reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: my sweet poppo


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my vw. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

there are heartstrings attached to this vw. mine. it’s been a part of my life since 1971, although it wasn’t specifically mine then. it became mine in 1976, when i “bought” it from my sweet poppo for a token amount of money. just to do the math for you – so you don’t have to (even if you don’t want to know) – that is 47 years ago. this little super beetle has been mine for 47 years.

and it still is.

now it resides in the one spot in our one car garage, next to the lawnmower and the solo stove, a little bit of potting soil and some spare clay pots, the wheelbarrow with the flat tire, under the eaves with the old screen door and the snow rake, the tricycle and the little red wagon, a couple of old webbed aluminum lawn chairs and two zero gravity lounges, just far enough away from the bikes suspended on j hooks, covered with a couple dropcloths, keeping the dust off.

i love it.

it has history, as most things dating back 47 years. it was purchased in germany brand new and my parents drove it all over europe. i was there the day we picked it up on the docks in ny after it was shipped to the states. i was there the day my parents fell in love with a giant painting of fjords listed for sale at a seafood restaurant and it wouldn’t fit in the bug so after dinner we waited while my dad drove home to get the other car. i was there when driving in snow, i slid directly into the curb and nothing happened. i was there when my sweet dog missi pooped in the backseat well. i was there adventuring, layer-caking jobs, buying cornflakes to survive, with the windows down blasting 1970s AM radio. i was there with my bug on the beaches, out east on the island, driving in the humid heat of florida, in wisconsin the day i went into labor with my baby girl. i was there on the re-homing drives from new york to florida, florida to wisconsin, state to state. through thick and thin it has been a constant. even if it’s in the garage. even not driving.

i suppose my dad would say to sell it. and i’ve thought about it. there is likely someone out there who would relish rebuilding the engine again, re-oiling its joints and changing out rubber stuff that needs changing. (personally, i sort of like the idea of that restoration project myself.) and then, the bug would be driven and gleeful.

but i don’t know. i mean, even director/producer ron howard drives an old cherished bug around california. so there are other people who “get it” – driving an old bug around here – or anywhere else one might live.

both my kids (and probably most people who know me) can attest to my threadiness. so no one would be surprised that this little bug is still in the garage. i am heartened by the fact that my neighbor has an old triumph in her garage, same sort of story. it’s nice not to be the only one…

we pushed it out of the garage to clean – a yearly (or so) event. checking for evidence of chippies homesteading, with a soft sponge and a microfiber cloth i gently washed it. and then i did a photo shoot as it smiled and mugged for the camera. it knows how much it’s loved.

i’m not sure what i’ll do – long term.

but for now, well, it has a happy home here.

*****

let us know if you have a yen for restoring beloved old cars.

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

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…the ’70s…just a few short decades ago…
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the blue jays. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

my sweet poppo died three years before my sweet momma. when she died, the tilt that my world had already felt dove down into a deeper angle, the axis of the earth struggling to keep it in balance. the loss of both parents is profound, no matter your age.

it had been years since i had heard or seen a blue jay. they were common where i grew up, the screeches of jays in the woods or the trees surrounding our home. they have husky voices, always a little bit raspy. but they make me think of home.

i still remember the first day i saw one – after. it’s a few years ago now.

we were hiking on one of our favorite trails and suddenly i could hear them. they flew across the path and i stood still, reveling in the moment, taking it in. since that day, there have been more sightings and i have heard their birdcalls, even out our bedroom window from time to time.

since they are a common bird in wisconsin, i wonder how it is i missed them.

and i realize that sometimes the way home – the sound of a blue jay – is something we just don’t pay attention to, something that falls down on the list of priorities. until one day.

the day comes that all the really important stuff comes into focus. and we realize that we have – maybe – taken for granted the stuff that really is a part of who we are. we slough off paying attention to those things, those places, those people because we believe that there is plenty of time – later. or perhaps there are reasons we cannot grant grace to those things, those places, those people and we somewhat haughtily, in some selfish kind of righteous amnesia of our own actions, put them to the side, the corners of our hearts. or maybe we are just too busy and we have gotten lost, overwhelmed in our very real and partly contrived busy-ness.

any way you look at it, i am surprised i didn’t see the blue jays. until after.

now i hear them, see them, find their feathers in the usualness of our days. each time it is like a tiny nod to home, to all the moments of goodness, to the realness of unconditional love in the midst of the ridiculous hardness of life.

and they were there all along.

