reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: live life my sweet potato


by 1 Comment

contentment. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

last night i decided that our version of contentment is different than others’ versions of contentment. our bar is lower. definitely lower.

and i’m content with that.

it doesn’t really take much to amuse us. we aren’t big retail shoppers or cruise people or fine dining connoisseurs. we don’t belong to “the club” or drive fancy cars or reserve lodging at all-inclusives. a bit of frenetic goes a long way. but everyone has their thing and everyone has their bar – set at where they feel like they have “reached it” or – at the very least – the “there” to which they are headed. for some, that bar is really meaningful.

we, on the other hand, are moseying around, meandering, checking in on the horizon from time to time. there is no artificial or competitive bar to beat ourselves up over. and tonight, i suddenly realized that i’m ok with that.

my sweet momma taught me long ago how to make something out of nothing – how to make adventures out of the mundane, how to make special that which is ordinary. it wasn’t like she – with chalk and a chalkboard and books of exercises on gratitude – taught lessons. instead, it was just simply watching her. she didn’t require a lot. i don’t remember her having shopping sprees or demanding anything spectacular for vacation. even her cooking was simple: she was a frozen-veggie person, having converted from canned veggies. i don’t remember red peppers from growing up. i don’t remember real garlic cloves or avocado. i do remember her roast beef and i can still picture the index sized recipe card titled “a decidedly delicious way to roast beef” – a simple recipe for which she was well-known. and i remember her lemon pudding cake. we didn’t go to restaurants but for very special times in those growing-up years. she didn’t try to entertain me or over-schedule me. 

and so i feel like i learned early that life is what you make it and dreams can be any size you wish. 

for out that window – in the big ole world – there are many rungs in that great big ladder of life. neither of my parents seemed to really concern themselves with those rungs, that ever-rising bar. they just were who they were and they made the most of that.

in the days and weeks and months and years that have gone by since both my momma and poppo transitioned to the next plane over, there haven’t been times that i – one of the few people who would truly – really-truly – care about them and the details of their lives – have wondered about their work, their jobs, their salary, their retirement plans, their investments, their titles or certificates of merit, accolades of their careers or even the stuff they owned. i haven’t given thought to their bar or whether or not they achieved “it”. 

what i have thought about is the contentment i saw on my momma’s face when her family walked in the door, the sparkle in my dad’s eyes. what i have thought about is the smell of coffee first thing in the morning and sitting at their kitchen table, just talking about whatever. what i have thought about is their generosity of spirit – giving to others in need whatever they had. what i have thought about is their loving support of their children. i’ve thought about the stink-eye of my mom and the grin of my dad. i’ve thought about hearing the words “my sweet potato” and “brat” from their lips. i’ve thought about stories and chocolate ganache cake, egg mcarnsons and cold homemade french fries. nothing too complicated, nothing striding up and over the bar.

and so i guess i come to it honestly, this contentment. keeping expectations in check and appreciating the tiniest things make every single thing that happens count. i am ticking these off on fingers and toes, not in mutual funds and bonds and annual passes and the latest models – for those are someone else’s contentment.

i won’t say no to goodness as it shows up. i will tuck it in with us. and i will keep my eyes on the horizon, even as we wander, lingering and moving on.

and in the moments that follow this great big life i know that none of this will matter: my gpa, the degrees on my wall or stashed in a bin, the bank account or the vault with jewelry, the car in the driveway or even the cds – with my name on them – in stacks of boxes in the basement. what i hope will matter is the look of contentment on my face – standing in a warm old house gazing out the ice-flaked window knowing – simply – what it feels like to love and to be loved. what i hope to leave is that it really doesn’t take much to be content and to make the most of it.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. ~ thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a simple tip-jar website where you may choose to support the continuing creating of artists whose work resonates with you. xoxo


by Leave a comment

orange sherbet and milkweed. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

the orange sherbet sky is a stunning backdrop to most anything but the milkweed’s wisp is anything but most-anything.

we pass by and notice. we pay attention. texture and color and movement from the gentlest breeze – it is a photograph before it was a photograph. my job was simply to snap it.

our days are slower. we linger in not-knowing. we acknowledge time as it sneaks by. and the next week comes before any of us are ready, before it seems possible. even the milkweed is surprised.

we are learning lesson after lesson. that this is life: the things our fingertips touch, the scent on the wind, the view before us, the call of the black-capped chickadee, the ground under our feet. we are caught up by the impermanence of it all. we are realizing the folly in the gathering of stuff. we immerse in the river where there is no stratum. we feel the moment, without knowing the edges of next.

