reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

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goldening steps. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

the tree lit up as the sun began to sink. oranges, reds, it was golden, the moon next to it, hanging out in the late just-sprang-forward afternoon sky.

we were sitting on the deck in our adirondack chairs – on an unexpected beautiful, warm day. it was the first time we sat outside in the sun since november.

on the same day, we took a hike in the woods, our spirits lifting with each step taken without cold wind in our faces. though we hike on very cold days with very cold winds, this was a glorious day. golden, for sure.

and nature is the only essence with which to credit this golden day. nothing else. no one else.

though the White House et al credit themselves with “the golden age of america [is here]” it is beyond delusional and a disgusting display of fealty from the capitulating folks this prez placed into powerful positions. stripping rights, freedoms, safety from the populace, putting the economy into chaos, hunting down immigrants to whisk away into oblivion, cutting helping programs that aid people so that 1% might get richer, turning our nation into a pariah no longer trusted by the world…newsflash…this is not the golden age.

we are not the elite. we are those people who wish to collect social security, who wish to have healthcare through medicare or the affordable care act, who wish to afford groceries and housing, utilities and upkeep, who wish to have income-based repayment plans for the criminally predatory decades-long student loans that have been reigning our finances, who wish to have economic stability, who wish to travel without fear of stigma, who wish to live in a country with principles based on equality and compassion, who wish our gay adult son and our childbearingyears daughter to have rights and freedoms for their own decision-making about their relationships, their health, their bodies, any children they may or may not choose to have. i’ve said it before – we are the masses. we feel this.

but, just as the moment when an olympic athlete climbs atop a podium to collect a gold medal for this country and you can feel it down to your toes, we can also feel all the vile program cuts that hurt others, the deliberate and aggressive bigotry directed at others, the loss of trust, security, and safety, the absolute betrayal of members of the populace by this cruel administration. it is the darkest of times – for each of us, for this country. light is sinking lower, deep into the horizon. we are heading into the sunless rule of authoritarianism.

it is not just what affects us that affects us.

so how do we collectively influence the actual color of these days? how do we actually golden up these times – this “age” – for real? what magic wand do we wield as a people, together? what steps – pushing back – do we take – for those we love and – in the biggest and most inclusive picture of this nation and this world – for people who will never know who we are?

maybe our collective empathy and our raised voices will help. every step we take forward – speaking up, speaking out – even against the coldest of winds – is a step – a goldening step – taken for democracy.

*****

FIGHT FOR THE LIGHT FOR OTHERS – EVEN IF THEY DON’T KNOW WHO YOU ARE. (you make a difference © 2003 kerri sherwood)

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as clear as ice. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

merely glancing at this photo of ice-encased grasses makes it clear that it is cold out. very cold.

because some things are obvious. a no-brainer, as it’s said. you can see right through.

silence is like that.

remaining completely silent – not uttering a word of raging disdain or abject horror – in the middle of this country’s hellish descent in this time of destruction – makes your position – of complicity – obvious. a no-brainer.

this is a time demanding connection. this is a time when we need each other. we need to band together and buoy each other. we need mutual support in a liminal frozen space of atrocity as we all witness the stripping of our democracy. we need to talk. we need to ask questions. we need to sort. we need to speak up.

i haven’t been able to decide if i am more sickened by what’s happening in this country or by family, friends and acquaintances who – clear as ice – think it’s perfectly ok. like too many others, i wonder, “who the hell are you, anyway???”

you may think your stance is not transparently clear – while you publicly – and callously – try to give the impression of going about normal life normally – or while you pretend it isn’t happening – even privately – but your silence about these atrocities in very real life speaks volumes.

having been thrown under the bus before by people i have trusted – including perhaps you – i warily wonder how far you would go to support all this.

and so we reach to others, we connect, we stand with them, we protect each other as best we can.

because just as clear as ice your silent complicity are their good intentions. and the choice is obvious. a no-brainer, as it’s said.

