reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: love one another


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opening day. again. [merely-a-thought monday]

we wake up early anyway. there’s no alarm clock on saturday morning. yet, before the sun is barely above the horizon we are awake. we both lay and listen quietly to the quiet. birds, chipmunks, the pond out back, maybe the waves on the lakeshore if it’s windy. for just a little while, before the lawnmowers start or cars drive by or people empty their recyclables into the new big blue waste containers, if we close our eyes we can picture being wherever we want to be.

my big brother has now been on a different plane of existence for thirty years. 30. as of yesterday. it is shocking that so much time has passed by. for the longest time i had a hard time understanding how the world could go on, when he could no longer feel it. and yet, it did. those of us left behind had broken hearts and missed the sound of his laughter, the details of his stories, his giant bowls of coffee ice cream. we are left wondering how he is present with us, what he can see, what, if anything, he feels. it was a friday.

“this life is not a dress rehearsal.”

the magic of friday night seems ubiquitous. for those in a traditional workweek, the weekend stretches out in front of you, friday night’s yawns delicious and lingered in. there are two glorious days to follow, days of errands or adventures or catch-up or sleep or just simply nothing. two of them. days to declutter your brain a little and sink into a little less routine.

and then, suddenly, sunday.

and, too fast, monday.

and we find ourselves wishing for friday.

yet, there is something about mondays that we should probably lean into. another day. here.

i stand here, in the kitchen in the world in all its complexities and all its flaws, and the dog gives me a kiss before he starts his breakfast and i bring david freshly-brewed coffee in a favorite mug. he smiles as i approach his pillow and the dog pounces on the bed. the sounds of early-early monday morning are like the sounds of saturday, like the sounds of friday. the certainty of monday is no less or more certain than the certainty of saturday or friday.

i imagine my brother took with him the sounds of morning, the sounds of his beloveds, the sweet taste of first java and ice cream in a late-night bowl. i don’t imagine he reached out to grab things as he floated; there were certainly no trappings as dear as the party he had on thursday-the-day-before just being near those he loved. his hologram remains with each of us, his humor and brilliant mind within our grasp as we speak of him. he made – and makes – a difference in this world for us.

we can choose to shut down the party on sunday. last call before midnight, enough time to sleep for the new week. or i guess we can recognize it can keep going. to be standing here, now, in this spot – with all its chaos and all its bounty – is party enough.

the day starts in quiet. the sun is barely over the horizon. the birds are singing, chipmunks chirp. i can smell the coffee brewing. i am here. i don’t know how the world goes on once i can’t feel it anymore. but for now, i can.

and it’s opening day. again.

*****

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

in honor of my big brother, listen to ANGEL YOU ARE

(from AS SURE AS THE SUN ©️ 2002 kerri sherwood)

sip coffee, listen to the birds, love on your loved ones, kiss your dog. repeat.


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wait! what?!? [merely-a-thought monday]

elephant or bear. i’m trying to decide which i’d rather be called. both momma elephants and momma bears defend their young, protect their clans. i’ve decided to go with elephant (obviously, sans political statement), for it is said, “female elephants continuously protect each other from predators in the wild, providing one another a sense of security.” and i’m less grizzly-bear-growly than wrap-my-tail-around-them-draw-them-close. hmm. well, maybe i’m a little of both. either way, i’m not going to forget if you are mean to my children. i’m not going to forget if you are mean to my family. and, in this case, i’m not going to forget if you are mean to my spouse.

people can pretty much think anything they want. we artists are pretty much used to that. questions like “what do you reeeeeally do for a living?” have peppered us our whole lives. people stare and furrow their brows when we answer. and i’m guessing that it’s not just what we say. we must … look … and act … a little artsy… or something.

sidewalks are generally pretty black and white. concrete. stamped or not stamped. seamed between squares. jointer-tool-etched or not. dyed or not. though my sweet father-in-law would have happily described all the varieties of concrete possibilities to me, i am having trouble getting through on the heaven-line so i will have to linger in my narrower spectrum of understanding.

