reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: memories


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makes me think of. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

amaryllis makes me think of my sweet momma. the color pink makes me think of my daughter.

on the windowsill of the bathroom there are two small bottles. one is estee lauder’s ‘pleasures’ and the other is a tiny daisy-capped bottle of marc jacob’s daisy perfume. two scents that remind me of those same two beloved people.

because i am thready (some may say overlyyy thready) i surround myself – intentionally and unintentionally – with tokens of remembrance – some actual, some merely floating in my heart – filaments that connect me to people – and make me think of people – whether they are nearby or far away or on another plane of existence entirely. threads. woven in.

this bulb – a gift – requires no attention whatsoever. you just place it anywhere and it will take care of itself. no water needed. it contains all the water and nutrients it needs to flower. it has stored carbohydrates so it is self-sustaining and can bloom without any care.

i am thinking that between the plethora of mcdonalds fries i ate in my teenage years on bike hikes, the wavy lays and cape cod chips in later years (and even recent later years!!), ever-reassuring mashed potatoes and the daily morning breakfast david makes each day that includes yummy potatoes, i have plenty – plenty!!! – of stored carbohydrates. one would then extrapolate that i would be self-sustaining and would bloom without care. but, the flora world has it all over us on this one. i do not have the advantage of the waxed amaryllis bulb. water, nutrients and care are necessary.

the pink-waxed amaryllis is just starting to get closer to blooming, a flower stalk straight and tall from the center of the bulb, the bud tightly wound. i visit with it each day, marveling at it.

and i think of dearest jen every time i look at it.

*****

CONNECTED from RELEASED FROM THE HEART, THE BEST SO FAR ©️ 1995, 1999 kerri sherwood

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and poppo was smiling. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

my sweet poppo used to say, “put it in the barn out back!” only we didn’t have a barn out back.

he thought it would be wise to simply save everything – old stuff would all come around again. and, judging by the seventies clothing we are seeing in the boutiques ‘out there’ he was right. bold colors, big pattern, crocheted-granny-square sweaters and vests….i should’ve saved everything. i’d be right in fashion.

now, it goes without saying that in my closet are plenty of items that date back. no…not like six months or a year. they date back to the 2010s, the 2000s, the 90s and beyond. i always think, “save this. it’ll fit again one day/it’ll be in style again one day/i love it too much to give it away so keep it to wear again some day” etc etc. and, to my credit, some things are just classic pieces and they work no matter when you wear them. well, at least in my estimation they do. i’m guessing that’s up for grabs.

as you already know, we love antiquing. it flings us to and fro through the decades we have been on planet earth and is quite entertaining. we laugh as we see the corningware and tupperware we currently own. we stand in front of record albums reliving our teens. we roll our eyes at the inundation of tchotchkes, miscellany and bric-à-brac galore. and then we pass something that just cuts to the chase, goes right to our hearts.

these ice cube trays did it for me.

we had these ice cube trays growing up. i distinctly remember them. steadying the cold tray with one hand, i can feel the crunching thwap of pulling back the aluminum handle, releasing the ice cubes, ice shards flying out of the tray. it totally brings me back to my childhood home.

we stood in front of the ice cube trays for a bit, reminiscing aloud to each other, the only audience who wants to listen to an ice cube tray story.

when we moved on it was to discover that there were three – 3!! – viewmasters also in the booth. because you must – the visceral tugs mercilessly at you – i pulled down on the lever, looking around for the round slide thingies that go inside them. i still own a viewmaster (with a few slide thingies) and i was trying to decide who we should gift with one of these.

alas, we moved on sans purchase. we didn’t even purchase the ice cube trays, even though our kitchenaid icemaker no longer works and we either have to make ice cubes or purchase ice. we have other ice cube trays – ones that work better than the metal ones – and we still hold out hope that one day the icemaker might work again.

but, if those trays had been out in the barn it would have helped us, at least temporarily – until the icemaker revives.

and then outside – on a table in the weather – sat the birdhouse. rusted metal roof, old peeling painted barnwood, a tiny backdoor, and a nest inside, we were smitten.