the orange sherbet sky doesn’t dawdle. color has another place to be. and as the sun drops below the horizon, the shadow-gaps fill in.

we stand with the milkweed in dusk, close, loitering in early night and, with gratitude and rest, ready for next.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. ~ thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a “tip-jar” website where you may help support the continuing creating of artists you value. thank you for your consideration. xoxo


by Leave a comment

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

there is this corner in our lakefront neighborhood. we take walks around the ‘hood, looking forward to this particular spot.

in the middle of every other nod to autumn, this corner glows. the maples there are in soft focus – all golden and pink. it is like seeing through a filter, stepping under a fresnel spot with a lighting gel. we make room to stop and take it in…each and every time we pass by.

some things are like that. we know them well and, yet, we anticipate them, knowing how they make us feel, knowing that we will be better for them. these trees.

there are spots on our favorite trails like this…when we enter the pine stands or when the trail curves through the forest…when we walk high above the river below us…when we turn into the afternoon sun with the meadow to our right. there is a spot as we come out of the tunnel on the highway and i can see the high rockies stretching out in front of us. there is a spot on the ditch trail in aspen – at the end – deep in the woods where there are rocks you can sit on as the stream breaks around you. there is a fallen log in breckenridge, up a ways on the path, next to the brook. there is another higher, in the meadow that opens to the sky.

someday, i will go stand again where my daughter and i stood, in canyonlands, and i will satisfy the anticipation of being there – in that spot of unspeakable emotion – once again.

someday, i will go stand on crab meadow beach again and – with anticipation and all-that-has-been-since washing over me – maybe i will feel what i used to feel there, way way earlier, the freedom of being, the anticipation of future.

the knowing of these places doesn’t take them off the list of places-to-go. rather, it’s the sheer knowing that keeps them on the list. it’s the recognition, the familiarity, the unbridled comfort.

as we turn the corner and look ahead, we can see the trees down at the next intersection. so much beauty. we both look forward to getting closer.

we are not on a luxurious vacation nor are we rambling much away from our careful budget. we are recognizing the we-are-here-ness and that is what we have right now – we have right now. if we can remember to anticipate each moment this way, we will truly be living.

and then, there is the feeling when we see our driveway, when we walk in the door. the spotlight pulls back and bathes our home in gratitude.

*****

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

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. ~ thank you so much. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may offer help to artists you love so that they may continue creating the work you value. thank you for your consideration. xoxo


by 1 Comment

life itself. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

“we got the chance to be young and the chance to grow old.” (kate)

in her next breath, her voice huskier with emotion, she added, “not everyone has had that chance.”

in the arc of the art of living, we hold gratitude for this very life.

and, hopefully, somewhere in there we have gained some wisdom. hopefully, somewhere in there we have held love and relationships before material gain. hopefully, somewhere in there we have chosen truth over institution or divisive politics or agenda. hopefully, somewhere in there we have helped someone else and we have tried to grasp what it might be like walking in their shoes. hopefully, somewhere in there we have stood in a sunrise or sunset, incredulous. hopefully, somewhere in there we have seen extraordinary color and shape in art, heard exquisite frequencies of pitch and timbre in music, moved in a dance, read words we store away to never forget. hopefully, somewhere in there we have granted and been given grace. hopefully, somewhere in there we have felt the flimsy threads of a floating dandelion seed, the solid rough granite, the dirt, beneath our feet, the breaking wave on a shore or a stream as it flows through our fingers, rain and sun on our faces, the embrace of a beloved, the wind carrying the love and wisdom of the arcs of all before us.

hopefully, we hold life itself – breathing – tenderly.

*****

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

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. ~ thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a “tip jar” donation site where those who value the work of artists they love may help support the artist’s ability to continue to create. thank you for your consideration. xoxo


by 1 Comment

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

“…and i got saved by the beauty of the world.” (mary oliver)

there are the tiniest of moments – like this one – when everything harsh, everything wrought, everything dark or full of angst, everything of challenge just falls away. like the universe took a feather duster to the worries stoked up on your shoulders and reminded you. to breathe. to feel the realness of the moment. to be hyper-vigilant of all senses. to be in it.

it could just as easily slipped by, unnoticed. the fresh air, rich colors, the sun filtered through layers of pine, the scent of a humid summer day, the gravel path. it could have been lost.

but i am grateful to have stopped. i am grateful any time i remember to stop. to have perspective. to grasp onto the tiniests. to allow myself to be saved by the beauty of the world.

