if this unit might be leaking coolant – which could be unhealthy. but, after research and some deductive reasoning, realized that the cool air pumping out of the unit belied any leak and that we were – likely – safe. (though, of course, i would be checking in on any and all physical displays of freon poisoning we might exhibit.)

problem presented. problem solved.

in the cool flow of air circulating somewhat noisily around our house – aided by ceiling and standing fans – our thinking returned to the real problem at hand – one of the reasons we literally were determined to make a thirty-plus year old air conditioner work instead of investing several hundred dollars into a new one.

the real problem? the decimation of this country.

while we watch the current administration completely destroy the safety nets, the healthcare, the retirement, the rights and freedoms of millions and millions and millions of people they clearly don’t give a damn about, while we watch congress completely – sickeningly toadyingly – abdicate their responsibility to we-the-people while revering upping-the-ante cruelty, while the republican supreme court justices horrifyingly and repeatedly make the jump from objectivity to capitulation, while we reel in shock at the rapid descent into fascist, authoritarian ideology, while safety and any security is completely undermined, we wonder what will happen.

and my sweet dad – this man who served this country in the second world war, who was shot down, missing in action and taken prisoner of war, who never fully recovered from the post-traumatic stress he voluntarily experienced to aid this country and its experiment of democracy – this man hasn’t a clue on how to guide us.

what’s gonna happen?

who knows.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

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