reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: lake michigan


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merely steps away. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

the breeze was decidedly heavenly, refreshing, a breath of fresh air.

it had been a while.

this summer – clearly in the midst of changing climate – has been a doozy. hot and humid and downright uncomfortable. it used to be that we’d ponder whether or not to place the window air conditioner units in the windows. we’d fuss and debate and look at the extended weather forecast, trying to decide if we could suffer through a few days or a week of sticky, knowing that wisconsin would reward us with a breezy sweep-through back into exceptional summer weather.

not this year.

it literally felt like it – the sticky – arrived. and never left. every morning i’d open the back door, step out on the deck and say aloud, “it smells like florida.” the fact that it also felt like florida made me want to get my money back from the wisconsin-summer for which i’d signed up.

in these days i am much less tolerant of the heat. me and dogga. and even d. all three of us, dogga’s tongue hanging out and all of us panting – it’s not a pretty picture. and so, we (the plural we, though it is most definitely the singular d) installed the window air conditioners. and, with WE-energies’-exponentially-rising-costs and caution to the wind, we ran them.

and then.

then the breeze shifted.

finally.

and, with great flip-flop glee, we started back walking our long ‘hood walks.

because merely steps away is this great big beautiful (oh, wait! i simply cannot use those words in that order anymore)…..merely steps away is this vast, stunning lake.

we feel lucky every time we walk along its edge. we feel lucky as the breeze wraps us in cool. we feel lucky at the harbor, at the beach, on the rocks, at the historic beachhouse where everyone gathered after our wedding. merely steps away is this reminder to breathe.

and so we stand there, staring at this lake like an old friend we’ve known for decades. and, just like people – filled with stories and layers and grief and bliss and tenderness and churning and color and monochrome – it’s always familiar and always an enigma – both.

the sun dipped below the west horizon, amping up the ombré of the east.

and arm in arm we walked home.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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fog. [kerri’s blog on flawed wednesday]

dense fog.

inland, you wouldn’t know.

inland it is sunny and warm.

but here – on the coast of lake michigan – with very specific circumstances – we are socked in with fog. it rolled in on cloudy waves. it lingers in the trees and hangs over the street. it brings with it a damp cold – much different than a couple miles inland. the lakefront is its own weather system.

it was a foggy morning, soupy and grey. we put on extra layers. we left to hike one of our favorite river trails. it was sunny there – so much so that we were shedding those extra layers of clothing.

and, then, on that same day in the early evening, we watched the advection fog stake claim to the neighborhood again, just as it had done that morning and for the past mornings.

all the same day.

and so we sat in the quiet of the fog as it surrounded us, our home, our ‘hood.

and, just as we didn’t know what the people in the sun were doing, neither did they know we were sitting in a blanket of dense fog.

we don’t know what we don’t know.

but isn’t it our job – as humans living in nation-wide community with each other – to seek knowledge of the other? of others’ circumstances?

are we culpable for an awareness of other-ness?

if i am on the lakefront and you are inland, do i care about you, do you care about me?

is there a line – somewhere between the lake and inland or in this country – that divides the needs of the people? is there a line – somewhere between the north and the south, the east and the west – that divides the needs of the people? is there a line – of race, of ethnicity, of orientation, of birth circumstance, social ladder-climbing, status, society’s trappings – that divides the needs of the people? is there a line – somewhere between the haves and the have-nots or the have-it-alls and the have-nothings – that divides the needs of the people?

where is compassion? a sense of decency? of humanity?

there is – apparently – no line that is too low for what is happening in this country now.

how is it that people – real people – mean so little to this administration?

and i think about those people – humans – who are cheering this on. i wonder how they have been seduced.

have they read the bills, the laws, the executive orders, the project, the intentions?

do they realize that this is decimating our country – the same country that is their country?

do they even give a second to wondering how all this cruelty, greed, destruction, moral corruption is “great”?

is their lack of concern because it does not directly impact them…yet? do they even know if it does?

is their state of great glee because it’s sunny where they are right now?

do they know that weather systems are not static, that they travel and affect communities at will, that it could be them next?

how can they linger in their cold dense fog – oblivious and unconcerned?

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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to feel it. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

the catalogs in the old mailbox in our bathroom are well-worn. i don’t keep every catalog that comes into the house, but there are a few that make their way into the old mailbox that used to grace the front of our house for years. stio is one of them.

i page through – dreaming of the places in this catalog. the phrases they use resonate with me.