we have concrete. in our front walk by the street, in our driveway and in our walk to the front door. all of that concrete is permanent now – post-lead-water-line-replacement-the-story-that-would-never-end – except for one square (which i hasten to point out is actually a rectangle, though far be it from me to get stuck on a detail.)

this one square, er, rectangle, is up by our front door. temporary concrete lays cracked in the spot waiting for the real concrete, contraction line between it and the old sidewalk that has welcomed visitors for about, well, 94 years, i guess.

and it continues to wait.

because it’s a “weird little job” – not worthy of attention – uh, hello? every size audience counts. just sayin’. – and because the sub-sub-contractor is “afraid the guy won’t be happy because the color and curve won’t match the sidewalk that’s already there.” uh, hello? we are intelligent beings who can grok that different ages look different. letmetellyou, we can grok that. even in sidewalks. – and because he also said, “and he seems a little different.”

wait! what?!?

“he seems a little different.”???

i’m a-wonderin’ “whatintheheck?!” while i am reading this email that was forwarded to me from the sub-contractor-to-the-city, one step above the sub-sub in the project ladder.

“he seems a little different.”

funny. david had walked in from visiting with the sub-sub when he came to take-a-gander at our “small, weird project” and had said – about the sub-sub, “wow. he seems like a really nice guy. really knowledgeable and pleasant.”

i guess the sub-sub was a good actor.

because really nice guys don’t report – even sub-sub to sub – that the client, the customer, the resident – seems “different”. that’s just kind of mean.

i don’t know what i am supposed to glean from the forwarded-email-with-no-additional-message, but the elephant in me (or was it the grizzly bear?) did write back that, though tempted to ask for clarification on what precisely was meant by “he seems a little different”, i was not going to belabor the rudeness of such a statement. what does that have to do with anything here?

it begs the question: does this mean that the sidewalk won’t be done because “he seems a little different”??

the point is the sidewalk. finishing the job. the one that started last november. really nothing else. not david’s artistic look or his intelligent conversation. not how he seems. the point is the sidewalk. not his “seeming different”.

besides, dude. newsflash: now, so do you.

*****

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


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late season indeterminate. [k.s. friday]

maybe we are all tomatoes-in-waiting.

it’s easy to recognize that we have germinated, that we have early growth with initial leaves. we send down a taproot, stabilizing just a bit. we are nurtured and we learn self-care, both. changes during the vegetative stage are a little easier to see as we grow upward and outward, green and healthy.

flowering and early fruiting…these are easy to discern in the striding of early decades of life. rushing to accomplish, to get up the mountain and down, to run without ceasing, to move without pause.

the presence of ethylene – a gaseous hormone – triggers the fruit to ripen. i suppose i would like to think this is much like the graying of my hair, the wrinkles on my brow, laughlines evident, jowls mysteriously appearing. coming to maturity. ripening.

early season varieties require 50-60 days to mature. mid-season require 60-80. late season varieties require more than 80 days to reach full maturity. and later, senescence, a natural progression.

i wonder how that all translates to human years.

the fruit of determinate tomatoes ripens all at once. indeterminate tomatoes ripen fruit throughout the growing season, extending the crop harvest…longer and longer.

we can all wager our own guess; i’m thinking late season variety. this still-learning thing makes that abundantly clear.

and i’m hoping for indeterminate. never quite done.

*****

THIS PART OF THE JOURNEY ©️ 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood

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read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY


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to mask or not to mask. [flawed wednesday]

four of us. there were four of us at costco with masks on. me and three costco associates.

yet, we personally know more people – right now – who have covid, who just got over covid, who were just diagnosed with covid, who are in the hospital with covid – than at any other time during the pandemic.

yes. it is a royal pain to wear a mask. yes. they are completely optional. yes. you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. but every time – which is daily – we hear about someone else “testing positive” it serves as the impetus to – again – put on our masks before heading into the grocery store, into costco, into the home repair store, into crate and barrel, into the ace.

