reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: our old house


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our sturdy old tree. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

at approximately 3:48 last wednesday afternoon, in the first mighty gust of the storm, the great soul – the great tree – in our front yard – for decades and decades and decades – fell. and nothing was the same.

this sturdy old tree was wise beyond its years, withstanding all manner of weather-fury, all seasons of plenty and not-enough.

this sturdy old tree – magnificent, its canopy shading our lawn, its spirit encircling our home and family – stood vigil out in front, a talisman of protection and a peaceful adapter to the change of winter to spring, of autumn to winter, each time, bending to the rules – or whims – of nature…for at least seventy-five years.

this sturdy old tree – was what i looked at from the nursery while rocking babies, looking out the window. it marked the passage of time as my babies grew, early morning light in its leaves, the sun setting through its crown, its winter-nakedness to its verdant maple-leaf splendor, its yellow glow in fall, the way snow lay on its strong branches, its promise in early spring.

this sturdy old tree – was what i looked at from my bench in my studio, sitting at my piano composing, lyricizing, practicing. it gave me breath and reminded me to place rests in the music, to give others breath, time to process, to take in, to feel. i stared at this tree out the window from that spot, standing still or sitting quietly, pondering what had been, what was, what might be. it was a touchstone of consistency, of continuity, of the timeline that goes back and forward, dynamic.

this sturdy old tree greeted us as we came down our road, as we turned the corner. it offered shelter and filtered sunlight, framed the moon and the stars and planets, played with color at dusk. it elicited our appreciation for yet another homecoming. it was the monument, the lighthouse, the trailmarker that said “home”.

this sturdy old tree – wizened – was that which i advocated for, in times of electric-wire-branch-trimming, in times of water main work, in times of road construction, in times of other injuries it withstood.

i whispered words of – truly loving – gratitude to it, “you did nothing wrong. you did everything right,” as they began to tend to the-cleaning-up after the wind had wreaked havoc upon it. with more extreme storms coming – and a heavily one-sided bit of our beloved tree left – i knew that it was its time. and it was hard to watch, this family member which had preceded me, which had lived here the whole time i have, which had seen much life in that bit of yard at this house on this street. we were fortunate that it was our tree and we loved it for being our tree.

it feels like a marker in time to have felt and heard this great tree fall. to see its brokenness. its soul continues on with us; we need that wisdom and resilience, especially now. we need its tenacity as it aged, especially now. we need its stalwart goodness, its dedication to being the best tree it could be, especially now.

our big, sturdy old tree lives on. it will always be one of the great trees because of its great soul.

and – after its decades and decades and decades of time as a tree on this good earth – in the bowing of its beautiful canopy of leaves, its hefty rough-barked branches, its branches that curved outward with a bowl in the center of the trunk where creatures could rest and shelf fungus could excel, it reminds us of something:

there is no great anything without a great soul.

“and when great souls die/after a period peace blooms,/slowly and always/irregularly. spaces fill/with a kind of/soothing electric vibration./our senses, restored, never/to be the same, whisper to us./they existed. they existed. /we can be. be and be/better. for they existed.” (maya angelou)

*****

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

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enchanting. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

we’ve gotten a few plants now. a couple sweet potato vines, a couple licorice plants. we also have our basil, chives, parsley, cilantro, jalapeños, cherry tomatoes and lavender. in the last few days we transplanted them into clay pots for our potting stand or their new home on our deck or patio.

our first day at the nursery was completely about reconnaissance. the second – at a different nursery – was to be wowed and make a few purchases…four to be exact. we were directly behind someone who had ridiculously-loaded carts of plants and flowers, along with a ridiculously-loaded price tag. we were just as excited as she was, only our joy was about our four plants, not a multitude. there is a reality to budgeting and we try to plan our purchases wisely, particularly in these times.

our third day out was crowded with people, the nursery was messy and the plants were picked over, but we still managed to find some herbs and tomatoes, lavender, salvia and sweet purple flowers whose name escapes me. our fourth day we filled in the gaps. the nursery had resupplied and we picked up the mint, jalapeños, and little white with purple flowers to contrast with the purples we had already gotten.

d lined up all the pots and planters on the patio and i took out my gloves from the old cabinet we had placed on the deck. and then it started.

from individual elements – these small (though not inexpensive) plastic pots of baby plants – turning into our own backyard sanctuary, filled with potential of beautiful flowers and edible produce. exquisite. each morning we look out the window – in the earliest morning light – to see these new residents of our home. each morning they are enchanting.

one day – over a century ago – all the pieces of barney were put together into an upright piano. where he went from there is unknown, but we found him in the church’s basement boiler room, not exactly a prime location for this musicmaking instrument.