“don’t just go somewhere, be somewhere.”

that – ^ – those very words are the reason i don’t take travel tours. you might question my position – it might be that you very much value group tours – buses or boats or what-have-you. and that is most definitely a way to see places.

but we have found that – for us – it is more important to immerse in a place than to pass through and check it off on some bucket list. if we merely pass through, we feel we have missed the real essence of the place. if we merely pass through, we have missed the scent of dawn, the color of dusk, the tempo of the streets and sounds of the overnight. we have missed the accents, the colloquialisms, the marketplace, the joy of sitting for long hours watching people interact – in a new place. we have missed the opportunity of absorbing something – some tiny little thing even – from the new, strange land that we might take back with us. we have missed connecting with its people. we have missed the beating heart.

and so, i agree with stio: don’t just go somewhere, be somewhere.

we try to take the time to be engaged, somewhat engrossed in places we go. true, it isn’t always possible, but we do make every attempt. it is what drives decisions about travel. our checklist is not just that – a checklist. it is the chance to viscerally see, taste, smell, hear, touch another place on this good earth, a chance to really feel it.

it is the reason why – for the four days we were in paris – that we walked everywhere, miles and miles all over the city. it is the reason we found our way to the market, skipping the fancy restaurants we passed on the way. it is the reason we bought baguettes and cheese, tiny salads, bottles of wine, fruit tarts from a patisserie. it is the reason we sat on cathedral steps or on benches by fountains in parks to dine. it is the reason my feet hurt and my heart was full.

it’s why we return time and again to breckenridge – to hike its trails, wander its streets, hang out and talk to the shopkeepers and the bartenders, shop its grocery store.

it’s why – once we have found a place and accommodations that truly speak to us, we will return again – to be a part of the community, to walk its sidewalks, shop its merchants, talk with its people, live – even for the tiniest bit of time – in its midst.

when we think of all the places we have traveled together, we recollect images that are multi-dimensional. we remember how it felt. we may not get everywhere we would like to go – and our checklist may be left with boxes to check – but we will have spent time in places we got to know and that got to know us, at least a little bit.

it is the reason why – in addition to seeking new – we choose to return – time and again – to the same trails we know. they have become part of us and we a part of them, a connection that makes us feel a certain awed responsibility toward their continued existence.

it is in the way that the mountains take my breath away – and make me weep – upon first sight, in the way that the ocean’s tide beckons me and pulls at my toes, in the way red rock makes me reach to run my hand along its sandstone shell.

it is this way i wish to see new places – with enough breath to be enthralled, enough freedom to sit quietly or run free, enough time there to walk and walk, to linger, and enough joie de vivre to forgo getting as many checkmarks in the “done” column as possible and instead embrace the getting-to-know-you – the savoring – of places in our world.

*****

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

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same moon. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

i stood in the river.

years ago now. it was almost inky night, clear, a bit brisk but not windy. as i moved from the bank into the middle of the flow i noticed it. the moonline followed me…everywhere i went. despite all the time i had already spent at water’s edge and on the water, it was the first time – in my memory – that it became apparent to me – this moonbeam shadow of mine.

and i think of you – my love, my children, my family, dear friends – next to me or somewhere else in this world – looking at the night sky as well. this same moon. with your own personal moonbeam shadow. and i am heartened by our sharing of this. for if we are looking at the same moon, then certainly we are not too far from each other. under the same sky, the same stars, the same blanket of galaxy.

so as i stand on rocks next to lake michigan i am reassured by this season of the full moon. and as i think of you, i whisper along the beam, hoping that the moon will deliver you my words.

“…when the moon dances in your hair, i will be there…for all the days of your life, for all your life …” (kerri sherwood – for all your life)

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

UNFETTERED. ©️ david robinson

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more beautiful now. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

we live by big water.

much the way we are drawn to the mountains, we are drawn to big water. more and more. both.

and more and more – each and every day – we are amazed. even by its ordinary. big and little ways.

diamonds have ridden the waves of lake michigan for all time. yet, each day further on the timeline of this life, they become more beautiful, more intense, sparklier.

the lyrics brought tears to both of our faces as we listened. susan had sent us a song, “you were beautiful then but you’re way more beautiful now.” (beautiful now – james maddock )

yes. yes, this is true. i have seen photographs of him younger. he looked a lot like david cassidy – that longer, feathered back hair, those eyes, that smile. he was – in every good use of the word (feminine or masculine) – beautiful. i didn’t know him back then. just like he didn’t know me in my midriff-hiphugger-bellbottom-wearing days. those days – well – those are the olden days.

but now is different. i look at his face and his eyes, his long hair peppered with grey – this man now – and i know – just like the song – he is way more beautiful now.

