reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: love


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lusting over glossy card stock. [saturday morning smack-dab.]

lusting over brochures is kind of my thing. there is nothing quite like the dreamy four-color-magazine-quality-glossy-coated-silk-card-stock intrigue that beckons me, inviting imaginative adventure and exploring. a good brochure will take you there, place you there, let you sink in and never want to leave. i am clearly the targeted recipient of their magic. and i am – ahem – a collector.

like my relationship with catalogs, i can immerse in the story of the place, the action…it’s deeply satisfying.

sometimes we stop at the welcome center and i load up with all the possibilities of our destination, never to crack them open. it’s like having a treasure chest, knowing you have the treasure chest, not-knowing what’s in the treasure chest but knowing it’s enough you have it. a back pocket full of shiny coins, should you need them.

and sometimes we stop at the welcome center and i find something in a brochure that will not let go. i wonder and ponder and strategize and scheme how to get there, how to experience it, how to afford it. i’m a little overwhelmed by the draw of whatever the thing/place/action is, but i know the likelihood of it is relatively dim.

we clicked on an article on the-island-phone the other day. like shiny card stock, it beautifully featured a resort in utah: amangiri. there was nothing about this resort that wasn’t stunning.

i’ve never stayed in a resort, nonetheless one where your pillow-piled-down-comfortered-bed was out under the stars in the desert, your space open to remote canyonlands of red rock. my breathing got more rapid as i showed david. i clicked on “make a reservation”.

$12,000 a night.

deeper reservation diving revealed a range of pricing, verbose reviews, glamorous indeed, this place.

$12,000/night.

a little fancy.

clearly we won’t be staying there.

but, in the way that catalogs and brochures also function for me, i saved it and looked at it a few more times. i’ll probably glance a time or two more at this wildly expensive place to stay. and then i’ll delete it. because, by then, i’ll be satisfied.

and besides, the tiny blue airbnb house on one of the side streets in the mountain town in north carolina is also magical. it will afford us a chance to unplug, to hike unfamiliar trails, to cook and eat out on the front porch watching traffic go by, to immerse in a new place, a getaway.

and it is also dreamy.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

SMACK-DAB. ©️ 2022 kerrianddavid.com


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but those rustic barrels. [saturday morning smack-dab.]

we do love to read together. we’ve hiked the appalachian trail, the salt path, treacherous trails in iceland. we’ve read deeply moving novels like the shack, the best of us, factual accounts like 102 minutes, the 33….. we read mary oliver and rumi and john o’donohue and the book of joy and lyrics of songs and pablo neruda. it’s actually pretty magical to read aloud to each other.

romantic poetry is the stuff of friday night date nights. we haven’t read poetry on a friday night lately, but it sure sounds like a good plan – a fire out back, the gurgling pond, a fan gently keeping the pesky mosquitoes at bay, a glass of wine, a book of poetry and an itty-bitty-book-light to illuminate the pages.

our newest pablo neruda book asks questions – in spanish and in english. it is my preference to read them to david in spanish (neither of us having had any spanish instruction). we stare at each other – no, no, gaze adoringly at each other – and he tries to sort out what i asked. eventually, i give in and read the question in english. there are no answers in the book. only questions. and they are truly sink-your-teeth-into-them questions. we ponder and pull on them like taffy.

maybe tonight. a saturday night date night. glass of wine. firepit (though it will be about 80 degrees). if the lights strung across the yard aren’t enough, the itty-bitty will be nearby. and we will read delicious words of love and promises of bluebells and dark hazels. i won’t expect the bluebells or the dark hazels or gifts to be bestowed at the door, arriving through david’s remarkable ability to order them via AI or siri sending them as we read aloud (which may not be far from reality some day). unexpected gifts are rare these days, for many reasons. as we go through and declutter and clear out, we see we need little.

because, truth is, the sitting together is actually the gift.

but those rustic barrels of kisses…

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

SMACK-DAB. ©️ 2022 kerrianddavid.com


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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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those wander women. [saturday morning smack-dab.]

i hearted the comment by one of their instagram followers. it read: “boss move. inspire when you go. inspire when you stop. along for the ride whatever’s next.” exactly our sentiments.

the wander women HAVE inspired us. they have entertained us, taken us along on their adventures, encouraged us to plan, made us dream. we have watched them thru-hike the appalachian trail, the continental divide trail, the pacific crest trail – the triple crown. we have seen them in their rv, bemoaning the ailments that aging graces us with, yet, embracing those ailments, researching, asking questions, dealing with the cycles of grief that accompany those kinds of changes and, mostly, doing something about them. they self-care through the trappings of difficulties; they are solution-oriented and flexible. they are thriving.