*****

THE WAY HOME from 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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the allure of the galvanized. [two artists tuesday]

i guess the allure is in the texture. rough-hewn, rusting bolts, galvanized metal. there is something about this that reminds me of the b-24 bombers my sweet poppo told me stories about. something about the rivets that make me think of his own WWII bomber – “boomerang betsy” – shot down, and the “strawberry bitch” bomber we visited at the national museum of the air force in dayton, ohio.

my dad and my brother spent great deals of time using their phenomenal mechanical skills. they brought a 1930 model A back to life, transformed a long island lighting company van into a camper, rebuilt engines, tinkered with vw bug after vw bug, and kept vehicles going. neither were mechanics specifically by trade, but when i was little and they were out in the garage or in the driveway working, i loved spending time watching them and maybe handing them a tool or two.

the other day we went to pick up littlebabyscion, who had had a new catalytic converter installed. not a small job, but a totally necessary one to pass emissions testing. we were glad to bring LBS home afterward, “pass” form in hand. tiny problem though – it was making a new sound. now, that can strike some ample fear into a person when the odometer reads 267,000 miles. but – having listened to this sweet little vehicle for 266,750 of its miles – i felt i could sort of pinpoint the type of noise it was. so we brought it back.

they put it up on a lift. this, in and of itself, doesn’t sound like a big deal until you consider the 267k miles, its 17 years of life and wisconsin’s love of salty roads in the winter. they g.e.n.t.l.y. put LBS on a lift. we were invited in to look underneath.

now – for me, this is a neato-keeno kind of thing! from underneath, the mechanic explained what we were looking at and – based on my mention of the type of sound it was making (like a clip holding the exhaust piping had come undone and was rattling) he found a weld that had failed. he installed a stainless strap and lowered LBS back to the ground. no more noise. well, no more of THAT noise. jokingly, he added, “you’re hired!” over his shoulder at me.

there’s something about rough-hewn galvanized sheet metal begging my attention.

and there IS something about more analog-type engines and their underworkings that really does fascinate me.

maybe it’s all the steel and rivets and bolts and strategizing and solving mysteries. if a, then b, analytical thinking, even syllogisms.

or maybe it’s really just because it conjures up all the times i sat gazing at my dad and my brother, the smell of grease and the look of old metal in all its glory.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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our dads. [d.r. thursday]

boomerang betsy was shot out of the bulgarian sky on the way to the ploesti oil fields in romania. it was 79 years ago today. i’m grateful for the tenacity of my sweet poppo, taken prisoner-of-war and missing-in-action to everyone back home for months. he survived and came back home to – one day – tell the harrowing story and combat the unnamed ptsd that became part of his strong fabric as a man, a husband, a father.

without our knowing it, the veterans administration named my dad #VeteranOfTheDay on july 19, 2019. i stumbled across this a couple days ago and wondered how it was we did not know this. he was – and is – our hero every day, but it was a thrill to see a day devoted to him and his dedicated service, celebrating him, seven years after he moved on from this plane.

today we arrive in iowa. david’s family is gathering to celebrate columbus/aka chuck/aka charles/aka his dad. a time put aside to inurn his ashes in his little hometown in the farmlands. we are in a farmhouse – one with a back porch, a working silo, green grass on which to play bocce ball. the family will come here for dinners, to reminisce, to play and laugh and, likely, weep a bit. i know it will be a time rich with moments.

these dads of ours were like great white trillium. somehow – despite everything – growing easily in the world, faithful, not-too-picky, gently spreading seeds of wisdom.

the chicago botanic garden says, “in the constellation of singular spring flowers, there are a few stars that shine more brightly than the rest. perhaps the fairest of them all is the great white trillium.”

stars that shine more brightly.

great white trillium.

and our dads.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

columbus – circa 1995
my sweet poppo – honored july 19 2019

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natgeo. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

and after we got off the train we walked in the brisk wind off the lake to the chicago auditorium. a stunningly beautiful landmark theatre, it was established in 1889, around the time my grandparents were born. the arches and tile floor and gilding tell over a century of stories. a joy to be in such an old house.

the first national geographic live event we went to was in breckenridge, colorado. the cinematographer and extreme adventurer bryan smith had breathtaking footage descending over waterfalls and climbing mountains. we sat next to the guy who owned the scrumptious soup shop in town (the one to which we quickly became addicted) and ooh-ed and ahh-ed in unison. we were hooked.

david doubilet and jennifer hayes were the speakers at this event – coral kingdom and empires of ice – and to watch the photographic essay of their work was to marvel at the life this 24/7-together-married-couple live. multiple times they encouraged people to contact them, to ask questions or ask for help. brilliant change-agent scientists. generosity and humility.

as two people who are together 24/7 we know the perils of such togetherness. artists have a wiiiiide spectrum of emotions and this can be detrimental at times, so i wondered about two explorers. david and jennifer poked fun at each other while honoring each other’s work; the dance seemed balanced. working with your life partner requires a good sense of humor and a good life raft. sometimes, getting in the river on the rapids is the only way forward. that and laughter.