*****

CONNECTED © 1995 kerri sherwood

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wishes. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

i wanted to pluck it off where it had landed. floating milkweed snagged on dried brush. but it was too beautiful to pluck – this pure white fluff in the middle of much brown. so i left it there for others to see and carried away a few photographs.

fluffs like this always make me think of dandelion fluff – and childhood – and wishes sent on the wind. curiously, there is – somehow – still dandelion fluff out there, on the trail, in the middle of november.

maybe the universe – overseeing all fluffs and all other things – knows we need a vessel in which to put our wishes, a way to wish them, a little wind to carry them on.

a few years ago – for holiday gift giving – we purchased a few dozen sets of flying wish papers. we sent them out hoping that each recipient would feel excited by the idea of flying their written wishes into the air. the icing on the cake of these wish papers is the lift-off – after you have written your very own wish on the paper, it is lit and lifts off into the air, turning into the finest of ash.

flying wish papers and milkweed fluffs, dandelion seeds – they are all somewhat like prayer flags – expressing to the universe a heart-wish, a prayer…asking the universe for a chance…something we wish to achieve, maybe imploring…for peace, goodness, health, maybe something whimsical, maybe something serious.

maybe the point of wishing is to make us more attentive – maybe more courageous – about what is in our hearts. maybe the point of prayer flags is to make us more attentive – maybe more courageous – about what is in our souls. maybe it all connects us inward – to places that aren’t superficial, that do not slough off the amazingness of actually living.

the milkweed fluff captured me. i wished wishes for solid ground, for good purposes, for decency in this world. i wished wishes of regaining balance, of hope, of support for each other.

wishes – both simple and complex – gathered on the filaments of the milkweed fluff. it waited there, on the brush, to gather more wishes from more wishers. and, then, i imagine it flew off into the wind, possibility in the air.

and i carried wishes – that had somehow magically turned into intentions – home with me.

and the finest ash settled on the forest after we left.

*****

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there is. i will. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

it was this morning – while i was nibbling on gluten-free cinnamon toast. it was while i was dishing out dogga’s dinner. it was while we sat at the kitchen table, darkness quickly falling outside. it was while i was sending a picture-of-the-day to my children, while i was texting with my dear friend. it was while i listened to george winston’s thanksgiving. it was on the trail. it was at the matinee of the movie here. it was leaving the theatre, tears in our eyes, grateful it was still a little light out.

it is right now. and this is where we are.

there are boundaries to be drawn, plans to be made, worries to be worried, griefs to be grieved.

there is shock and outrage. there is absolute horror.

there is no humor in what will come – and there is disgust at those who laugh with the sadistic glee of getting their way.

there is knowing and not-knowing. there is lostness.

there is uncertainty in the insanity of these moments.

but it is right now. and this is where we are. still.

so i will take stock wherever i find goodness, wherever i find community, wherever i find even a bit of joy, wherever i find love.

and i will dance in the kitchen, make homemade tomato soup, grow parsley in the winter. i will hold tighter to his hand and hug on our dogga. i will be frugal and i will be frivolous.

and i will sit on the wire with the other birds, watching the sky turn from night to day and night again. grateful for the tiniest things – that sky, the birds who love me and who i love, the wire and the still of still being here.

*****

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read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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gutted. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

no air.

there has been little air in me these last days. like many of you – but clearly, not all of you – i feel gutted.

i, too, watched as this nation elected what it elected. and, like you, we all know what that means, voting in cruelty, burying compassion, damning moving forward and any what-could-have-been’s.

someone dear to me texted me on election day, writing: “and the thing is, people will never not know who they [others] voted for and supported.”

exactly. we cannot un-know what you voted for.

as I quoted yesterday, you are who you elect. (michael ramirez – the washington post)

i woke up yesterday, my eyes still swollen – like yours – feeling strangled by the results of this election. it was as if color had escaped, as if texture had been jackhammered away, as if air was only to be found in shallow hyperventilated gulps. my children, i kept thinking, pondering their future, my daughter, my son.

there is much to do. and I don’t even know what that means right now.

we took a walk in the woods.

there was the simplicity of our footsteps – one foot in front of another – step, step, step. boiling it down. movement.

it was quiet but for rustling squirrels, blissfully unaware of the election, merely gathering for the fallow that will soon befall the forest.

there was beauty. inevitably. and, for a bit of time on our hike – the time when we weren’t spilling our grief on the path – i got just the tiniest bit lost in it.

i fear that things, that living – for the rest of my life – will never be the same again. that the darkness – darkness which people we all know have chosen – will engulf everything.

so i know that there is much to do, despite the utter grief and despair i feel right now. there is much to do to bring back the light.

this morning i woke when the sun was just coming up. dogga jumped on the bed as soon as he knew we were the slightest bit awake. we were quiet as the light began to stream into our room. we sipped coffee.

we will clean the house. we will go take a hike. we will attempt to breathe. we will be aware of beauty. we will study it – its astonishingness – and i will try to figure out how to bring it to this aching world any way i can.

and all the air will circulate ’round – the wind of next days and next days – filling our tired lungs, drying our eyes, helping us take one step after another, so that we can do the much that needs to be done.