$5.28 later and my poppo was smiling from the other side.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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and ohhh, these overalls. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

though i know it won’t really matter to either of them, i’ll hang a pair of tiny overalls and a pair of tiny first-walking-shoes on a peg in each of their rooms.

i was deep in memories going through and washing all of their infant and toddler clothing. touching each and every piece, i kept thinking, “surely he/she would want me to save this!!”. i seriously pondered making them quilts out of their childhood clothing, sure that they would treasure these. until i realized something.

it’s me who remembers these tiny clothes. it’s me who remembers my little girl – tucked into her bear chair – a stack of books next to her, absorbed. it’s me who remembers my little boy – kneeling on the road rug with buildings and streets and stop signs, matchbox cars lined up or zooming with his little hand. they were tiny toddlers with no real thought about memorizing forever and ever what they had on. i’m the one who remembers what they were wearing. i’m the one who remembers the onesies, the sleepers and the footie pajamas. i’m the one who remembers the tiny jeans and turtlenecks. i’m the one who remembers the polly flinders smocked dresses and sweet rompers. i’m the one who remembers the oshkosh overalls.

so i’ll hang the oshkosh b’goshes upstairs anyway. and i’ve decided to hold out just a few items from the big ikea bags that we will deliver to the mission in chicago. and i’ll cut yoyos out of these and make a small yoyo hanging that i can place on a hook in our bedroom. that way, anytime i want to get lost in the memories of my amazing adult children as babies and toddlers, i can touch a little fabric that will bring me back.

*****

I WILL HOLD YOU FOREVER AND EVER ©️ 2005 kerri sherwood

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it tastes like… [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

the blue cornflower corningware baked ziti casserole in the middle of the table, a tall yago sangria bottle perched next to it, blue cornflower plated place settings, a loaf of italian bread – it’s 1977.

tiny cut-up bites of grilled cheese sandwiches – the crust cut-off – it’s 1992, it’s 1994.

chicken-cutlet-on-a-roll-with-gravy from the hewitt square deli…or even suzy q’s and michelob – it’s 1977 again.

heaping bowls of coffee ice cream – it’s 1974 and my big brother is there.

kraft macaroni and cheese – it’s 1996.

burgers and fries and champagne – it’s 2013.

baked clams and lobster bisque – back at 1977.

it’s uncanny and an immense joy to time-travel through taste. we have spent hours laughing with our dearest friends talking about the candies and snacks of way-back, the adult beverages along the way, the meals and desserts of growing-up.

and in those moments of reminiscing, we are powerfully struck by the ability to taste-it, to remember, to hold onto something really precious for a few moments again.

bon appetit!

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

SMACK-DAB. ©️ 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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in this circle. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

as i write this, it’s been weeks since we have hiked. i am feeling the tug. despite how sloppy it is likely to be, we really need to get out there – in the woods – and feel the cold, damp air on our faces.

we have been in the basement these days. during the negative-whatevers, the snowstorms, the dense fogs, the rain, we have immersed in the boxes and bins and tchotchkes of life. minus the occasional spider and mouse poop trail, it has been mostly joyful. to touch these things of life again is a gift of memory.

as we sort i can feel the house breathing. now, i have actually been in and seen a hoarder’s house, so i know that there is no comparison whatsoever, but the advent of space is refreshing. i realize that this paring-down will require a few passes – this is the first big pass – but now that we have started, it doesn’t seem as insurmountable. the reward for fortitude in the cleaning-out is the zeal to continue. it’s a circle. 

i am making every attempt to be more ruthless in this process, in this circle. but it is a passage through time and life and my fingertips are tingling, touching the first onesie sleepers and those little booties, the tiny oshkosh b’gosh overalls and even tinier bibs. then there’s my sweet momma’s wedding dress and my poppo’s air force “ike” jacket. silk flowers and fold-out honeycomb crepe bells from my first wedding. cabbage patch dolls and children’s books and matchbox cars. 1970s cassettes i listened to over and over and over. reel to reel, cassettes and cds of my recording studio takes and edits, tracks along the way. my report cards from the beginning of time. this process is not as easy as it’s made out to be. but it’s necessary. 

and, also necessary, is the call-response of the outside. we need to go out in the trees. we need to hike by the river and follow the deer tracks. we need to feel breathless from the wind and overheated by exertion. we need the balance. in this circle.

so we’ll put down the marketplace ads, the bins and big ikea bags holding donations, the cleaning supplies and our yuckiest clothes and we’ll go outside. 