the hardest time we ever had working on a project was during our rehearsals for the lost boy. a two person play written by david and inspired by his mentor tom’s family history, we were preparing it for the premier performance on stage in california. prepping was a little like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together. the rough kind. not the fine sandpaper you use for finishing work. nope. the roughest sandy sandpaper you could pretty much find. somehow, and i’m not sure how, we made it through the memorization, the blocking, the nuances and weeks of rehearsing onto the plane to california. and mike – our director – took it from there.

at the end of the first performance we jumped and danced in the hallway, twirling around in the aftermath glee of success. i imagine this to be much like david and jennifer having made it back to the surface after sharing oceanic waters with sharks and crocodiles. the time when david – in the minutes of giant jaws within inches of jennifer – took photographs. i’m thinking they likely danced in the boat. in the category of 24/7 moments, some are better than others. they didn’t mention the “whatthehellwereyouTHINKING?!!” moments. but you know they’re there. we can attest to them.

i can imagine – one of these days – subscribing to natgeo live. there are usually three or four events a season and, in combination with the magazine that arrives every month and the tv channel we mostly land on, they would round out these opportunities to keep learning.

my sweet poppo received national geographic magazine for as long as i can remember. he’d immerse in it. just like my newer intense desire to know all the birds – like my parents – i find myself holding national geographic in high regard. my dad would have loved being in the same room as all of these explorers, sharing their adventures and discoveries. his wall-to-wall bookshelf of yellow magazine spines all lined up would vouch for that.

i guess i’ll just carry it on from here.

*****

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

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flowers of the forest. [d.r. thursday]

as we were walking into costco the other day, there was a man briskly walking out. he was balancing a a box of items in his right hand. but in his left was a bundle of flowers. i don’t think he was aware of my brief stare, for outside costco it is windier than most places and we were scurrying to get inside.

but i did stare.

it wasn’t because of the man – i wouldn’t be able to identify him in any way. it was because of the bundle of cellophane-wrapped flowers in his hand. he made me think of my sweet poppo who would purchase grocery store flowers for my momma to put in the center of their coffeesitting table or maybe on the side table in their foyer. my momma loved those flowers. inexpensive, and often on sale – she was ever budget-mindful – but she really loved them.

in these days of a bit more challenge we have taken to a new practice. it’s: pretend-i’m-giving-this-to-you. next to a display of valentine cards sweet-topped in love language with $5.99 printed on the back, we held one out to the other – “pretend i’m giving this to you.” we stopped by the floral cooler and he pointed to a bundle of red roses (with buds and petals actually attached, i might mention) and said, “pretend i’m giving these to you.” the “pretend-i-got-you-this” is far-reaching and much more satisfying than you might imagine.

for it is an intention of love and, in our lighter-weighted and budget-minded world, not stuff.

as we drove home from hiking we contemplated what we might do for the rest of the saturday. it was wide open and we had vowed to hold it as our own. we needed this day on the trail, this time outside, this time together sans angsts. we ran ideas in littlebabyscion.

revisiting frugality is not unfamiliar for us. it is, in fact, much more familiar than extravagance. and so, it is much easier for us to be prudent and thrifty when considering the ‘what’s next’ category. off-trail, our legs were tired from hiking in snow and, though refreshed, we were a little weary from being out in the windy cold.

we considered our options. what to do with the rest of saturday. it was getting later.

back home, we made a little charcuterie board, poured a little wine. we decided to stay home – with our happy dogga. we talked about our trail covered in snow, we read a book together, we played one of favorite cds. kind of a gentle end to our day.

i scrolled through my photo stream then reached out to d with my phone, pulling up one the photographs i’ve taken on the trail we love – this photo of stunning blooms of wildflowers in the winter forest – and said, “pretend i’m giving these to you.”

i’ve noticed lately that my eyes look a lot like my poppo’s.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY


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pullchain. [two artists tuesday]

the music and lyrics of jon mohr and john mays come to mind:

“oh maybe when we realize
how much there is to share
we’ll find too much in common
to pretend it isn’t there

love in any language
straight from the heart
pulls us all together
never apart
and once we learn to speak it
all the world will hear
love in any language
fluently spoken here“

lisa signed the song as the youth choir sang it on the stage in florida. i carried the song from youth choir to youth choir, its lyrics positive and the song always a director’s success.

d’s ceiling-fan-poppo-chain-bracelet broke and we had to replace it. we both wear these bracelets 24/7 so we have stand-by ceiling fan pullchain to wrap around our wrists should we have a break or a loss. we know my dad is heartwarmed – somewhere – as we hold onto him and the simple way he loved his family – via lightweight metal chain.

after i wrapped d’s wrist a couple times and secured it with the ball chain connector clasps, i tossed the remaining piece onto the counter to put into a tiny special box that is heaven for beaded chain.

i walked past and looked down.

there on the counter it had formed a heart.

of course.

my poppo grinned.

love…straight from the heart…pulls us all together…never apart.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY


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momma, poppo and dolly parton. [merely-a-thought monday]

i wish – every day – that my sweet momma and poppo were still here. that we could coffeesit with them, make them great soups for lunch, spoil them for dinner. that we could take them apple-picking and introduce my dad to a new scotch or two he hadn’t tried yet. that we could maybe adventure a little or just be quiet and listen to their old stories. i wish.

the thing i know, though, is that they would be beside themselves in this circus of a country we now have. it would make both of them irate to watch the vitriol being tossed about, the divisiveness that is being fed by rabid spewers, the lack of transparency, the lies. my daddy-o would have a few choice words to describe these folks and they wouldn’t be pretty.

and my mom? well, she would have no time for anyone who is less than kind to another. she would want nothing to do with any politician or religious leader or pundit who skips kindness in their approach to life, who excuses their own behavior, stance, agenda, platform, control tactic, extremism based on warped interpretation of law or scripture. she would point out the colossal hypocrisy. she might reiterate the story about when, in the dark night, they parked their little vw bug next to a small hill off the road. tired while traveling europe by car, they needed to rest and could find no guesthouse nearby. the little hill would serve them well, they thought. they woke up next to a gigantic dung pile, covered with black tarp held down by old tires. she would trust that we could connect the metaphoric dots. sometimes a hill is not a hill.

i think that both of them – were they here – would be ashamed of what it’s all become. my dad would wonder how his service – missing-in-action in world war II and then as a POW in a bulgarian camp – mattered now to these people who are making a mockery of democracy. my mom would be aghast at how people are being treated, marginalized, discriminated against, excluded. she, who worked hard to be kind to everyone, would worry about the popularity of this ugly trend. yes, they would both – were they here – be astonished at how, in so many arenas and in so many circumstances, people are just downright not good to each other.

i guess that – were they here – they would love a sit-down with dolly parton. they’d probably all talk at once, new yawk and a southern drawl all intermingling in conversation. and they’d all agree that they didn’t understand why anyone at all would “let religion and politics and things like that stand in the way of just being good human beings.”

and then – were they here, the three of them together – they would remind us all to stay away from dung piles posing as hills.

*****

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


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you can’t take it with you. [saturday morning smack-dab.]

there is always time. nothing we do is more important than the time we spend together. all of us.

my sweet poppo always said, “you can’t take it with you!” and was referring to money. but it generalizes to pretty much everything. in the end, you can’t take your possessions, your achievements, your investments, even your failures, with you. they will stay behind and it’s love that will carry you on, love that you will carry with you.

so even in the middle of important checklists of chores, work tasks, more achievements and more failures, more, more, more anything – cars, clothes, houses, boats, snowblowers and appliances, shoes, hairdos, all the fancypants trappings of “made-it” – there is time. to walk and talk and be silent and swish your feet through crunchy fallen autumn leaves.

cause you can’t take the other stuff with you.

my dad’s last words to me were, “i love you, kook.” my last words to him were, “i love you, my poppo.”

he’s watching us swish our feet through the leaves now. and smiling.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

SMACK-DAB. ©️ 2022 kerrianddavid.com


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goodness. [merely-a-thought monday]

i’m sure people in the target parking lot stared at me while i took a photograph of the side of the sara lee truck pulled up in front of the store. i’m always the one – lagging behind, trying to capture some image. so many photo ops, so little time…

but these words “how goodness should taste” caught my attention. sara lee, the company of classic pound cake, chocolate creme pie, new york style cheesecake, makes me think of my sweet momma, coffeetime, the round smoked-glass table, white plastic vinyl swivel chairs. my poppo, pouring the coffee out of a farberware percolator, whistling. goodness, indeed.

my growing-up wasn’t dressed up with ganache and crème brûlée or crepes and chocolate soufflé. i was the product of two great-depression parents and they were practical. entenmann’s crumbcake and my mom’s lemon pudding cake, homemade apple pie and chocolate chip cookies, box cupcakes and sara lee raised me, along with an occasional traditional-cheesecake splurge at the bakery.

goodness was simple. it wasn’t prissy nor did it require much money. it wasn’t fancy or haughty nor did it exclude anyone. it wasn’t loud and shiny nor did it bellow “look-at-me”. it wasn’t for show. it was just simply goodness.

when i saw the sara lee truck i called to david. he had stopped on the target sidewalk when he realized i hadn’t made it across the lane from lot to store.

i showed him the picture of the side of the truck “how goodness should taste” and said, “this is perfect for a blogpost.” i continued, “a great reminder!”

after all, maybe we should all think more about goodness.

not just how it should taste, but how it should feel inside, how it should sound, how it should be shown, what it should look like, how we can touch it, how we can share it.

wouldn’t it be cool if – maybe instead of [or, even, in addition to] “land of the free, home of the brave” – the united states of america was known as “how goodness should taste”?

*****

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