*****

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real life. right now. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

when you drive almost 1900 miles around the southwest – on backroads, highways, interstates – you get to see some real life.

we drove from nevada to utah to arizona and back to nevada- a big loop. there was so much to see – even just out the window of the suburban stuffed with six people and six suitcases, six carry-on backpacks or tote bags, six water bottle koozies and lots of snacks. there were many lessons along the way as we drove through small towns, farms, ranchland, desert, canyonlands.

there were people. people living in these small towns, on these farms, on this ranchland, in the desert, homesteading by the canyonlands. real live people, an exclamation point of diversity.

i had the good fortune of meeting the woman who opened her home to us – through airbnb – a half hour or so south of the grand canyon. hers was not a five-star hotel. hers was not a resort-amenity-rich spa. hers was not a photo-shoot instagram-worthy house of smart finishes and interior design. hers was a home – her beloved home to which she was soon going to return to live.

you knew as you drove down the gravel road – past the mobile homes and modular houses. you knew as you pulled into her dirt driveway and pulled up to the porch, a little worse for wear. you knew as you drove in and the outbuildings scattered within the split-rail fencing were numerous. you knew as you walked in – the laundry room off the porch door – and the floor was worn. you knew as you strolled about in her home, filled with antiques, charming tchotchkes and quirky notes everywhere that explained how things worked or invited you in to her life.

she pointed at one of the outbuildings and told me that was to become her she-shed. she pointed at what looked like a pile of rubble and told me that was the beginning of a barn for her husband and his workbench. she was so excited to tell me that we were the last guests at her home and that after a couple weeks she and her husband would return there, would move back into their forever home, would be looking forward to the peace that space, that horizon, the mountains in the distance, the desert up close and personal afforded them. this was her sea-to-shining-sea. this place represented her freedom, the place she would heal from several medical challenges, the place she would grow old, the place she truly loved with all her heart. i wanted to weep for her happiness.

this is the time – RIGHT NOW – when we all get to vote for the place that represents our freedom. this is the time – RIGHT NOW – when we all get to vote for healing our nation from the division that has been stoked by the voices in maga-land. this is the time – RIGHT NOW – when we all get to vote so that we might grow old in a democracy, so that our children and their children can grow old in a democracy. this is the time – RIGHT NOW – that we all get to vote for a place we love with all our heart.

it matters not if we have a fancy home or a plain home. what matters is that we are grateful for this democracy that houses whatever home it is we have, wherever it is we live in these united states . what matters is that we are grateful for the freedoms, the constitution, the checks and balances of power, the mutual respect of each other – our sameness and our differences, the ability to have a voice.

we drove about 1900 miles. we saw the ultra-fancy and we saw the hovels in the middle of nowhere. we marveled at the uncanny ability of people to be resilient, to tenaciously cling to life and livelihood, regardless of their circumstance. we dreamed that this country would continue to address hardship – in all its forms – and that we would continue to step only forward.

we spoke about the airbnbs we stayed at. there were five, all different. this home – in the desert and unlike any of the others – touched my heart. this woman did the best she could to offer up her house to others who are traveling, to invite people in, to envelop them in warmth and the reassurance of home, albeit temporarily. i have so much respect for her – her unapologetic sharing of her home. she offered her beloved and imperfect space to complete strangers, trusting we would care for it. it was so much more than the option that offered a stark, austerely modern building, sans thoughtful gestures. it was a slice of real life.

real life is a country filled to the brim with people – all different. real life is a country that stands by e pluribus unum – out of many, one.

real life is meeting people – across this country – everyone different, in every different kind of circumstance – knowing we are all in this together.

real life is recognizing the urgency we face. it is being honest about what we could potentially lose and to whom we could lose it.

real life is RIGHT NOW – when it is completely and utterly delusional to think that everything would be better if the maga agenda wins, if hatred and bigotry and extreme nationalism and misogyny and the undermining of democracy win.

real life would never be the same. this country – our home – would never be the same.

be better than that. right now.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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shabaeawaka. unless. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

“we can disagree and still love each other unless your disagreement is rooted in my oppression and denial of my humanity and right to exist.” (james baldwin)

i would add – or unless your disagreement is rooted in the oppression and denial of the humanity and right to exist of people you purport to care about – people in your beloved family, in your cherished community.