*****

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

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my heart. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

whoa! 

i have opened so many boxes, so many bins. i have done so many loads of laundry – tiny garments – all freshened and stacked on the dining room table. there is still much to be done. 

every single thing i touch is a memory. tiny onesies and fuzzy sleepers, footie pajamas and oshkosh overalls, polly flinders dresses and itty-bitty jeans, socks and booties way smaller than my hand. 

i was almost at the bottom of one of the dark blue plastic bins. right underneath the storage-safe-plastic-encased christening gown was the last layer. rattles and small hand toys, the smallest keds you’ve ever seen, stride-rite firsties and this teething ring.

it wasn’t just the teething ring, but it certainly contributed to it. i was overwhelmed with a wave of nostalgia – wistfulness at its most tear-inducing. i stood staring at it, wondering what to do with it. naturally, this is not something you pass on. this is not something that you necessarily put in your keepsake box, either. but the power of it…

so i laid it on the worn basement floor – in the middle of the laundry room – the same laundry room that washed all these clothes from the time my children were born to this very day – when they are all grown up – that i am going through their infant and toddler clothes – and i took a picture.

and when i gather together all of these clothes – seeming mountains of clothing – to donate to a mission in chicago that gives people items they need for their families – for free – my heart will be full, thinking of other babies and children wearing these outfits that elicit so many memories and so much love.

and i know that someday the moms (or dads) who receive this clothing will also be paring down and passing down to others. and something will stop them in their tracks. maybe tiny booties, maybe a bib or the teeniest sleeper, maybe little leggings and a floral tunic, maybe a smocked dress or a little baseball slugger hat. whatever it is, they will stare at it, surprised at its potency, grateful for its memories. like me, they may take a picture. like me, they may utter words of thanks.  and then, like me, they will place it in a stack and pass it on.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

SMACK-DAB. ©️ 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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ruth. less. ness. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

the spaceship hasn’t arrived and i am still – the tiniest little smidgiest iota of a bit – procrastinating. not entirely, but yes…enough. i’m wondering if there is such a thing as an estate sale while you are still alive and well and living in the house.

more so, i am trying to figure out which of the items in the house “spark joy” and which are me trying to hold too tightly onto those “items that trigger memories but which i can dispose of without losing the memories”. yiiiiiiiikes.

this is a process. 

it requires prep and thoughtful introspection, gearing up and gearing down, a camera and stoic ruthlessness.

i am approaching ruth – but i still have to get to less and ness, so there’s a little time left. 

but it’s happening.

yup.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

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a merry little christmas. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

and today – after last night’s eve – we’ll turn on music. we’ll light all the twinkling lights and maybe have breakfast in the living room by the trees. i’ll remember our walk last night – all around the ‘hood – admiring lights and decorations and christmas trees in front windows. i’ll smile thinking of us standing in my candlelit studio singing carols together – in lieu of a church service. and then, a few luminaria on the deck in temperatures unseasonably warm for a wisconsin december.

and sometime this morning we will open all the cards that have made their way to us. in the last years we have started saving them – waiting until christmas eve or christmas day to open the greetings from far and wide. it is like a visit from each family member or friend then as we sit – in no rush – and read cards and letters. we know that time is precious these days and that it takes some of that precious time to sit and write cards, to select gifts, to craft messages and mementos. we are so happy to be thought of, to have community near and far.

the shiny brites are on our big lighted branches in the living room. they, too, are like a visit – specifically from my parents. i had a blue day last week in the midst of preparations – a little shopping, a little shipping, a little planning. because in my mind this year i’ve spent a lot of time on my growing-up long island. with all that remembering, it’s brought me back to 1960s and earlier 1970s christmases – times of unfettered bliss – of being a child and then young teenager in the middle of a family creating simple christmas magic. it made me miss my sweet momma and poppo. our holiday was never anything really fancy – it was just about being together. my mom didn’t plan activities for us nor did she prepare mountains of food ahead of time, except for krumkake and spritz cookies. dinner was always a turkey and all the trimmings for christmas day. christmas eve…well…my solidly norwegian grandparents would drive their gigantic beige and brown was-it-a-buick out from brooklyn, laden with the christmas eve fish pudding and rum cake. and yes, that meal is really as eh as it sounds. fish pudding, boiled potatoes, cauliflower and a white sauce with crabmeat – it’s a monochromatic meal that would horrify any child’s taste buds in the midst of christmas eve’s glimmer. we’d all survive it though and the very-frostinged layered rum cake was the reward. we lounged around and sipped eggnog and sang christmas carols while i played the organ or piano in the living room and my brother played the guitar. and then, as it got darker we’d go outside to walk around the neighborhood in the candlelight of luminaria, still singing. hot cocoa later and off to the 11pm service to ring in christmas. simple. nothing grandiose. most of it was predictable. but it brought a sense of comfort in its familiarity, just like the shiny brites on the trees in our living room.