*****

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

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. ~ thank you so much. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a donation “tip jar” site where you may support the continued work of artists you value. thank you for your consideration. xoxo


by 1 Comment

the ellipses at nightfall. [merely-a-thought monday]

it was the last night. we stood out on the porch and then out in the east field, the farmhouse behind us. the dark of iowa-night rained down on us as we peered into the sky to see the constellations. we could feel the “last” of the last night. but out there, on the horizon – in the way an ellipsis works – the ellipses had a reminder: it’s never really over. the horizon lights suggested the story would be trailing on and on – up till now and then dot-dot-dot…

the story dot-dot-dot – without definition, without a distinct end, unrestrained – keeps on…

last week’s time in iowa and return home gave us grounding…reminders…learnings. feet firmly planted…spine tall…solid and trusting, we intentionally rearranged our thoughts – trying (because it’s not easy and it always takes the work of trying) to put aside worry and angst, instead centering on being steady and calm. the decision to not panic. the ellipsis of keeping on…

the impermanence sticks with us.

and we know it doesn’t matter that there is rust on our hubcaps or that our countertops are chalkboard/food-safe-wax-painted-wood. we know it has no bearing on real life that we don’t wear trendy name-brand clothing or that we actually like $2.50 old navy flipflops. we know that leftovers nourish us just like restaurant fare and we are not worried if we never get to sit at the table of a three-star-michelin. we know that there are wines of great robust but we continue to sip apothic and splurge on the new broadside (paso robles) we found. the ellipsis of keeping on…

the transitory taps us on the shoulder.

gathered, we listened to stories of the past, suddenly way long ago. we went to the pioneer cemetery high on a hill overlooking planted cropfields. the 1800s were just a moment ago there. and, just as the years fly by, we know that the incandescent kite we each fly has fragile filmy threads. our hands – holding the moment – age before our eyes. the ellipsis of keeping on…

the ephemeral sounds harmonic overtones we can hear.

we gaze at the peony buds in the backyard. they will soon bloom – in their sweet time – and they will stun all who walk by. their beauty will not be forgotten. each one has opened to the sun and told its own story. each one. and then dot-dot-dot…

the ellipses remind us.

*****

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

if you would like to support our content creation, the QR code above and this will bring you to an online “tip jar” xoxo


by 1 Comment

howard and mary. [merely-a-thought monday]

“1. i don’t spend my days retired. 2. i don’t let myself get out of shape. 3. i don’t smoke. 4. i don’t restrict myself. 5. i don’t let my knowledge go to waste.” (dr. howard tucker – “at 100 years old”)

he’s a centenarian, so it would seem like his words would have some clout. his rules – so simple. and #5!! still a practicing physician, he is pragmatic and dedicated, believes in moderation, enjoys broccoli and brussels sprouts and sharing wisdom gleaned in the decades of his work. the passing of knowledge back and forth – to the younger workers in his field and back to him – he emphasizes acknowledging the importance of the gathering together of experience, education, hard work. he sounds like a delightful person.

we sat next to mary on a thursday afternoon at the milwaukee public market. on a stool at the bar of the st. paul fish market booth, we sipped wine and ate shrimp gumbo. mary pulled up a stool, ordered a beer and some oysters. i was transported back home – to long island – where fresh seafood abounds and i’ve sat on plenty a bar stool eating clams-on-the-halfshell or baked clams or lobster bisque.

mary whispered that she was celebrating her birthday that day – 74. we started to sing to her and she hushed us. we finished in low tones for it seemed that we might be her only sung song that day.

in the brief period of time – maybe an hour or so – that we sat next to mary, we learned plenty. she was engaged.in.life. she was a little bit raucous, a little bit edgy, a-lot-a-bit delightful. we talked about oysters and beer and irish men, ireland and nova scotia and downtown milwaukee, volunteering and learning and olive oil and balsamic vinegar. she talked about work; she talked about how important previous and long experience is for employers. ahhh, if they could all hear mary’s sage words. and she shared a sea bass recipe we forgot to write down. i suspect she and howard would be friends, had they a chance to meet.

in the meanwhile, i keep wanting to go back to the market on a thursday, pull up the stools we had at the end of the bar and wait for mary.