growing up, there were straw placemats in a circle around the perimeter of our kitchen table. each one had inked initials in the bottom corner – to designate whose placemat it was. ba, ea, wa, ka, sha, they read. in some moment, a guest circled around the table, reading them aloud, in order. “sha-ba-ea-wa-ka,” he read. and then, more quickly, “shabaeawaka!”

shabaeawaka became our family’s shortcut of the combination of our names – my mom always lovingly referring to the moniker and telling the story of its origin.

shabaeawaka – in all the ups and downs of a regular family – became a synonym for invincible ties, for family-sticking-together.

my sweet momma, even in the last moments i saw her, believed with her whole heart in the devotion of this family to each other. she believed in kindness and generosity, in acceptance and goodness, in joy and positivity, in love no-matter-what.

my sweet poppo – a mostly quiet man – died three years before my momma. he wasn’t one of those dads who would sit you down and bestow wisdoms upon you. but i could feel his staunch support of me throughout my life…as a child, as a young adult, as i finally made my way into my artistry, as a parent.

my momma stayed in their house in florida on the little lake as long as she physically could. she surrounded herself with the familiar of their lives together, always missing the actual presence of my dad, lonely for him. the empty vase – the one my poppo kept filled with grocery store flowers – stood in the foyer, an acknowledgment of unwelcome change.

but my sweet momma – well – she kept on. and as it became obvious she would need to leave her home and move into assisted living she chose to give away things from her home. the dining room table went to a family of immigrants who didn’t have a table at which to eat. her blue leather sofa went to a family across the street. my momma was not discerning. people in need of something were precisely the people to whom she wanted to give those things. even in her grief of moving, her generosity and love of others prevailed.

i did not feel the need – nor did i have the logistical ability – to fill rooms with items of my parents after my momma’s move or even after she died. but i do have remembrances of them. and i have their dna.

mostly, i have the ideal they taught me – that no matter what, you stick by your family, you uphold each other, you protect each other, you love each other. in no uncertain terms, my mom and my dad would stand tall next to each of us, buoying us and believing in us – the lesson of acceptance – no matter what – of the right to exist, to sustain, to thrive.

i know – without a doubt – they have cheered on my life – in all its phases, in its ups and downs. i know – without a doubt – they have cheered on my daughter’s courageous and adventurous spirit finding home in the mountains, my son and his incredible and cherished LGBTQ community in the city, around the world. i know – without a doubt – they would support them to the mat, thwarting anything that might come between them and their freedoms as americans, as human beings. i know this not only because it was how i was raised, but this is what shabaeawaka is. it is the legacy of shabaeawaka.

and so i wonder what they are thinking now.

i suspect they are on board with james baldwin.

there were times of disagreement, yes. my quiet dad could get rather loud in moments. my sweet momma could push back on inequality, on the crushing of human rights, on evil.

but all was ok if the basics were still in place, if the disagreement – in the words of james baldwin – was not rooted in the oppression of them or their loved one, if it did not deny their humanity or the humanity of their loved one, if it did not undermine their right to exist or their loved one’s right to exist. those were the basics and the basics of any faith i ever learned from them.

I wonder what they are thinking now as they – from a plane of existence far away – watch this election, as they watch the unthinkable, as they watch oppression and the denial of humanity and right to exist on the up-close-and-personal do-we-love-each-other line, as they witness the undermining – the throwing away – of the tenets of their precious shabaeawaka.

i don’t know where the placemats went.

i just know i don’t need the actual placemats to remember what they meant.

*****

LEGACY © 1995 kerri sherwood

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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get patriotic. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

“there is nothing so american as our national parks…the fundamental idea behind the parks…is that the country belongs to the people, that it is in process of making for the enrichment of the lives of all of us.” (president franklin d. roosevelt, 1934)

it is impossible to stand in our national parks and not be filled with a pure sense of patriotism. the vistas of zion national park – and each place we experienced – sparked our “america, the beautiful“.

even right now, when the word “patriotic” presents entendre at best questionable, we could feel it…the heart-swelling kind, the proud-of-this-land kind, the we-are-so-fortunate kind. certainly not the nationalistic, extremist, exclusionary, divisive, white-man-only-drum-beating kind.

we were all trying to take a little time away from politics, from the news of the day, trying to immerse in the beauty and ignore the ugly.

