reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: love


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the nest. [d.r. thursday]

apparently, tucked into the dried grasses next to breck-the-aspen-sapling and surrounded by fallen leaves and mulch, the mama bunny tended the nest for about a week. it was the first time we had had a bunny in the backyard. squirrels and chippies and many birds and even a fox, but no bunnies.

there was a day we saw the bunny for the first time. she hopped and scooched under the deck, hiding. we saw her at the base of the birdfeeder, munching. and we saw her nibbling on the green sprouting up around barney.

and then, there was the day we realized that this bunny, that hopped to and fro in our yard, especially around dawn and dusk -scooting away from dogga and under the back fence – was building a nest. we didn’t see her leap a binky into the air – all four paws off the ground – but we imagine she must have been about-that-happy.

and then, the day we peeked under the grasses to see two tiny bunnies scrunched together, their little bunny-bodies breathing quickly, rising and falling, rising and falling. life is amazing, isn’t it? we went on high alert for these sweet little babies and, for the next week or more, mostly went out with dogdog to be sure they were safe.

and then, the day that i looked out the back windows behind our metal frame headboard and saw a tiny bunny hopping along the fence and heard a noise. i ran through the house and out the back door to see dogga carrying one of the bunnies in his mouth. he dropped the kit, who scampered off unraveled, as soon as i said “drop it!” so i was relieved. but still. i felt a sense of parenthood for these tiny creatures. “keep them safe” became my mantra. i celebrated their little lives and kept tiny pompoms close at hand as they left the nest and went to explore the world.

it’s impossible to keep your children safe. you do the very best you can while they are in your care – growing up – but they go to school, to sports, to music lessons, to playdates, to after-school jobs, to stores and concerts and parties. you can’t be all those places, so you have to learn how to let go a teeny-weeny bit. they begin to drive and you have to learn how to let go a teeny-weeny bit more. and then, they go to college maybe or move out maybe or both. and you let go a teeny-weeny bit more. and then they move away and your heart breaks and soars, both – even though you will only talk about the soaring – even though they know the breaking part. and you let go a teeny-weeny bit more. ahhh. it’s not easy, is it?

our daughter drove across the country last week. from the east coast to the mountain west. by herself in ivy, her suv. i remember my sweet momma calling me as i drove long-distance, alone. i both loved it and didn’t love it. i tried to remember this as my beloved daughter drove, not wanting to be annoying, as is so easy to do. i sent her texts cheering her on and held big space for her as she traveled. she was constantly on my mind. i know she knows that. “keep her safe,” i implored the universe. (and how many times have we all said that about our children, i wonder.)

she arrived without harm or incident, like the bunnies running along the back fence and zipping underneath. i am grateful. i can only keep her close in-heart.

and each and every day – my mantra for my girl and my boy is the same – “keep them safe”. my pompoms are at easy access as they explore the world. they are all-grown-up. the nest is empty but i quietly binky – like ecstatic bunnies – every day thinking of them.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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forsythia. home. [k.s. friday]

forsythia.

it’s coming-home for me.

at the front corner of my growing-up yard on long island was a forsythia bush. and many years, at the march of my birthday, i remember having my picture taken there. home. spring. there are few things that make me think of Home like forsythia does.

except for maybe the voice of my beloved daughter on the phone. she is forsythia for me. for just moments or for an extended conversation or – if i am fortunate – in person together, the sound of her voice, her zeal, is Home.

and except for watching the way my beloved son immerses himself in his music. his hands – now all-grown-up man-hands – moving dials and sliders, his voice and body dancing, his explanations – it’s forsythia for me. Home.

and except for the look across the room from david – the moment he touches his hand to his chest while in his gaze – forsythia. Home.

and dogga – at the door with his angel-babycat greeting me – thrilled, once again, to see us. forsythia. Home.

and the love and care and concern that are abundant in our lives – our family, our friends. forsythia. Home.

and the work we have chosen to do – create – music, paintings, many-many words, cartoons. forsythia. Home.

it’s not a yellow brick road. it’s forsythia.

*****

THE WAY HOME ©️ 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood

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a mission of symphony. [two artists tuesday]

though not quite as at-home as the cranes walking the edges, we know this pond. we knew it as a marsh. we knew it as dry dirt. we knew it with mulch strewn throughout as they eradicated invasive species. we watched as the rains began to fill it. we listened to the quiet wind ripple across its surface. and then, one day, we heard the first frogs. though we cannot see them, the orchestra pit is filled with frogs in chorus. the static becomes a symphony.

such is the way of a choir. for well over three decades, i conducted groups of people who chose to sing – in choir. they gathered, sitting in folding chairs cold with mid-week evening thermostat dips. they gathered, weary from their days at work or home, filled with activities of responsibility, of life. they gathered, to become a symphony.