*****

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

buymeacoffee.com if you would like to support our writingwritingwriting


by 1 Comment

a good day for some cake. [merely-a-thought monday]

“stay young by continuing to grow. you do not grow old, you become old by not growing.” (wilferd a. peterson – the art of living)

we would like to be like frank. he will be 90 this month and his busy life could make many people feel like couch potatoes. he is interested and curious and makes himself available to volunteer for a wide variety of organizations. he is our go-to excuse for sipping apothic – “it’s such a drinkable wine,” he says. he’s not afraid to try new things. the art of staying young – he has this down pat.

today is eileen’s birthday. she is 100. one hundred. it’s quite the life you’ve lived when you were born in 1923 and it is now 2023. always interested, she loves the chicago tribune. her desk has stacks of issues, piles of stories she has read or, at this stage of health, it counts to even just simply touch the newsprint. 20 talks to her about current events, encourages her to think, to discern, to learn – even at 100.

we celebrated her birthday with butter-creme-heavily-frosted layered chocolate birthday cake, hyacinth and tulips, catered sliders and quesadillas and apothic. frank would have approved. we studied boards with photographs of a little girl named eileen, eileen and duke as young marrieds, the sassy and spirited and fashionista eileen, a mother named eileen, a grandmother. i’m certain it seems to her now that the 100 years have flown by, for indeed that’s how time is. as she was wheeled into the party room her words were boisterous, “i made it!”

my own sweet momma would be 102 this year and my dad 103. my dad always said he was going to be 100. he did not make it. he died when he was 91. my mom never stated those aspirations but she, as well, was not a centenarian, crossing planes at almost-94. my dad, never one to turn down any dessert would have devoured a big slice of eileen’s cake. and my mom would have sat at the table with eileen asking questions and telling stories. i wish we were also having their cakes, most definitely chocolate ganache, but soon now those crossing-over anniversaries will come again and i will burn candles and blow kisses into the universe.

it’s all a mystery, this life. how long we get to live it, how many desserts, how many sips of toasting wine. seems like – once again – there’s no time to waste.

maybe today is a good day for some cake.

“tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” (mary oliver)

*****

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


by 1 Comment

not “eh”. [d.r. thursday]

the little girl squealed. at full tilt – for a toddler – she ran toward the dome calling out to anyone listening, “i get to go inside!!!”

i daresay that there was not an adult present who was not invigorated by her unbridled enthusiasm, by what she saw so many of us may have forgotten. through her child’s eyes.

“you turn the pages back for me…to the way i used to be…./and now my darkest night is coming to an end, since i began to see through a child’s eyes…again.” (lowen and navarro – through a child’s eyes)

we all picked up the the pace, heading to the starry dome. a mass of people practically careening down the path to join in the lighted dome, under the light display and inside the music.

“you don’t go outside and see a starry night and say, ‘eh,'” anne said. “you say, ‘wow!'” (diane mina weltman – “an evening with anne lamott”)

“eh” was not part of this night. this extraordinary display in the garden – this amazing constellation above our heads as we stood in the dome with the jumping-bean-little-girl – was not “eh”.

and, in rare moments when you can feel the threads connecting you to the earth and all that is in it – the big, the little, the massive, the tiny – those moments you can touch the gossamer, the incandescent, the enduring, the evanescent – you – really – realize that none of it is “eh”, none of it is “same-old-same-old”, none of it should actually require any less enthusiasm than a toddler at full tilt.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

CHICAGO BOTANIC GARDEN LIGHTSCAPE 2022
CHASING BUBBLES – david robinson


by 1 Comment

the west wall. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

it’s the west wall. and every morning as the sun streams in across the room, we comment. it’s one of those images that you anticipate, that stays with you, that you miss on cloudy days – a new day captured between miniblinds. and, because we were there and so was he, we know the shadow in the bottom left window pane is a shadow of dogdog’s furry ear and the nape of his neck. his ritual – laying on the bed with us in the morning as we sip coffee and the sun works on rising.

it will soon be a year since columbus – david’s sweet dad – died. it is now just days away. i knew him for merely eight years. but he was easy to adore. he still is. i talk to him every time i get into big red, feeling his presence as i crank up country music and roll down the windows. i don’t even know if he cranked up country music and rolled down the windows, but i sense his approval and it makes me smile. he had a gentle way about him and his shadow leaves soft edges in my heart. i told david that it will get a little bit harder each day now. there is no changing that. not feeling his absence is like trying to keep an open candle lit in the wind. impossible.

the anniversary of his leaving-this-earth forces one to recognize mortality. when my big brother died, it foisted upon me an absolute sense of a lack of infinity – time goes by and the world continues on, yet there will come a time that our relationship with the world will no longer feel the same and our shadow will be a little less pronounced, a little less definitive, a little fuzzier, though no less present. when my poppo and then, three years later, my sweet momma died, i was struck by the sheer ludicrousness of how wrapped up we all get in everylittledetailofeverything. it felt like we should spend more time shadow-dancing together in the sun and less time in the actual shadows. there is no time to waste. we learn it – and forget – again and again. and again.

in the way of shadows and energy and love, we know that our dogga can feel us, despite our temporary absence from him as we travel. just like the people we love – here and not here – he is right with us.

the west wall reminds us.

*****

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