maybe we are overly conservative. we wonder this aloud. as artists, we have taken many chances, we have risked much, including financial stability. these choices – as artists – have not rendered us the label “conservative”. our political views are not conservative. our leaning toward simpler living is not run-of-the-mill conservative. “granola” maybe, but not “conservative”.

but the whole mask thing has us pondering over and over and over. in truth, we are trying to recognize the interconnectivity of everyone – what we do affects you, what you do affects us. we are trying to – in community – be cautious, be responsible. and we are trying not to test positive.

weeks – maybe even a couple months – ago we railed against it all. for one day we literally went into every store maskless. it was liberating. we could breathe easily, we could smile at other people. we wandered, our faces exposed, reveling in what-used-to-be. we exchanged glances at each other, an “ahhh”, rebels out and about.

later we heard that an entire family we knew was covid-positive. they were very ill and it had already lasted at least a week. we sheepishly donned our masks the next time out.

with all the home tests, we know that “the numbers” are not actually significant these days. there are many, many more people who have covid (or have had covid) than the government is aware of. it’s not like john or jane doe picks up the phone and calls the cdc when their home test is positive. we scarcely know the reality anymore.

we missed the phil vassar concert – twice now – because of this. we still haven’t dined out in our own town in two and a half years. you can still count the number of times we have dined out – period – on two hands over the entire course of this pandemic. we measured our risk those times and the benefit outweighed them. they were opportunities to be with our children, our family or ones very dear to us. when phil was playing a very crowded people-sandwiched-with-people summerfest last saturday, we were playing phil vassar on our deck, sipping wine, singing along in the waning light. granola.

yes, it’s completely optional to wear masks. and yes, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to; you are free – well, unless, of course, that includes things that the “apolitical” (ahem!) supreme court is now overturning or wishing to overturn, in which case your freedoms are limited and anti-abortion, anti-gay marriage, anti-contraception, anti-equality, anti-environment-protection, pro-gun-carry, pro-christian-only-public-prayer, pro-gerrymandering rulings will rule over you, should their push-against be successful. kinda makes masks child-play.

it gives me pause for thought as i think about all the people who have been giant and loud anti-maskers. are these all the same people? (yes, that’s rhetorical.)

the other day in costco i was walking down an aisle. coming the other way was a young woman, a worker, also in a mask. our eyes met. our eyebrows raised up a little. tiny lines appeared at our temples. and we exchanged a little granola love. i swear i could see a rainbow appear out of nowhere, peace signs floating, unicorns singing lyrics, something about “liberating strife”.

i took off my mask after i exited. and i breathed in the air of the land of the free and the home of the brave, the sweet land of liberty. from someone’s car radio system i could hear aretha spelling out “r-e-s-p-e-c-t….just a little bit…”

my sister texted her dear friend was in the hospital, with covid, on oxygen.

i tucked my mask into my purse, to use the next time.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this FLAWED WEDNESDAY


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it seems so simple. [merely-a-thought monday]

it seems so simple. love is love. not a lot to argue with there.

yet, there are those dedicated – no, rabid – about setting down deplorable narrow-minded rules about who-can-love-whom and the rights and freedoms of those whose love is for someone of the same gender.

it seems so simple. love is love.

yet, the crimes of hatred are aimed at the LGBTQ+ community every single day and leaders in government push to strip back protections insuring every single person’s ability to – simply – live in love.

it seems so simple. love is love.

yet, churches – sanctimonious, full of hypocrisy – spew pious words supposedly meant to revere, words canonized, words conveniently warped to fit agenda. we read the other day that a texas preacher declared all gay people should be lined up and shot in the head. where do you even start with that? what jesus would sign off on that kind of revolting hostility?

it seems so simple. love is love.

yet, this story of fighting for the freedom to love-whom-one-wishes-to-love goes on and on and on. and to what end? because power and control and aggression and anger and bigoted, intolerant ignorance rear their ugly heads and are loud, self-righteous, autocratic.

it seems so simple. love is love.

yet, our son – who we love so much, of whom we are proud – must concern himself with the cruelty of people who feel “their way” supersedes any other way, the frightened despicable heterosexuals with checklists of “normal”, and legislation, “religious freedom” and big guns to back them up.

it seems so simple. love is love.

yet, there is pushback against people just living, people just loving. wasn’t that the point – to live, to love others? what other point is there, really? how does the expression go? “and then you die.”

piglet: how do you spell love?

pooh: you don’t spell it. you feel it.