the thing about choir rehearsals is that – with good leadership – they go from a meeting of a group of individuals to a collaboration of musicians, from quiet chatter to boisterous song, from people who possibly feel ill-at-ease to people whose voices are heard, whose hearts are seen. choir rehearsals are community events and – led with joy – become places that are generative, places that are accepting not competitive, places of great learnings and tremendous laughter, places that are spaces filled with concern for the other, lifting up of each other, a place with a mission of goodness, a mission of symphony.

i’ve missed being a choir director. it’s been over two years now and the lack of vocal choirs, ukuleles, handbells, worship bands is palpable for me. directing was always about the community – building it, reinforcing it – life-giving, loving. my resume shows seven churches along the way. seven communities in which i offered all i could give, responding to their individual needs, their particular circumstances, their strengths and their weaknesses. seven fluid rivers of music-making.

seven ponds with symphonies. rippling out.

quietly static to extraordinarily alive.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY


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castings. [two artists tuesday]

back in the day, when i was a small child, we laid shells in sand cavities we had carefully dug out of the beach, filled in plaster of paris and a little water and made sculptures, castings of shapes. mine was a fish. not a very good fish, i might add, but a fish nonetheless. my brother made an anchor and my sister made a seahorse. the castings instantly came to mind when we passed by this leaf impression in the snow.

soon, others would walk on the trail and it is likely that their footprints covered the leaf. or, possibly, the sun came out and the edges of the leaf – so clear on our passing – melted. i don’t know. what counted is that the leaf was there when we passed by.

the last time i sat by my brother’s side, he told me a few stories about being my big brother. i still remember how that felt. his words – a little fuzzier, with a little less clarity – echo in the bank of memories i have, my heart ever-full, his little sister. though the impression has melted a bit with the thirty years of sun since he died, it is no less profound than it ever was.

even if it doesn’t look quite like a fish – or a leaf – each impression is actually indelible and its invisible sculpture takes up a tiny space in our hearts and minds. castings you can look at any time you want.

kind of makes you want to make sure each moment is worthy of plaster of paris, a few shells and a little time to cure.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY


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my tiny bonsai. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

if the price tag had not read $9.99, i would have purchased this tiny stake sign. but, at that very moment, despite the it-made-me-pick-it-up marketing, $9.99 seemed a tad bit high for a five inch tall sign. still, ridiculously cute.

our sunroom is filled with plants – everything from an exploding ponytail palm to stalwart tiny cactus twins “the dots”, to charlie, the heart-shaped leaf philodendron to snakeinthegrass sansevieria to kc, my difficult bonsai gardenia. kc is my problem plant-child. i mist kc, i use distilled water, i have fed it and keep the bottom tray filled with moisture, i turn it to face the sun. despite my attempts to have conversation, to really share life – for i talk to it every single day – kc is stubborn. next i will seek specific bonsai gardenia plant food – there are several options online. i’ll probably do some research to really determine the proper way to nurse this treasured plant back to good health. i’m not sure where i went wrong and it means so much to me that kc will be healthy and will grow – unfettered and with wild abandon. my relationship with this tiny plant has become a challenge.

you would think, had i purchased the tiny sign, that i would have placed it in one of the burgeoning clay planters. there’s a posse of plants responding to being nurtured. you would think that the e.s.p. of choice might be one that is flourishing.

but it’s not so. i, for sure, would have placed the stake into kc’s pot. for this plant – despite its complexity – is dear to me and is most definitely my emotional support plant. kc is a tiny slice of real life, a little unrooted, a little nutritionally off. when i got it, there were two buds on it. they never opened and, instead, fell to the dirt. my nurturing is not quite right yet. something is not quite right. feeling a little defeated, i keep trying to figure it out.

one of these days, i hope, i will walk into the sunroom and a tiny bud will have formed. and then – the day it begins to slowly blossom – i will know that i have done something right, something that touched it, something that let this little plant know its cherished place in my heart. its bloom will open and i will know that kc is ready and present – with me.

in the meanwhile, i will just keep on keeping on, trying to be steady and, just off to the sidelines, giving it unconditional love. i’m trying to be patient and let it do its own thing, while i quietly do everything in my heart to support it. i am rooting for this bonsai every day and i know that the bloom that will someday come will be inordinately beautiful, exquisite in every way.

*****

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


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tiny heart. big love. [two artists tuesday]

that babycat would be 14 today. it’s an unofficial birthday because he just showed up and no one was there to tell us all about his birth, about the litter of kittens he was from, about his momma or his papa. february 28 was the day chosen for him and we celebrated it – and him – each year.

it’s been almost two years since he became an angel-cat. and, in the way that our sweet pets profoundly impact us, we miss him every day. our babycat had a big presence in our home and lives. he still does.

i just read an article about love written by neuroscientist Stephanie Cacioppo in which she reminded the reader that it indeed is “better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all”. all love. including our amazing animals, i’d insist.

though his own life was not nearly as long as i wished it to be, babycat saved mine. his tiny heart in the universe changed me.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY


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anything’s possible. [merely-a-thought monday]

“anything’s possible,” he said to me.

we were sitting on the couch, talking. there’s much to ponder, to talk over, to talk about.

