reverse threading

the path back is the path forward


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carrots and bottom lines. [k.s. friday]

someone peeled carrots into the pond and then it froze over. shavings of those multicolored organic rainbow carrots on the ice surface, just below the surface…it made me laugh to see so many carrots in one place. only they weren’t carrots. they just looked like carrots. instead, it was bits of bark and dried grasses and small sticks – no nutritional value or nurture to bunnies and squirrels and chippies, deer and birds.

it brings to mind the children’s book “the carrot seed” – the little boy plants carrots despite the fact that practically everyone around him tells him – basically – that the bottom line is that they won’t come up, despite his care. the last frame of the book shows him – having persisted nurturing the seeds he had planted – pushing a wheelbarrow with the biggest carrot you’ve ever seen. the value – the power – of true nurture.

nurture: to care for and encourage the growth or development of someone or something.

at this moment, for me, it is a hop, skip and a jump from there to thoughts about healthcare and insurance, keeping wellness forefront.

insure: to secure or protect someone against (a possible contingency) this definition would lead one to believe that “to insure” is somewhat parallel – or at least supplementary – to “nurture” – seeking to keep someone safe, healthy, attempting to look out for someone’s best interests.

“insurance is a means of protection from financial loss in which, in exchange for a fee, a party agrees to compensate another party in the event of a certain loss, damage, or injury. it is a form of risk management, primarily used to hedge against the risk of a contingent or uncertain loss.” (wikipedia)

“insurance plans will help you pay for medical emergencies, hospitalization, contraction of any illnesses and treatment, and medical care required in the future.(an insurance company)

our current (and unfortunately necessary) gap coverage insurance company states they are dedicated to a simple goal: “making health care easier for the people we serve.”

the insurance plan that will take effect in five days believes that “health connects us to each other” and that “what we all do impacts those around us”. and so, they say they are dedicated to “delivering better care to our members”.

nevertheless, the united states seems to have a grotesque insurance problem. the earnings pie – or say – the carrot cake only goes so far, particularly with major medical insurance. but then, there’s dental insurance, vision insurance, life insurance, home insurance, car insurance, major appliance insurance, small appliance warranty insurance, laptop and tablet insurance, recreational vehicle and boat insurance, travel insurance, personal, general, property damage liability insurances. americans are slicing away at their own cake…for most, never quite big enough to start with.

and then there’s business insurance…various insurance plans that companies, organizations, institutions purchase to cover costs associated with property damage or liability issues and to keep their employees safe and healthy – because companies and organizations and institutions care about their employees and want to look out for their best interests.

“your employees may be your business’ most valuable asset.” “… protect your employees …” (an insurance company)

yes.

ahh, but here’s the rest of that insurance company’s statement:

“your employees may be your business’ most valuable asset.” “… protect your employees – and your bottom line…”

hmmm.

though it may look like carrots, there are no carrots there. no nurturing. no nutritional value. just a bottom line.

just dried marsh grass and sticks.

*****

NURTURE ME ©️ 1995 kerri sherwood

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read DAVID’S thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY


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edges and kaleidoscopes. [two artists tuesday]

the edges come fast. a blink and they’ve arrived.

i did a photo shoot with my cello. it’s a gorgeous instrument, elegant and full of tear-your-heart-out melodic possibility.

i am sitting at the edge.

i clutch onto it tightly, yearning to yo-yo-ma, yet knowing this edge is somewhat irrefutable. in my heart, my wrist, the tendons of my fingers ache to bow, to press string to fingerboard. the edge pushes back. i know that it is time and that no dream in the night – onstage with soaring, weep-worthy lines – will change that.

my edges – like conglomerate rock, a mixture of wishes and knowings and new – reorganize in the kaleidoscope of life. and, because life is like that, surprises will show up, lit by spotlights and sunlight.

and, once this stunning instrument has moved, as it should, from my studio to the embrace of someone else, i understand that, though my hands will not touch its graceful lines and resonant soul, there will be other learnings, other touches. and always, other edges.

“though i play at the edges of knowing, truly i know our part is not knowing, but looking and touching and loving.” (mary oliver)

*****

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it’s my *hand*. [k.s. friday]

there is nothing certain. nothing totally black or white. but this morning i am in the middle of the grey; fog has closed in and nothing is certain.

in a few hours i will know more. i will know what has happened to my hand and wrist. having already healed fractures from two broken wrists ala snowboarding this winter, i will know what changed the day that i fell recently – a serious fall, hard and directly on my reflex-outstretched hand – on an unmarked wet floor.

soon i will know why it aches constantly, why i can’t extend near an octave, why i can’t pick up my cat or the bucket to wash the car, why i can’t bend my wrist forward more than 5 degrees.

i’m pretty tough when it comes to pain; my threshold is pretty high. usually for me, it’s just a matter of dealing with it and getting used to it. and then i adjust. and people around me don’t actually know that there is any problem because i am making do.

but *this* is different. this is what i do. this is how i make a living. this is my profession. it has always been my profession. i am an artist – and a human with opposable thumbs – and this is my *hand*.

and so i am anxious to know what this hand specialist says, what he recommends, what he forecasts as the route for rehabilitation from this new injury, the arc for healing, the possibility for playing, the chance to ‘have my hand back’.

because, as i told david when we were walking on the trail the other day, this is not short term. this is long term.

there are wooden stages i want to play on, albums i might consider recording, babies i want to pick up, cars i want to wash. there are potatoes i want to mash, hand-whipped whip cream to whip, songs to write, doorknobs to turn, manual cars i want to shift. there are cellos i want to play, dishes to scrub, leaves i want to rake, jars i want to open, hard-to-reach spots on my back i want to scratch. there are boxes i want to be able to pick up, moves i want to help with, conducting batons to hold, guitars i want to fingerpick, waterski towropes i want to hold. there are bikes i want to ride, yoga positions i’d maybe like to try, reins i want to hold, clay pots i want to throw, my strong dog i want to walk on leash, mountains i want to try scrambling up. there are warm gloves i want to wear, rings i want to put back on, glissandos to execute.

but i can’t.

this is no small list. this is no small thing. this is my hand and my wrist and, like you, i have taken it for granted. until now.

there is nothing truly black or white, but i am anxious to be out of the middle, that liminal space, of not-knowing.

oh, and i want to do cartwheels.

but, then, i’ve never been able to do those.

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IT’S NOT BLACK AND WHITE from RIGHT NOW © 2010 kerri sherwood


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i will lay still. [k.s. friday]

haiku

it’s unfamiliar;

i’ve never been here before

in this white vessel.

noise, without music;

movement, without any dance;

i lay there, so still.

this will determine

notes, arpeggios i will

play from here on out.

so i will lay still,

and listen to no music,

and move to no dance.

yes, i will lay still,

imaging as images

will be recorded.

and i will lay still

wondering just what will be;

what notes i’ll play now.

i will lay still, still

grieving the hand that it was,

hoping for healing.

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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