(a.a. milne)

*****

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


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vine-climbing. [merely-a-thought monday]

the 1977 graduating class of john glenn high school chose this song as our theme song. before the decision and ever since, it has remained a favorite. seals and crofts dominated our senior variety show – the one for which i wore a full wet suit including fins and played a piano duet -, our graduation, our prom, our yearbook. they played over and over in my bedside cassette player, on radio, on stereo systems throughout elwood and, likely, everywhere.

“so, i wanna laugh when the laughing is easy.

i wanna cry if it makes it worthwhile.

i may never pass this way again,

that’s why i want it with you…”

(jim seals, dash crofts – we may never pass this way again)

just last week jim seals died. he was 80. and suddenly, again, time flashes in front of us.

because somehow, listening to their music, i am back at 17 or 20 and they are in their early to mid thirties. but the years come and go and the journey keeps journeying, faster and faster it seems.

and so the moments and presence become infinitely more important and the stuff becomes less. the grand illusion of foreverness becomes foggy and we learn – little by little – sometimes, though, with ferocity – that we must be-here-now. we graduate and grow and regress and grow again and start to see that full spectrum is not so bad – that belly-laughing and weeping are both, indeed, necessary and that as we vine-climb from dirt to sky we are only really here to be with each other.

our beloved daughter was here for a couple days. any time we see her or our beloved son are those kind of rare-gift moments. we giggle and poke fun and talk and reminisce and ponder and there’s eye-rolling and i am astounded by them and, always, i cry upon their leaving or upon our parting. it is the hard part.

i know that we just never know. life has a way of teaching us that – again and again – though it is easy to forget, to push it aside. but the further up the vine we get, the more we recognize it. it is all so fragile. we may never pass this way again. simple. true. a calling, an imperative to say the stuff, to be vulnerable, to experience, to love, to acknowledge, to laugh, to cry, to be-with.

good choice of song, jhghs.

“all the secrets in the universe

whisper in our ears

and all the years, they come and go

and take us up, always up…”

*****

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


					
		
	



					



	

					
				

			
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cowboys and mayapples. [k.s. friday]

	


	

					








he sat easy in the saddle, cowboy hat planted on his head, his horse striding down the trail.  “have you seen the mayapples?” he turned his head toward us.  “yes, you were the one who told us about them,” i replied.  satisfied, he rode on.  





it’s hard to miss the canopy.  they stand tall and the leaves intersect like a three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle, gone a little wild.  it is as if the mayapple all joined hands, agreeing that their mutual umbrella is the point, their canopy of protection a priority.  the green is beautiful, lighting the floor of the forest.  i bend down to photograph them, again.





and there it was.  a stunning white flower.  hidden under the umbrella of a wide expanse of leaves above.  only stems with more than one leaf will flower; the delicate white bloom grows out of the axil of two leaves.  





we had never noticed the flowers before.  i don’t know why.  but the canopy stretches on and on and you must bend and peek to see the flowers.  they exist in this other-world, beautiful, showy, fragrant.  it came as a shock to us – how many times we had passed by the mayapple – to not know the existence of these pinwheel flowers, each one ever-important to the thriving of the colony.  the canopy provided shelter, guarding the precious flowers that will need be cross-pollinated and will then produce a berry ripe with seeds, ensuring mayapple’s continued spread.  so much going on in this tiny underworld of the forest.  nature continues on her merry way.





the cowboy seems to really love the mayapple.  though he doesn’t remember, each year he quietly tells us about them as he and his horse walk by.  it never appears that he is in a rush.  instead, he is slow and deliberate.  and those mayapples.





what beauty we all might find…were we to bend down and peek into the world.  what shelter we might provide were we to join hands, spreading out like the canopy of mayapples.  how we might protect what is precious to us, the delicate, the fragile, the children among us.  how we might lift each bloom and help it thrive.





we walk under a canopy of blue sky and inky stars.  we can do this.