and so, for a bit, i wonder why the diamonds on the lake are more beautiful and why the sky is bluer and why the early morning air is breathtaking and why this man – sharing life with me for eleven years – is more beautiful now than he was then.

and i know that every single thing is.

it is impossible to hold onto the gossamer threads of these moments now. they fly by and next week i will feel like this week was eons ago. we are trying to hold them as we drift by in this sometimes-lazy-sometimes-raging river. they slip out of our hands, like trying to hold onto the river itself.

and everything – every single thing – has its own sparkle.

and we try to see that each day. we try to remember our very fragile place on the soil of this earth. we try to grok beauty in the simplest things and in the hardest things.

mostly, though, we can see it in each other and it reminds us. however beautiful he was before, he is way more beautiful now.

“from sleep i fall to waking” and morning – like time, in the way it keeps going and going – graces everything with shiny, shimmering glitter.

we look and – now – we can see it.

way more.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

EMBRACED NOW mixed media 48″ x 36″

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our caribbean vacation. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

we landed at our caribbean island a few days ago. anxious to stretch our legs, we dropped off our luggage and changed practical travel sandals to flipflops. the sun was out and the water was inviting. we were on the side of the island with some rocky shoreline but a beautiful footpath led us along to the sandy beach. we just couldn’t get over the color of the water, the sound of seagulls, the soft air, the bamboo populating the coast.

we haven’t ever been here before, but we are both excited to snorkel and maybe even dive – we are both certified scuba divers so having some time in this gorgeous ocean is appealing.

our airbnb is full of light, open to the outdoors, embracing everything tropical. there are two hammocks strung between trees and tiki torches all along the patio waiting for sundown. and we are lucky. we are here during a time that it is not too humid – there are cool breezes off the ocean, the birds are plentiful, the lizards run wild and free and the salty scent in the air is fresh.

we get to the beach and pull off our flipflops to feel the exquisite white sand on our feet. walking along water’s edge we decide there is nothing like this – it’s dreamy.

and – the fact of the matter is – it IS dream-y.

this is not the caribbean nor is this a tropical ocean. this photograph is taken along the harbor down the street from us on lake michigan. it’s all about the narrative.

if there is nothing else we have learned over the last eight years or so, it is to check the narrative of what you are hearing or seeing – BEFORE you believe it. it is to ponder the validity of the words that people around you are saying, to wonder if there is agenda behind those words, to inquire and research and find the truth.

because people tell tall tales – even those who you would never expect to fabricate, those from whom you would expect better, those whose positions literally suggest honesty, those whose integrity you count on. the guarantee is that you will be surprised.

so, before you think – wow! they are in the caribbean on vacation – realize you must never assume anything these days. for things are not always how they look and it is incumbent upon each of us to make sure we understand what really IS true.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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today. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

i just scrolled past a winnie the pooh meme. “what day is it?” asked pooh. “it’s today,” squeaked piglet. “my favorite day,” said pooh.

we went back.

we bushwhacked through the overgrown woodsy area to make our way under the big fallen branch and onto the beach. “our special beach” we called it. we couldn’t wait to get there – to this spot of sand and pebbled shoreline that rarely had any visitors.

we emerged from under the big fallen branch and stepped onto the sandy overlook to see a beach full of people, full of jetskis and motorized rafts, boats anchored in the water, waverunners zooming in and out of the new jettied cove.

wow.

we stood for a moment, taking it all in.

for this was the place we went to for quiet. this was the place we searched for hagstones. this was the place we sat on big pieces of wild driftwood, watching the waves come in, the waves retreat. the place to reflect, sort, breathe.

we stood for a few more moments, trying to grok it, decide what to do.

we took a walk on the shore where the waves meet the sand. it was clear a lot of work had been done on this beach. and we had to agree that it was truly beautiful, even in its changed state. we walked south and then back north. and we found that – all along – there was a parking lot that led to the beach. all along there was an easier way in. all along there was access. go figure.

as we walked south, with the waves lapping our feet – in the exquisite way that feels on a soft sandy beach – we remembered the other days we had spent there. beautiful, peaceful days. we talked about how grateful we were for those days.

and then we walked north.

we took the road past the marina and stepped onto the boardwalk. we hadn’t ever gone this way before.

the boardwalk wound its way past all the slips, around the yacht club, past the charters. on a most gorgeous day we delighted in this new place to stroll. the sting of the busy-ness of the beach faded and we planned on returning to “our beach” later – maybe a late evening, maybe in september. in the meanwhile, this stroll was the loveliest thing.

“what day is it?” i asked david, a little lost in time having been under the weather for over a week and just starting to feel better.