“anything’s possible,” he repeated.

even before lipton suggested it for american heart month*, my sweet momma and i had #liptonteatalks. at the end of the day – after i’d get home from school – we’d sit on the couch in front of the big bay window, a hot mug of lipton tea in our hands, chips ahoy cookies on a plate – and we’d talk. #teatalks. i would give a lot for another #liptonteatalk with my mom. there was so much to talk about back then too. the world was at my fingertips – out there – waiting for me to decide where to go, what to do, how to move into it. it feels so long ago.

there’s been a lot of life since those #liptonteatalks with my momma. i have been fortunate to have had #teatalks and #coffeetalks and #winetalks with dear people, connections that value real talktalk, hard questions as well as the simple ones, introspective musings as well as anecdotal tale-telling.

we’ve been together ten years now – our connection is really relatively fresh. we still have stories to tell each other – things we never thought about before – things we need to talk through with a loving ear – things we’ve wondered about the days to come, quietly in some space in our hearts and minds. we tell stories to each other on the couch, on trails, in the car on long drives, under the quilts at the end of a long day. we take turns being the bottom rock of the cairn; we take turns being the kite in the wind, ribbons loosely – but safely – wrapped to the other’s wrist, grounded in flight.

in one of my favorite scenes of one of our favorite holiday movies – a season for miracles – the little girl is on a clue-filled treasure hunt. she ends up at the library, finding the treasure – the book the secret garden. tucked inside the book is the last note: “anything is possible.” it’s a heartwarming moment, a foreshadowing of one of the last lines of the movie, narrated at the end by the same little girl. “anything’s possible,” she reminds us.

sometimes it takes an other in our lives to remind us of this – to embrace the possibilities. sometimes with a cup of tea in our hands. always with big heart.

*****

*”a tea talk is a great time to have a meaningful conversation about your heart health, plan healthy meals for the week, pause and take time to meditate with a cup of tea, map out your weekly schedule to ensure you are including physical activity and even schedule doctor’s appointments to get your heart health checked.”… “time for women to prioritize their heart health by engaging with family, friends, and doctors in open conversations about their needs, concerns, and goals, helping them embrace healthy habits, especially those that are good for their heart.” (Lipton)

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


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found hearts. [two artists tuesday]

it was snowing and we were walking along the lakefront – on third avenue. we cut in through the park and walked along the shoreline. though it wasn’t obvious in just a glance outside, the wind was pretty fiercely blowing the falling snow south, so walking north meant keeping our heads down and imagining that we would look like all our pals on life below zero after our walk – frozen eyebrows, d’s beard all crusty with icicles, my hair frozen to my hat. later, on our return trip home, it was easier walking south than north.

i’m not sure how the tree above the sidewalk melted the snow to be a heart. no person was involved – ours were the only prints on the walk or anywhere nearby; i suppose no one else wanted to be outside in the storm. it was a mystery. but it was a perfect heart.

it’s our tenth valentine’s day. we don’t celebrate this holiday in a big way. it is also his birthday, a valentine baby for his momma. a few years ago he sent me a dozen roses for the first time. expecting them to be exquisite, they arrived – as you remember – disheveled and mostly petal-less. all the buds had fallen to the bottom of the hefty delivery box. i gathered them into a crystal bowl. rose petal lemonade.

it is not likely that he will have roses delivered again. but hearts – on the other hand – we find them together everywhere. on-trail rocks, caramel autumn leaves, tucked inside acorn centers, maple tree winged seeds, puddles, morning glory leaves, pieces of shredded prayer flags, raindrops lingering on the leaves of plants, in snow. i don’t think we actively look for them. but they show up. much like real hearts.

found hearts are different than purchased roses. in pretty much every way. they don’t try to be beautiful. they don’t arrive all glitzy and wrapped. they don’t make statements. they are not haughty nor does the color matter. they are simply waiting to be seen, to be recognized. and they don’t cost anything.

they are a gift – like real found hearts are.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY


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there. together. [k.s. friday]

people-who-stick-by-us for $1000, please.

roller-coaster-soap-opera-never-a-dull-moment-ever-changing life gifts us with people along the way.

some of them are in it – with us, as it’s said, for a season. we fill each other’s cups with the companionship of friends or loved ones, but time has a way of placing itself between people and proximity of place or heart push at the ability to spend time. schedules and responsibilities and changes interrupt the flow together and we drift.

some people are in it – with us – for specific reasons. they are colleagues, they are universe-drop-ins who walk alongside as we grow and evolve, in our work, on a walk we have chosen, a trail we have been set upon. they stop at waysides as we travel on and we lose touch.