*****









nurture me





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NURTURE ME from RELEASED FROM THE HEART ©️ 1995 kerri sherwood

					
		
	



					



	

					
				

			
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and love. [merely-a-thought monday]

	


	

					








it was, without a doubt, one of the holiest moments i have felt in the middle of almost ten thousand people.  it was more organic and held more of a sacred hush than most church services i have attended or of which i have been a part, which is saying a lot since my professional work as a minister of music was over three decades of tenure.  it was, without a doubt, something i will remember – a visceral memory – forever, probably.





matt maher was singing onstage at red rock ampitheatre, nestled in gigantic red rock formations and mountains in colorado.  mostly just him and his piano, his simple but profound lyrics had everyone on their feet, arms around each other, strangers and friends all alike.  moving from one song to the next, this man-who-was-not-the-headliner wove a net of love-for-humankind around us all and, for a few moments in time, we were transported to a place where love was – truly – the way.





“…and love will hold us together
make us a shelter to weather the storm
and I’ll be my brother’s [sister’s] keeper
so the whole world will know that we’re not alone…”





(matt maher – hold us together)





it – truly – is the only way.  





the aggression of our neighbors, our leaders, our country, our world is a broken path, filled with trolls and ogres, bastardizing efforts of goodness.  





this time is surely fleeting.  we are reminded, sometimes cruelly, of this every single day.





i walk on dusty trails, on the cement sidewalks of our neighborhood, in the grasses of mountain meadows, on the sand of seashores, always looking, looking.  our walks, our hikes – these are the places of true sanctuary.  for, often, in those other places there are bellicose voices, desiring argument, pushing agenda.  so instead now, we walk and breathe in the granola of the universe, under the sky of all possibility.  





and in the way of nature, they appear.  heart-shaped rocks, heart-shaped leaves, heart-shaped raindrops, heart-shaped puddles.  reminders, always, they stop me, sometimes to pick them up, sometimes to photograph them, sometimes to just simply ponder.  always, always, they give me pause…moments to think of beloveds, moments to have quiet gratitude, moments to think of love.  





“love is a place





and through this place of





love move





(with brightness of peace)





all places





yes is a world





and in this world of





yes live





(skilfully curled)





all worlds”





(ee cummings – love is a place)





though the world does not shake out the way we might choose it to be, we have the choice whether or not to reach out and put our arms around the person next to us, whether we know them or not.  we can choose to be shelter for each other or we can choose to be antagonistic.  we can choose to weather the storm or we can choose to be the storm.





we can choose to be alone or we can choose to be together.





“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












 






					
		
	



					



	

					
				

			
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fog. [k.s. friday]

	


	

					








and, if i am honest, i would tell you that i can feel the fog lifting.  finally.  i don’t think i knew the extent of the fog because fog is kind of like that.  dense and clammy, less penetrable by light.  once you are in it, you feel somewhat disoriented and everything looks different.  you can’t really tell how foggy it is because suddenly you have nothing with which to compare it.





we underestimate the importance of attending to our emotional health.  yes, there are all kinds of positive memes out there.  yes, there are self-help books galore.  yes, there are commercials on tv recommending therapy.  yes, yes, yes.  but we are stoic, we humans, and we are also stubborn and self-conscious.  and many of us underplay how we are feeling, so as not to make others uncomfortable with our grappling.  people ask how we are and our answer is “fine”.  it’s just too too much to give a real answer.  most people prefer answers with a little vague blurriness.





i ran into someone a bit ago at the fedex store.  she asked me how i was.  i told her.  i don’t mean i told her “fine”.  i actually told her.  i can’t say it was a mistake, but she was writhing and trying to get away, though i was simply telling her how i was.  i wasn’t verbose; it didn’t take much to say i had been struggling.  but it was a truth and maybe she would have rather heard that everything that had happened in the last couple years took no toll.  she wanted everything to be “fine”. 