these last years have had a different rhythm. sans advent and christmas directing, time has burst open. for those decades of immersion in church preparations yielded little extra time – and, for most years with the chaos of those responsibilities, brats on the grill were christmas eve fare. it was only on christmas morning that it was possible to – finally – take a deep breath. it’s a different season now.

today we will go to our son’s home in chicago. we’re excited to spend christmas with him, bringing his gifts and ever-present stocking, sharing in the making of dinner. we will sooo miss our daughter, but we shipped her gifts and will facetime with her after her travels out west. the rest of our families all also live out of state, so we won’t be posting those wide-angle holiday photos with scads of people posed in front of the tree. but we hold each of them close.

and tonight, on our way home from downtown, we’ll take the backroads, as always. we’ll go slow in appreciation of the beauty of the route, the festive lights, magic lingering in the air. the waiting is over.

and we’ll nod our heads together, agreeing that simplicity has been the real gift. 

and we will have had a merry little christmas.

*****

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

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leaves and leaves. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

in the last weeks our hikes have taken on the shuffling gait of autumn…the days when you crunch through the fallen leaves on the trail or even on the sidewalk. it’s crisp out and maybe you are wearing gloves, a warm vest. there is that sound as you walk. it resonates backward in time – and memories of other walks and hikes flood in. having lived in a few different places – distinctly different from each other – gives plenty of fodder.

when i first moved to wisconsin – decades ago now – we drove down one of the main east-west arteries of the city and into a temperature inversion. it was later fall and, apparently, there were homeowners – in the township that has boundaries meandering in and out of the city – burning leaves. the smoke was like a giant blanket, trapped and literally hanging over the road. it was strange to drive from clear daylight into this smoke-filled area – fogged way high up so that you couldn’t see the blue sky when you were in it. i haven’t encountered this since, but the memory of it is still clear. it was early in my time here and it felt unnerving, adding to the feeling of homesickness.

my sweet poppo used to burn leaves. back on long island our home was in front of a woods so there were plenty of trees in our yard. after we raked and raked (and raked) he would burn them, like everyone else. the smell of leaves burning still takes me back there. it brings hot cocoa and marshmallows to mind, my momma adding to the fun. sometimes i’d have friends over and call it a leaf-raking party.

i have snapshots in my mind’s eye – my children playing in leaf piles. towheaded toddlers, mittens, sweatshirts or snowsuits – tumbling and laughing and throwing leaves. neither were raking-fans but there is no denying the pull of a good leafpile.

i’m not doing the raking these days. my wrist can’t handle it. but d doesn’t seem to mind – he loves the physical-ness of raking leaves. there are times i think that it would be exceptionally wonderful to live in a place that is completely natural – where grass is not manicured, leafblowers are unheard of, and leaves are left to become mulch and part of the earth. maybe someday.

in the meanwhile we abide by green biobag rules and rake the extra off our yard, making sure there is plenty still to insulate our plants and to provide frigid-weather shelter for critters. it makes me happy to think of the bunnies who have clearly taken up residence under our deck, tucked into leaves we could never reach.

and – on those days we hike in the woods and the wafting of a distant bonfire reaches us – i stop in the middle of the trail. and, like layers of leaf-smoke blocking the sky for a moment or two, i am wrapped in the embers of memories.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

ASPEN STAND

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wax paper. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

i was the one. probably the one and only. the single person in the entire school who opened up my re-purposed hallmark card store bag to reveal a wax-paper-wrapped sandwich. now, if that isn’t bad enough, add to it the irreversible damage that this wrought: carrying a cucumber sandwich or liverwurst and mayo on smushy white bread wrapped in waxed paper. i mean, who eats this in elementary school or junior high or even high school??? it’s like that scene in my big fat greek wedding with the mean girls around toula portokalos taunting her lunch, “moose kaka???”. yes, irreversible damage.

and so, i have a thing about wax paper. this is probably not wax paper’s fault. it was innocently birthed in 1927 and has served the general public well. just not me in the school cafeteria.

while everyone else was flaunting their plastic sandwich bags – with their deli-ham-and-cheese sandwiches complete with prepackaged bags of chips and ho hos or twinkies – there i was – with my savory liverwurst on bread soggy with mayonnaise, an apple and, if i was really lucky, a prized yodel. there was no comparison. it was crushing.

so, the wax paper in the drawer in the kitchen comes with a little ptsd. it comes in handy, yes. but i’ll never ever wrap a sandwich with it. ever.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

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