others are just there. they may be constant companions; they may be in-and-out. but, whenever we wish or they wish, they are there and we are there. they ride the coaster with us, laugh with us, ponder with us, cry with us, get pissed with us, celebrate with us. we share stories, we share the truth, we share disappointments, challenges, impossible summits. it can be weeks, months, years and it is just as easy. they are touchstones in our lives and, likely, always will be. we spend time together and time apart, but they are never far away. they are our posse. and we could not do life without them.

we stopped on the trail and i sat on a bench, pulling off the boots that were making my feet beyond sore. jen offered her socks; she offered her boots. instead of rendering her shoe or sock-less, i used her bandaids. we loaded up my feet with bandaids and i didn’t tie the boots, clomping through a few miles in the snow, curling my toes to keep them from falling off. i whined about it and i apologized for whining about it. and i promised that next week – in our next hike – i would wear different boots. two times hiking in these was enough. we talked about feet most of the way back, for there is not much we won’t discuss – at length. brad yawned through my health insurance rant, but he listened intently anyway. we cheered with dark beer and brandy-old-fashioned-sweets at a neighborhood bar next to the railroad tracks. we made plans and talked about life and the previous week, another episode in the sitcoms and serial drama miniseries of our lives. right there, listening and caring. there.

we’ll have snacks at happy hour – though it will be followed shortly by a huge dinner together. but we all love to eat and the up-north gang does it well. we’ll talk about everything under the sun and we’ll laugh. nothing is off the table as we all age together, listing the things we are concerned about. we are an all-inclusive in-service about all that stuff, comparing notes, making recommendations, giving advice. it’s totally reassuring. we know who to call if – any time of day or night – there is water in the basement or if the tv antenna falls or if we need new tires or a pair of glasses. there. they are right there.

the perch a couple nights ago was done to perfection, as were the potatoes and cabbage slabs. 20 was in his glory; his wheelhouse includes fishhhh (as he says it) and cabbage. we eat together twice a week. every week. we take turns cooking and every meal includes wine and chocolate. he goes way back – 30 years almost – and his presence is a rock for us. through thick and thin he has remained steady. we keep track of the week by our mondays and thursdays together. there.

and there are those people – who can call on the phone from far away or across town – and with whom we can pick up as if no time has passed. we can laugh about the seinfeld episodes of mutual time, we can pine for time spent, we can rue how quickly time has passed. the thing we know – no matter what – is that they – and we – are there. whether we see them or not, no matter if it has been a long while, these people are always part of the very fabric of our lives and they are vital. they remember who we were, how we changed, what we went through. they know the gumption it took to get us to where we are now. they recognize us. they are from our elementary schools, our high schools, our colleges, our first jobs, our professional ladder rungs along the way. they are the people we met on airplanes, while shopping, at tennis tournaments, across the street. they are random and superbly unique and we celebrate meeting them – wherever it was. they are in our mind’s eye standing aside us through it all, whether in person or in spirit. their souls entwine with ours.

and then there are the beloveds. people whose dna is connected to ours in some way, people whose curve-of-face resembles ours, whose expressions we know by heart, without whom we would never be who we are. they are scattered, too, around the world and, though we wish – yearn – to see them often and more often, it is not so. nevertheless, they hold the prime spots in our hearts and are always right there, a breath away. our families.

so many chances to love, to feel love. so much time spent together. so much gratitude on the coaster.

people-who-stick-by-us for – well – infinity.

*****

TIME TOGETHER ©️ 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood

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read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY


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vindication. [saturday morning smack-dab.]

we each have our strengths. and, on the flip side, we each have our weaknesses. i am a detail person. he is a big picture person. sometimes that equates to a lovely full-length view of the world. sometimes it’s a total pain in the ass.

most of the time david is kind of mushy, endearingly compassionate and not all male-blustery-like. this is a good thing. we tend to be on the same page a lot – until we are not. and then, those are the moments the dog senses that his best laying-down-spot is in the bathroom. we aren’t really yellers, but, since our dog is as empathic as we are, he just knows that our tone is changing and someone is miffed and he is going to get out of the way. soon, he checks back in to see how things are going and is generally relieved when – even before leaving – we turn to him in miff-middle and reassure him, “it’s ok, dogga,” anticipating his departure.

there have been a few times that d has done the guy thing…you know, the well-it’s-not-working-for-you-so-let-me-do-it. i wouldn’t be honest if i didn’t say that it is royally annoying. i also wouldn’t be honest if i didn’t say that i feel total vindication when the whatever-it-was-that-wasn’t-working doesn’t work for him either. empowering. somehow i think you know what i’m talking about.

it’s in those exact moments – either way – on either side of the miffmobile – we all need to remember it’s good to laugh.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

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