their latest undertaking is to ride across-country on surly bikes – rail-trailing – from “sea to shining sea”. they rode from the pacific ocean through the state of washington, into idaho and entered montana. things got sketchy in montana – this country is not yet equipped to ride straight-across – and they were riding on shoulderless roads next to semis going 70 and 80mph, gravel or wobbles threatening their every pedal.

we are proud of their decision to stop. 700 miles in and they have decided to find a new plan, they have decided their safety and the enjoyment of each day is more important than just keeping on in a precarious situation.

and yes….it’s a boss move.

the wander women’s fortitude and courage and open-armed seize of life and experiences have made us realize that, though we have not thru-hiked before, we can set it as an intention. we can picture ourselves outside, weeks, months at a time, reveling in nature and quiet and every step. we can see the toe guards and the snack bags and the ponchos and the headnets. we wonder how we might arrange amazon-drone-drops of wine every so often.

though we watch many trailhikers, many backpackers and, as you know, have a certain affinity for, among others, that elusive my-own-frontier joey, it is the wander women – kristy and annette and, on earlier journeys, lynn, who inspire us, people of the same ‘certain’ age. they made a plan and set goals – retired, sold off their homes, their stuff, paid off their remaining debt, bought an rv and have a somewhat itinerant life full of fabulous escapades.

our plan will not likely mimic theirs, but who knows. the important thing is that it is making us excited about planning, excited about deliberate movement in that direction. those amazing wander women have been active hikers together all along, for decades. they have paid attention to their growth, their middle-age-changing-bodies; they have been mindful about their self-care and their continued movement. they “get outside”. but, they had to start somewhere. our hats are off to them – kristy and annette.

i figure – if they can do it, we can do it.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

SMACK-DAB. ©️ 2022 kerrianddavid.com


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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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all that mylar. [k.s. friday]

	


	

					








they are a mystery.  vhs tapes with no labels.  now, how on earth can you send them to the vhs recycle place if you don’t know what they are?  there could be priceless memories on that magnetic tape, mylar possibilities gone missing.





fortunately for us we still have a vcr machine.  i’m not quite sure if it will just simply connect to our tv, but there is a gigantic plastic bag in the basement workroom with all kinds of cords and cables and such, so maybe we will find something in there that will help.  or maybe we will have to get some kind of converter.  nevertheless, we have hours of viewing fun in front of us for some rainy evenings and we can find out what’s on those unlabeled tapes.  





there are plenty labeled as well, which makes it infinitely harder to dispose of them.  movies of my girl and my boy as tiny babies, ballet recitals and soccer games, birthday parties and christmas mornings, movies my sweet poppo recorded off the tv, shots of family times, recordings of cantatas i directed, footage of some of my concerts and of me performing on qvc.  they all demand a viewing and i’ll set them aside in a bin and someday, well, many somedays, serve them up with popcorn and m&ms.





the pre-recorded vhs tapes are no less sentimental.  the million times we watched under the sea singalong songs, the ridiculously infinite numbers of times barney made an appearance at our house, disney movies, the nutcracker.  it goes on and on.  not just in the basement, these movies are in the chimney cabinets, waiting.





and then there’s the 8mm tapes, which were converted to dvds and carefully labeled a few years back.  goodness!  memories à gogo.  





i guess someday someone will find our fuzzy purple cd case with the zipper and our daughter’s marker drawings all over it, the one we even take on trips.  they’ll unzip it to find all our favorite dvds…the ones we default to, over and over and over, for we are those people who love to watch movies we love to watch again and again.   





and they’ll wonder how to watch those dvds; they’ll seek out a dvd player, ponder what cords or cables they need, if they need some sort of converter.  they’ll pick a movie out of the fuzzy purple case or maybe one home-recorded and labeled.  they’ll load it up and push play.





then they’ll settle in with some popcorn and m&ms.





*****









let me take you back





download music from my little corner of iTUNES





stream on PANDORA





read DAVID’S thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY












LET ME TAKE YOU BACK from AS IT IS ©️ 2004 kerri sherwood

					
		
	



					



	

					
				

			
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on the curb. [d.r. thursday]

	


	

					








you can put most anything at the curb and it will soon disappear.  scrappers are on the prowl looking for metal and old appliances, big and small, things that might be repurposed, things that might be tinkered with and sold.





when i put out these three wrought-iron candlesticks i included a sign.  i measured the heights and jotted them on the sign that indicated they were candlesticks.  i was hoping someone who really wanted some taper holders to jaunt by and find them on our parkway.  i didn’t want them to go to scrap.





david said that he saw the person pull up and examine the sign and the bag of candlesticks and that this person gently placed it in the back of his truck, so i’m crossing my fingers he brought them home and showed his partner, suggesting they eat by taper or relax in the evening to the glow of candles.  i guess a girl can hope.