“it’s today,” he replied.

“ahhh…our favorite day,” we agreed.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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harbor. harbor. harbor. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

we watched the band on the lakefront at the harbor. the sky began to pastel itself into evening. the water reflected masts and the outline of the docks. at these slips i am gently transported back to northport harbor – days long ago – evenings filled with the clanking of rigs and seagulls seeking yet one more morsel. those were innocent nights and i couldn’t imagine myself anywhere else back then.

seagulls fly over our house fairly often since we live so close to the lake. their screeches fling me back in time just like the sun setting over the harbor. a lifelong sea-level girl who also adores the high mountains, i do love the water. we are fortunate to feel the presence of lake michigan – right…there. it’s not long island sound or the atlantic ocean, but it’s big water and we are aware of it, year-round.

we took a long walk along our lakefront the other day. the farmer’s market was bustling. there was a bridal party having a photo shoot in the breezes by the boats. six tiny children clustered around a cake singing happy birthday. food trucks were tempting and people wandered with big bundles of flowers. we turned from our harborfront and came back south – hugging the lake. few people, less hustle and bustle. we stood – with uninterrupted views of this really big lake – marveling at how beautiful it was and how fortunate we were to be able to walk along it at any time.

the guitarists sang and played songs from a variety of genres. they were terrific and the night was just-the-right-shade-of-cool. we sang along and i wanted to get up and dance in the grass a time or two. harbor thoughts floated as the sun set. we pasteled closer to darkness settling in and got ready to leave.

and the threshold of night – on the western sky – greeted us as we turned to go, boldly exclamation-pointing the evening.

*****

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

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to be here. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

there are days like this. when you can barely see the lake. were you not standing on its shore, watching its waves pummel the rocks below, you would not know. you would look out at the horizon and you would see nothing. the fog encases it all. even the line of sky and water. the fog here rolls in as the wind shifts and, for the closest mile in, all is awash in it.

i like to go to the lakefront on those days. it is beautiful. everything is in soft focus. and it seems somehow fitting to gaze out and not be able to discern much at all. there are days when it is important to be in the fog – to be wrapped in it – in order to remember to live the day – really, really live it.

we think ourselves able to plan, plan, plan. we believe our lists are important, get wrapped up in prioritizing what’s on them.

and the fog reminds us: things are not as clear as all that. they fall away into the mist as we stand, squinting our eyes to see. and then, the breath we see in front of our faces, the waves crashing near us as we stand on the boulders – they drop us into now.

i believe it would serve me well to remember the fog on clear days. to remember to hold it all lightly, in soft focus, to be where i am, to make the most of all of it, to not underestimate my fragility here. life is unfolding – both with and without my insistence on how, both with and without any clarity i might have, both with and without me.

until the sun burns through the fog to find the horizon, i am – once again – sitting in the interim of the fog, amazed at what i cannot see. not-knowing taps me on the shoulder. and reassures me that i have right-now.

and i am grateful to be here.

*****

happy birthday, my beloved daughter. 💗

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

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lake cleavage. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

if you are averse to talking about cleavage, you should stop here.

because this lens…standing near the east windows of the milwaukee art museum…granted the lake cleavage…something i am – thanks to inheriting more genes from my dad than from my mom – unfamiliar with.

in a cleavage world it is tough to be a non-cleavage girl. not being endowed cuts in so many ways.

i clung onto the cleavage i had – for like five minutes – when i had my babies and was nursing, though i doubt it even counts as a nursing mom. still…i thought, “cleavage! wowza!” but it didn’t stick around. as soon as they were weaned, my cleavage was snatched from me. voila! back to none.

i’m not sure if the universe has a sense of humor about these things. i mean, who doles out the cleavage? and, here’s another important and relevant point: i must say, our society has a thing about it – cleavage, that is…not so much the universe – and bra companies like victoria’s secret grant the world’s best bras – with names and adjectives like “wicked” and “bombshell”, “miracle” and “fantasy” and “sexy illusions” – to people who “have it”. causing things like the day i cried in v’s secret. (read that glorious tale here.) it’s not a fair world out there.

so, it was a given i would walk up to the round lens on the east side of the museum, gaze out at lake michigan and see cleavage. for heaven’s sake!

i looked at david and told him, “look, even the lake has cleavage!!!”

he gazed back, weighing his response carefully. very carefully.

“ahhh, but it’s not a cutie-patootie like you!” he suavely replied.

uh-huh.

a cutie-patootie.

in this american society bent on what-we-are-shaped-like, i don’t think that’ll get me far.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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