after we managed to have him delivered to our backyard instead of to the junkman, we were thrilled with his presence. his aging might have been preserved by some marine wax, but we chose to go organic with barney. he’s way more of a granola piano than a botox piano.

through the years we have now had him, he has become more and more gorgeous, more and more a part of our backyard, offering shelter to the wee critters, a landing pad for those who fly or scamper. barney’s higher-purpose presence is grounding and part of the peace we feel when we step out our back door.

it’s hard to believe that it is almost june again. already. summer is at the edges.

the last two nights we have had dinner outside on the deck. as the sun just begins to slightly wane – to fall off into acute angles with the horizon – we sit and chat while the garden lights reflect in the pond. we wait for hummingbirds to zoom to our feeder. we watch breck quake in the breeze, marvel at the play of birds and squirrels, adore our dogga laying on the deck in the shade. it is all enchanting.

as the dark begins to settle into the alcoves of our yard – the ferns breathe deeply, the peonies stretch – we yawn and make our way inside. as we settle in under our quilt we talk about our day. we talk about the delights of new plants, marvel at the perennials we are astounded to see again. we are grateful for plastic adirondack chairs, a tiny bistro set, two old gravity chairs and a couple round rugs – the trappings of our deck – a place we truly find enchanting.

as it turns out, we don’t require much to be enchanted.

*****

GRATEFUL © 2004 kerri sherwood

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read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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every ounce. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

we have a relationship with mason jars. ball, kerr, various other brands, it doesn’t matter. we even have a relationship with faux mason jars – the smuckers jelly jars that we used to use for wine, the bonne maman jam jars we currently use as water glasses.

at our wedding we had dozens of mason jars, daisies tucked into all of them. some were ours and we borrowed some (does that work as something borrowed, something blue…?) because way back when – when i first moved to wisconsin – i got hooked on these jars.

my dear friend linda and i would attend the late 80s/early 90s craft fairs, peruse antique shoppes. her home was a celebration of all-things-vintage and i fell in love with it. there were textures and stories – a distinct warmth – everywhere and buying-vintage became a viable – and smart – option for me. we have several metal flour sifters as a result of that and a collection of old wooden textile mill spools and bobbins (from the 19th and earlier 20th centuries). when other people were buying cutesy painted tchotchkes, i was lusting over old wooden boxes, lidded crates and blue mason jars.

we stopped at a couple antique shoppes recently, looking for a small wooden garden table for a plant or two on our deck. we had purchased one last spring but then d loved it so much outside he brought it inside in the fall to serve as his bedside table. now he is a devotee to this little peeling-paint garden table and we are on the hunt for another.

i don’t suppose many people would have brought this table inside – or the old glider – or the chunks of concrete – or the birdhouse – or the chiminea. but in an effort-that-is-no-effort to have a home that doesn’t look like it’s staged-and-ready-for-sale or is a furniture-outlet showroom or magazine piece, we dive into our intuitive to use the things that really speak to us, that are organic, that have stories. i maintain that everyone should be required to purchase mostly used things – there is just too much stuff in the world and i can’t imagine why we need even more manufactured stuff. but i digress.

in that same vein, though, we have started regularly using the things that we have found in our going-through the basement, the attic, the closets. we are eliminating plastic here and there and choosing the cut-glass vessels for our carrot sticks and salty snacks. we are soon going to reconfigure the stuff in the cabinets under the counter in the kitchen – to make access easier to the old pyrex, the fenton hobnail, the cut-glass.

we have found we have no real need to purchase many things. i’m not sure if that comes with age or if that comes with a bit of wisdom – or if those are one and the same. our inclination is to use what we have, to not save things for “good” (which is particularly difficult for me), to minimize as much as we can.

every now and then we find something that just pokes at us, prodding us to bring it home. there is a raw rough-hewn clay pot from northport, a couple linen napkins from the same boutique. there is a new peace sign button hanging in littlebabyscion. but way more has gone out than come in – donated, sold on marketplace or poshmark. less is most definitely more. especially in these times.

the blue ball jars all lined up at this shoppe made me smile. the proprietor clearly loves organization; everything there was in categories, lined up or gathered for ease of perusing through. we had no impulse to buy anything, but loved our walk through.

because each time we walk an antique shoppe, we have stories to tell – about the stuff of growing-up, about things we have previously owned, about stuff we never had or never wanted, about – well – life.

if you have never taken a walk through any vintage shop, you might consider it.

it’s generative in a way you might not expect, with sudden glimpses into the decades that have past, with moments when your heart surges – focused on a memory, with a wistfulness that reminds you of how fleeting it all is and how very much we need to “wring out every ounce of life, breath by breath, [all] that this world has to offer.” (words from a text from dear friend lisa.)