because we don’t generally do big giant things, we tend to celebrate the little stuff.  this past friday evening was one of those times.  right after he finished work, on an absolutely beautiful late afternoon, we got into littlebabyscion and drove south.  as is our way, we took the backroads, arriving at the botanic garden, happy to see the parking lot meagerly parked.  





we strolled through slowly, arm in arm, talking and quiet.  we only had about an hour and a half till its close, but it was an hour and a half of lovely.  it shushed our minds and its serenity was contagious.  





we drove home the back way, through a few small towns with bistro tables on the sidewalks and people gathered, eating and sipping wine.  we pondered stopping and having a bite outside, but continued home to make our own small meal and sip wine under happy lights in our sunroom with our dogga by our side.  it was a peaceful way to start the weekend.





you don’t have to lift every little thing, but we have learned it makes a difference.  the tiny things – a candle burning, a strand of happy lights, a quiet walk, sniffing peonies in a garden, admiring the wild columbine in the woods, stopping to watch a deer glide across someone’s front yard – these things matter.  





you don’t have to be there for each other each moment, but we have learned it makes a difference.  the tiny things – helping the other up off the floor after painting shoe moldings, bringing the other a steaming mug of coffee in a tired-time, clinking the day’s accomplishments, crying with the other’s pain – these things matter.





in one of her books, joyce maynard wrote, “when a person gave less, he required less in return.”  i suppose life could be easier that way, more centric, simpler.  one would not have to notice stuff or do much of anything for another.  the give-and-take of relationship would be low-bar and that might work for some.





but time and life have taught me a few lessons, some much harder than others.  one is that apathy and paying attention are absolute opposites, particularly in relationship.





we’re putting apathy on the curb.





*****





read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY






dancing in the front yard 24″x24″









					
		
	



					



	

					
				

			
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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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not-still-life. [d.r. thursday]

	


	

					








there is a gold frame around the old black and white photograph.  a still life of a family.  it was taken in the 1920s and it captures the still-life of my sweet poppo’s family…at that very moment:  his dad, his mom, his brothers and sisters as young children and babies.  





i don’t have another like it; there is not another portrait – at least not in my collection of photos – that has both his biological parents and all his brothers and sisters.  my dad lost his mom to metastasized breast cancer when he was merely eight years old.  my grandpa married a woman – the only paternal grandmother i knew – who was willing to take on six growing children.  life was not still.





in the way that families sometimes splinter, my dad’s family lost touch after the death of my grandparents.  there was some rift and there were plenty of hurt feelings and, then, there was silence.  i grew up the rest of my life without my cousins, without sharing in their stories, without the chance to know them or love them.  it was like the still-life-portrait was carefully cut up and only my dad was left.





one of my uncles had drowned in the swimming hole in upstate new york during their teenage years.  another uncle was lost at sea during the war.  i think my third uncle passed somewhere along the way maybe in brooklyn, where they all grew up, as did one of my aunts, a fun-loving californian who always went by her nickname.   and the aunt who had children – who would be my first cousins, wished for but lacking in my own circles – was in new england.  





a couple years ago – after i broke my wrists – when i was sitting with casts and a laptop and the pandemic had just begun, i decided to google them.  i wrote a bit about finding them – a golden moment of connection.  suddenly, through research and social media and, unfortunately, posted obituaries, i discovered two of my four cousins.  





i reached out, one on either coast.  they reached back.  and the ripped pieces of portraits that could have been taken through the years began to assemble.  tiny bits of photo paper, a little glue, stories to be told.  





my dad – on the other side but not too far away – smiled when i had my first conversation with his sister, my aunt.  he no longer remembered the details of whatever the rift was and, besides, it was a ridiculous fifty years prior.  how long does one hold onto these kinds of things?  





my aunt, with a touch of brooklyn and a touch of boston, told me stories and i really pined to meet her, to hug my dad’s sister, to hear of my dad as a youngster, to sit with her.  but covid and fragile health sadly combined to prevent this.  





my cousin called while we were driving to the grocery store.  he told me that earlier in the morning his momma, my 99-year-old-would-have-been-100-in-three-months-aunt helen, had died.  once again, the still-life photo shattered.  i would not capture a picture of us together, our jowls matching, perhaps our eyes, perhaps the curve of our faces.  i watched her service online yesterday, trying to memorize the smiles and tears of my lost-now-found relatives.





i’m grateful for the brief conversations and the fact that she knows i looked for her, for her children.  i’m grateful to have contact with two of my cousins and to someday meet their families and the families of my other two cousins who were holding a spot for their momma in that other plane.  with great joy i listen to stories they tell me and i know that we’ll share time and snapshots, close-ups, wide angles, portraits, candids – reaching back and reaching forward – of our lives together. 





i learn every day to let go, to hold on, to appreciate it.





the still-life is never really still.  





*****





read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY





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