but – i must say – ignoring the ugly in the middle of the beautiful seemed irresponsible to me. because just as our national parks are fundamentally ours – belonging to the people of this country – so is the constitution and the goodness of this country. and that, my friends, is in peril. and i could not forget it…even out in the sacred wild-ness of this land.

project 2025 – the playbook for maga – seeks to repeal the 1906 antiquities act – the first united states law passed for the purpose of protection of these national parks and places of national monument, protecting cultural and natural resources with historic or scientific value. project 2025 wishes to eviscerate these protections, giving that administration free latitude on decisions for all these lands.

standing in bryce, in zion, in arches, in capitol reef, in the grand canyon, we can only be too aware of the presence of the protections for these glorious tracts of land. we cannot imagine another fate for these places of intense beauty. this landmark law – the antiquities act – has safeguarded these places for the use and enjoyment of current and future generations – a law of responsibility and virtue.

the national park service pledge promises to the people of the united states “the owners of our nation’s parklands” – among other things: “to protect your right to experience the presence of superlative wildness and scenic grandeur, to communicate to all an understanding of the people and events that shaped these united states, to join with all people of this and other nations in conserving and renewing the total environment to keep this world a pleasure to live in…”

there was an older woman – likely in her 70s – heading toward us on the path. she was clearly enjoying her time at the park. and as she passed, she proudly wore a “women for –” maga hat on her head. i stared at her hat. every ounce of me wanted to stop her and have a conversation. i wanted to know what had happened to her in her life that made her wish for a man who demeans, abuses, detests women to be the president of this beautiful country. i wanted to know how she could – in all good conscience – wear a hat with the name of a convicted felon, a rapist, a liar, a racist, a misogynist, a grifter, an insurrectionist, an exceptionally narcissistic inward soul-less and pathetic old man. i wanted to know how she could support that candidate’s efforts to undermine the rights of so many. i wanted to know if she was thinking about any future generations. i wanted to know how she could justify that candidate’s desire for autocracy, for revenge, for a cruel and divided america. i wanted to know how she could walk on this sacred and protected land knowing that her candidate of choice doesn’t give a damn about it. i wanted to know how she could wear THAT hat.

i simply cannot wrap my head around it.

it was impossible to avoid. here we were – in the grand expanse of unspeakable and stunning beauty – and i was worried.

there is little time left before this election.

it is time to get patriotic – in the purest and truest sense of that word. protect the constitution of this country. protect the rights of the people. protect the land. protect your daughters and sons and grandchildren. protect the united states.

turn the page on this hideous candidate and the extremism of his ugly self-serving and incoherent, angry rhetoric, his vile intentions.

move forward. keep this world a pleasure to live in.

*****

patriotic: having or expressing devotion to and vigorous support for one’s country.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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a season for pink. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

it is a season for pink.

a time for women. to stand up. to speak up. to speak out. to vote. a time for men. to stand up. to speak up. to speak out. to vote. in support of women.

though i have not remained quiet, i cannot be silent. i – literally – cannot stand the hypocrisy another second.

in a tip-of-the-iceberg quote from the maga candidate about illegal immigrants, an argument he has amplified over and over for remigrating as many non-whites as he can, “they’re bringing drugs. they’re bringing crime. they’re rapists.” (time magazine 2015)

my rapist was not an illlegal immigrant. he is a white citizen of the united states.

e. jean carroll’s rapist was not an illegal immigrant. he is a white citizen of the united states.

frankly, with my apology for the strong language, i am weary of the bullshit.

i am weary of the double-standard. i am weary of the lies, the warped narcissism, the self-aggrandizing, the distractions.

i am weary of this appalling concerted effort by white extreme misogynistic nationalists to limit women, to undermine their choice, to silence their voice.

i am weary of the rapist running for president. his vileness should have destroyed his presidential aspirations long ago.

but what i find even more unconscionable is the utter complicity of men and women who will vote for this repulsive movement, who will turn a blind eye, who will vote for this predator. how low will you go to sabotage your daughters, your mothers, your granddaughters, your sisters, your girlfriends? women, where is the value you place on womanhood, on yourself, on your freedoms, on how you have fought for and lived your actual life? and men? where is the value you place on womanhood? or don’t you?

stevie nicks says it well in her new song, the lighthouse: “don’t let them take your power…don’t leave it alone in the final hours. they’ll take your soul, they’ll take your power. don’t close your eyes and hope for the best. the dark is out there, the light is going fast until the final hours. your life’s forever changed and all the rights that you had yesterday are taken away. and now you’re afraid. you should be afraid, should be afraid….is it a nightmare? is it a lasting scar? it is, unless you save it and that’s that unless you stand up and take it back, take it back.”