i recently saw a meme on someone’s facebook page.  it read: “people don’t want to be talked out of their feelings.  people want to be heard, seen, felt and understood.” (rachel samson)  i always wonder if the people who post such things really mean them.  surely they have also experienced times of soupy, where there was a ceiling of zero and they were feeling all of what life had tossed them.





it is in looking back at the dissipating cloud of fog that you know a little more the extent of your murky.  it is in noticing light peeking in that you know a little more the extent of the loss of light.  it is in seeing more clearly that you know a little more how much clarity was missing.   it is in feeling my shoulders rise that i know that i have been bent under the weight of some sadness, some disappointment, some confusion.  





though we all function in the middle of our haze, out of necessity, out of self-preservation, out of obligation, there is a moment when a pinprick of brightness burns through.  we realize that the horizon is still there and that now, with the lure of distinct light and the buoys of clarity, we are headed in that direction.  we’ve been brave and we’ve pulled energy from every cell to get to to that point and we keep taking steps, taking steps.  





it isn’t easy.  despite advertising dollars spent, this society is not really about self-help.  it does not encourage time to be within oneself, time to rejuvenate, time to be healthy.  our ideals push success and prosperity, seemingly at the price of balance.  there is a cost for sharing what is real, for standing in fog, a worry of judgement and marks of weakness in our permanent record.  





it’s up to each of us to step aside the everchugging uphill-downhill train and catch our breath.  it’s up to each of us to breathe slowly and sort to that which makes us sit on the fulcrum of the nonstop seesaw.  it’s up to each of us to be gentle on ourselves, to lighten up, to seek soft days that feed us and give us strength for the other days.  it’s up to each of us to stand in self-care, to not worry ourselves with wondering about the judgement of others.  it’s up to each of us to eliminate the stigma of admitting struggle.  it’s up to each of us to support one another in the times of fog, to mean it if we ask “how are you?”.  it’s up to each of us to reach and touch the curtain of fog as it lifts, grateful not only for its leaving, but for what we learned about its presence.





“the fog has lifted
the weight is gone
lightness has returned
singing is in me
humor also
light again
and i do not know why- “





(shalom freedman)



















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WHEN THE FOG LIFTS from THIS PART OF THE JOURNEY ©️ 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood






					
		
	



					



	

					
				

			
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one way. not really. [flawed wednesday]

	


	

					








not really.





there is not really one way.





well, maybe i can make one exception: when driving and faced with a dead-end corner and a one-way street.  one way.  





otherwise?  not so much.





the headline read, “florida isn’t the only state pushing legislation that could be harmful to LGBTQ students.”  there’s also idaho, georgia, iowa, tennessee and oklahoma.  not to forget texas and whatever other states have jumped on the bigotwagon since this headline.  what?!  apparently, these are states in which leadership has decided there’s just one way.  and it’s theirs.





as the proud mother of a gay man, i have to wholeheartedly disagree with these folks.  any idea of “normal” that they have conjured up is a warped righteous positioning of power and control, some sort of strange arc into absolutism.  it does make one wonder about the possibility of people who need to compensate for something in their own lives.  it is astonishingly arrogant, haughtily heartless, cruelly uncaring, blindingly bigoted, disgustingly discriminatory, and sickeningly small-minded in the most prejudiced of ways.  





i’m guessing, then, that these same huffy lawmakin’ folks are sittin’ around makin’ it their business to raise questions about people, ponder others’ sexuality or gender, disparage people who identify differently than they do.  they are wringing their hands and plotting how to silence them, to marginalize them.  because their one-way is the only way and lives that may be richly influential, steeped in open-mindedness and the embrace and love of all humankind should be silenced and marginalized.





this is not the way.





there is not one way.  





for that, indeed, would signal a dead end.





*****





read DAVID’S thoughts this FLAWED WEDNESDAY