reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: in these times


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set the nose. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

littlebabyscion stayed home. good thing. we would have been dwarfed in the middle of all the trucks on the highway going into the city. at least big red had a bit more presence than LBS would have had. even so, it was like being in a cave – we couldn’t see anything else but the trucks. no view, no signs, nothing. just trucks.

it was a breath of fresh air when we got to the george washington bridge and the trucks veered left to traverse the bridge on the upper level. suddenly we could see the water. suddenly we could see signs. we could see the skyline of the city. we had perspective of where we actually were, instead of just inching along in a cluster – no real choice but to move ever-so-slightly in this cotillion of semis – with zero idea of our exact location.

this country feels that way right now. we are surrounded by corruption to the nth degree and it is insanely hard to try and stop hyperventilating and get any kind of perspective – we are seemingly inching along in a clusterf— of lawlessness, all pretense of the constitution removed, the horror of being controlless, with only the worst of the worst locating us.

there were moments when it was hard to breathe in the middle of all these trucks. i kept wishing there was another way off the island, but every artery has its issues and there are snagging problems getting off every way you go.

so we endured. and we went ridiculously slow; it took three and a half hours to get off the island and across the city. but we got there.

and so, i suppose that there is a lesson here. it’s not like we pulled over and gave up. we set the nose of big red to get there – west on the island, across the east river, across the hudson river and beyond. and, despite it taking longer than we ever anticipated, we got there.

i hope the same premise somehow applies to this redwood-forest-new-york-island country.

*****

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

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children and dreams. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

it made me cry. it was all i could do not to down-and-out messy cry. had i lost control it would have been ugly. i grieved for every single american child as i struggled and hiccuped my way back to some semblance of calm. phil vassar’s lyrics were poignant and profound and deeply troubling.

the concert was amazing. phil vassar is a prolific songwriter, a consummate performer, his voice strong, his ballads clear. i’ve seen him in concert several times and was thrilled to see him again. he is now 63 and, having had both a heart attack and a stroke, he is making his way back – to the attention of the public – for the public forgets quickly.

there are artists you hold onto, particularly when you are an artist yourself. you know when there is something absolutely special about someone – you can feel it. every song, every note, every sung lyric – this man is a master singer-songwriter. there’s nothing really fancy about him…he plays a painted acoustic yamaha piano, often standing (which i can totally relate to). his band is extraordinary and tight, the perfect backup for him.

“cause 419 lakewood had no silver spoons/just an old beat up upright that played out of tune/now i’m singing and living the life that i love/and when i count my blessings i thank god i was an american child/an american child/’cause dreams can grow wild born inside an american child.” (american child – phil vassar)

every american child.

and that’s why i cried. because it’s no longer the same. i cried for my adult children. i cried for my friends’ grandchildren. i cried for the children i don’t know. i cried for what this country has lost, the dreams that have been violently stolen, the hope that has dissolved, the democracy that hangs by tiny filaments.

at the end of the concert, phil vassar – in seemingly no hurry at all – sat on the edge of the stage and chatted with people, took selfies with his fans, signed shirts and hats and cds.

i stood at our seats and watched, both proud of him and a little bit stunned at how very gracious he was – his obvious, deep gratitude to a concert hall that should have been filled.

i knew he couldn’t hear me – and i didn’t go up to tell him – but as i stood there i whispered, “you’re relevant, phil vassar. you’re so relevant.” deep down, he already knows. he’s always been relevant.

an american child. the american dream.

“there is no trust more sacred than the one the world holds with children. there is no duty more important than ensuring that their rights are respected, that their welfare is protected, that their lives are free from fear and want and that they can grow up in peace.” (kofi annan)

“a promise once made/will it shine, will it fade/will we rise with the vision or fall?” (american child – john denver)

*****

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

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no chocolate ganache cake. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

if he were still in this plane of existence, my sweet poppo would be 105 today.

as much as i miss my dad, as much as i would love to sit with him, to talk with him, to be quiet with him, to hug him, under the circumstances that we find ourselves in this country at this time, i would have to say i am glad he is not here.

because my dad’s heart would be utterly broken.