we watched roed, a short video by dawn lambing, earlier this week. it took my breath away as it depicted two women pulled over, subjected to a urine pregnancy test on the side of the road. it was horrifying, and, in this maga-triumphant post-roe climate, not unlikely.

yet, this is the direction maga wants to go, this is just merely part of the road – the swift controlling highway – of project 2025. 925 pages of mandates to remove freedoms, to marginalize people, to undermine democracy, to abolish any checks and balances, a takeover of the federal government shifting power to an authoritarian leader, a document designed to rule the populace.

are you listening any more? are you paying attention? are you merely entertained by this chaos? have you considered this maga candidate’s incoherence, his ugly, his rhetoric, the propaganda?

or does the maga plan make you somehow feel good, feel powerful, feel justified in your complicity, in your support, in your vote??

have you THOUGHT about any of this? do you have a bottom line to feeding – what is obviously – your abundant hatred?

it’s unconscionable. and you know it.

and it makes me weep to think you think it is ok.

it is a season for pink.

“try to see the future and get mad. it’s slippin’ through your fingers. you don’t have what you had. you don’t have much time to get it back.”

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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it matters. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

we’ve been making do. one sprinkler – the kind that goes in a circle – has duct tape keeping on one of the nozzles. the other sprinkler simply refuses to sprinkle back and forth. it will sprinkle to ninety degrees and then returns to zero. it has ceased being a 180 degree sprinkler. nevertheless, we are diligently watering, despite the quirks of our roster of sprinklers. “next year,” we say, “we will get a new sprinkler.”

but right now it is time for us to get new hiking boots. our brown leather boots – which took some serious time to break in – have hiked with us for the last eight years. they’ve hiked locally, in the high elevation mountains of colorado, the red rock of utah, the rhododendron-rich mountains of north carolina, the door peninsula of wisconsin, along the coast of california and on the beaches of long island. it is likely they are hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of miles past their prime. they have little to no tread and, therefore, little to no traction. however much we love these boots, it is way past time.

oliver sussed us up pretty quickly. the gentleman who had been helping us left to go on break. he had been steering us to a certain brand – clearly his favorite brand – and he grimaced when i asked to try on different pairs of boots. oliver took over where he left off. and we are grateful to him. in the matter of a few minutes he was able to change ”steering’ to ‘accompanying’ us along on this new-hiking-boot journey. he laughed and asked us a few questions after we told him we were suffering through this new-boot-decisions. joking, he lightened the spirit around our shoe-trying-on-chairs and zeroed in on the way we would use our boots. “functionality,” he pointed out. he was both practical and reassuring and he spoke straight-up about the choices that were there in front of us, never being pushy, aware that there are other places with other brands or models that might work better. and sometimes there is a boot that will become the in-the-meantime boot. functionality. he became our favorite boot salesperson.

when the drain-guy was at our house he described two ways of fixing the piping under our sink, one way more involved than the other. i’m pretty sure he could see us both staring at him, in decision purgatory. he began to speak again, this time explaining that he is a functionalist and giving us the nitty-gritty on what he thought. his candid approach – with truth and common sense – was the help we needed. we chose the simpler fix, acknowledging that the other was likely overkill at this time. he is our favorite drain guy.

i had only seen my doctor twice before, both visits within the brief time parameters of whatever it is the healthcare company and insurance company deem appropriate. when she – at the end of my follow-up for that what-seemed-like-a-heart-event – recommended that i try myofascial massage, her confidently professional voice softened a bit and i could feel empathy in this physician i barely knew. it was in those unrushed moments of concern and in her caring recommendation that i felt nurtured. in those moments she became a person i trusted and with whom i would look forward to establishing a patient-doctor relationship.

it doesn’t take too much. but a slight tilt of the head, a person really listening, a few extra minutes all make a difference. it all matters. each of these seemingly inconsequential experiences was a validation of the consequential power of nurturing another. d and i talked about each experience later.

and we talked about how much different our world might be – if every time we had the chance to nurture someone in some way – even the simplest of ways – if we took that opportunity. to go the extra. what might happen. the concentric circles would explode outward.

we will never know how big our tiny nurturing moment of another might actually end up. but it matters nonetheless.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

listen to NURTURE ME: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9kPwr5cteZc

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