my dad fought against all this. he fought for the freedom of this country. he fought against fascism and authoritarianism. he fought against cruelty. he fought for democracy.

my dad’s own freedom was stolen from him when he was taken prisoner of war in WWII, his army air corps b24 shot down over the ploesti oil fields, his fellow dedicated airmen parachuting out, taken into camps by bulgarian forces.

my dad persisted through all of it – his injuries, his solitary confinement, his fear.

my dad came home, back to the country he loved, the country for which he fought and sacrificed, the country with a democracy about which he was zealous, the country where he and my sweet momma would build their own family.

so if my dad were here now, he would be crushed by what is happening. he would be crushed by the evil and deliberate intentions now set in place. he would be crushed at how his country is being severed. he would be crushed that anyone – any one! – in his family would champion any of this horror. he would be crushed that his family – his very family – had broken apart because of that. he would be ravaged by utter sadness.

my dad would be unable to celebrate his big birthday.

because no chocolate ganache cake could make it all better.

*****

LEGACY © 1995 kerri sherwood

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read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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lessons from plumes. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

it’s a two-sided coin.

these stunning plumes rise above the grasses, catching the breezes, the last vestiges of light as the sun sinks, a place for lagging butterflies to linger a moment, catch their breath.

but – the tiny seeds that form these stunning plumes are actually tiny swords that find their way onto clothing and dogga and into every manner of places and stab us time and again. they are inescapable. they are incessant. they seemingly multiply like the needles from a fresh-cut scotch pine in december – and january and february and even march.

it’s a problem.

reluctant to deal with it, we put up with the pointy seedheads for a while, poking fun at their stubborn ability to show up – simply everywhere – even while suffering.

until it just seems silly that we are enduring this pointed attack on our peaceful existence – capitulating to these ornamental grasses – these beautiful, elegantly flowing sculptures around our yard.

but it’s solvable.

and so, we decide to snip off the plumes that bend over, arcing to attach themselves to dogga or our passing-by. we decide to snip off the plumes that block the sidewalk to our front door. we decide that we can have it both ways – gorgeous grasses with upright plumes catching the light, the wind, the creatures but no low-hanging attack plumes. we figure out what to do with our – beloved – grasses.

because that’s what adults do when faced with – even the smallest – problem. we negotiate a solution that will not cause more pain.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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my son, your son. my daughter, your daughter. [kerri’s blog on flawed wednesday]

the sweet potato plant is answering the call to fall. it keeps on growing, sending new shoots, vining out. it also is starting to change color. its rainbow hues draw our attention. our sweetly-screaming woke sweet potato.

and i don’t know if your sweet potato is as colorful. is it still all a rich green? are its leaves curling at all? is it spreading or is it slowing down? they are the same, you know, despite their differences. growing across the boundaries of towns and states and countries, they are not separate. sweet potato is – after all – sweet potato.

we saw images of our friends’ grandchildren. growing fast, unfurling, getting more colorful by the day. glorious and diverse – beautiful children with possibility in all the air around them.

i look at those pictures and celebrate my own children. grown, but still growing, still unfurling, still getting more colorful by the day, they are also glorious and diverse and beautiful. the tiny-child – the young adult – after all – tiny children and young adults. the same, despite the differences.

my son is your son, my daughter is your daughter. i want – i insist on – nothing less for them than you want for your own son, your own daughter: freedom to be, to love, to fly, to dance, to create, to express, to work, to be healthy, to explore, to embrace goodness. nothing less.

but, i fear, your tightly-held infatuation with this new administration has warped your perception and – now – you no longer see my son as your son, my daughter as your daughter. you have changed and not in any colorful photosynthetic way. your light has changed; it has become dark. your arms that used to fling around the whole world – excited and believing in certain potential-for-all – those arms have crossed in an attitude of cavalier superiority, a righteous and defensive us-not-them, unrecognizable extremism. and suddenly, i no longer know you.

and i realize that sweet potatoes – around the world – in the end – possibly understand connection more than the rest of us.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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yup. definitely. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

the jeep’s tirecover in the meijer’s parking lot made me stop: “spread good vibes”

taking out my phone to take a picture, i said to d, “now there’s a good monday merely-a-thought! we could totally be friends with them!”

he laughed and agreed, “definitely!”

i love when people put positive messages out there.

so much better than the vehicles – with stickers of words or lewd cartoon images – messages that say f*** off.

like, ewww.

i don’t believe we would – or could – be friends with those people.

nope.

definitely not.

*****

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

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so many adjectives. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

i suppose in-disbelief would also apply.

and horrified.

and sickened.

frustrated, repulsed, outraged, heartbroken, scared, exhausted, disoriented…

…

…overwhelmed.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

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celestial ballet. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

by the time it was late enough to see both, we were tired. saturn and the moon were supposed to be sharing close space in the night sky, but it was cloudy and we seriously needed to sleep. the show went on without us, somewhere behind the clouds a glorious celestial ballet.

and the universe carries on with universe stuff. our planet earth still rotates on its axis and moves through its elliptical revolution around the sun with gravity keeping us in check in the solar system. through no effort on our part, it all just happens.

but when the universe picks up high-powered binoculars and zeroes in on planet earth, i wonder about how it views what’s really going on. when the universe dons readers and looks at the fine print of what humanity is really doing to its mother earth and its inhabitants, i wonder if there is a sinking feeling, a loss of hope, gossamer strands of what-is-goodness floating off and off, sans gravity.

lucky for us that – despite insane efforts at denying climate change, an abhorrent lack of environmental responsibility, vicious bigoted and hideous genocidal initiatives, flippant care of wildlife and natural resources, what seems a staunch dedication to a lack of peace-on-earth – we – on this floating globe – somehow are granted another day.

it’s no surprise we’re tired. it’s no surprise a lot of people are tired.

and the ballet goes on.

for now.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

EARTH INTERRUPTED VI (50.25″x41″)

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burst past little-life. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

there were multiple times – when my sweet momma was here on this earth – that i brought her yellow roses. they were something special between us – an expression of love between mother and daughter.

yellow roses have a different significance than red. they are indicative of friendship, the deep bonds of love, warmth and joy, fresh starts, gratitude, hope. i read that in japan yellow roses symbolize courage and inner strength.

months ago, a dear friend gave me a small mini yellow rose plant, likely purchased at the floral section of a grocery store. it had several miniature yellow roses blooming and several buds in the waiting when i received it and i figured that it – like other more temperamental plants – would run its course.

it is months later. and the yellow rose is still in its original pot. it appears to love its residence next to the old garden table, on the deck, sharing a bit of space with the basil. it has flourished – bud after bud, bloom after bloom. it has embraced life beyond our expectation. even now, with its leaf-nod to the approaching fall, it has three buds – three bursts of beauty in the offing.

and, every day i look at it i think of my sweet momma. and i wonder about how this particular plant has been so resilient. i wonder if it had a littlebitta help from her.

i wonder if this plenty – this profusion of buds and blooms are tiny messages from her – sent in love, delivering bravery and perseverance. they are certainly well-timed.

and – if my sweet momma is the one whose green thumb from some other plane of existence has helped along this little plant aspiring to burst past what’s expected, to burst past little-life – i remember she is the same woman who wrote: don’t underestimate me…

*****

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

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attentively attentive. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

the headline on the catalog page read: don’t just go somewhere. be somewhere.

i lounged in the gravity chair on our deck and looked up. just beyond the peaked roof of our house, inbetween the pine tree and our westneighbor’s tv antenna, with the wire that stretches across our driveway stretched right through it, there it was:

the clouds had drawn the sun. exactly like i would have done it had i had big fat sidewalk chalk in my hand and i was drawing on the breezy jet-streamed canvas of the sky: an arc for the sun, rays coming from the hot center. it was obvious, clear, pretty doggone cool.

i grabbed the phone to take a picture and, before it disappeared as if someone had lifted the cellophane on a magic slate, drew it to d’s attention. we were both a tiny bit giddy at this small gift in the sky.

and that’s how i want to live. being somewhere. in each moment.

with all the horrific going on, it is not hard to wonder about time limits on presence.

so – in addition to paying attention, to drawing attention, to downright attentiveness attention to all of that horrific – i’m going to pay attention, draw attention, be downright attentively attentive to being here.

wherever here is at the moment.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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