*****

CHASING BUBBLES mixed media 33.25″ x 48″

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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oh, mourning dove. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

we don’t have a tv antenna anymore. this is our westneighbors’. we have the good fortune of being able to see the birds who choose it as a place to land, a place to rest, a place to view all that which is below them. though i understand that the tv antenna is “coming back” (much like paisley bell bottoms – which i, clearly, should have kept through the years…though the idea of those still fitting makes me grimace and roll my eyes and woops…i am off-trail, bushwhacking my way through my brain back to topic…..)

so…my point…tv antennas are coming back – though it is not necessarily in this form but more in the form of a powerful window leaf or indoor device or lower-profile rooftop doohickey, no longer a towering metal structure, more horizontal now than vertical.

nevertheless, there are many tall tv antennas in our neighborhood – simply because they were already there.

when ours fell down we were fortunate it did no harm and we had a tree guy come and clean it all up. at the time we were subscribed to the smallest cable package and, since then, we have considered cutting that as well. it is, after all, a wifi world these days.

when we take walks in our ‘hood we pass a few houses with solar panels. not as many as might be in a neighborhood with newer houses, but i suspect, as people choose to install a new roof, they might also install solar. in these days of high energy cost, it only makes sense. solar power, wind power, hydropower, geothermal power…all amazing, clean, responsible options for a planet struggling to support so many more people,

which clearly brings me – in this dot-to-dot brain of mine – once again – to the abhorrent devastation this administration is making of renewable energy in this country. the unparalleled gluttony of those in power now is absolutely decimating what is good for our planet earth. but they totally don’t care. and neither do those who continue to support this pathetic and backward set of so-called policies. there is no culpability for the environment; there is only money to be made. it’s disgusting. more on that tomorrow.

and so, the mourning dove sits on our westneighbor’s tv antenna, looking around, resting. the dove has no idea of what flies through my brain as i appreciate its perch on the roof. it has no idea of how admiring i am of its ability to be zen-like and coo in all circumstances. it has no idea how much peace it brings me – to just simply watch it sit on an old tv antenna.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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first. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

there was little light. without power we had tealights and candles scattered about the house. a small ikea lantern my poppo gave me years ago lit the way to the bathroom. and i put fresh batteries in a few small flashlights. both of us – and our dogga – have had plenty of time in our old house that we can find our way around in the dark, so bright light wasn’t an imperative. heat – yes. bright light – not so much.

the far-reaching effects of the lack of power are striking. we were at a standstill in some dramatic ways. no power. no heat. no stove or oven. no internet. no home phone. no cable. no inside phone charging. a lot of waiting and not a lot of doing. pacing.

we sat at our little bistro table – with this candle – and talked. we spoke about people overcome by the ravages of war, people in crumbled cities destroyed by hatred, people trying to live in rubble in the dark, in the cold, in sickness, in hunger. we were silent as we both became overwhelmed. quite certain that we had more in this cut glass candle, we were downright appreciative for the promise of our power being restored at some point, even if that timeline didn’t fit our preferred plan.

we watched the shadows play off the wall and dance on the ceiling. i took photographs. we put a frozen baguette on the grill to thaw and heat up. we cut up cheese from the fridge, prepared a small charcuterie in a hobnail server. we made lemonade. it’s easier to make lemonade when you know that all will be well again.

i would imagine it’s nearly impossible to make lemonade when nothing will be well again. that kind of spirit, that kind of chutzpah, that kind of fortitude is hard to muster in desperate situations. we – once again – felt humbled by the destruction felt around the world, our own immediate problem less than a mere blip in comparison.

there are many lessons learned from perspective. much humility learned from knowledge. a realization of interconnectedness – we-are-all-brothers-and-sisters – learned from even the smallest degree of empathy. and the stunning acknowledgement that fighting, the subjugation of people all over the world, cruelty beyond compare continues on and on and on as we burn our candle.

it was early when we tucked in under an extra comforter. snowflake flannel sheets, two comforters and a handmade quilt – even with mighty cold house temperatures – were cozy and we fell asleep, exhausted and knowing the next day would bring both the hope of reconnected power and the beginning of the blizzard.

post-nightfall, standing in the living room – bathed in light – we looked at each other not sure what to do next.

but first – first we were grateful.

*****

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

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my souvenirs. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

she pointed at the artisan-crafted wooden sconce and said, “did you see the heart?” one of the wooden discs was in the shape of a heart. i hadn’t noticed, which is saying a lot since i always notice hearts. i was thrilled, though, because the thought of her having this heart-infused sconce on the wall of her newly-purchased “dream home” was, well, totally heartwarming. this person was the right person to have these family-handed-down scandinavian birch sconces – and that was the moment i knew it.

each day i am finding something else of which i am ready to let go. it’s not always easy. sometimes the connection is hard to break. but i am trying to make decisions based on the unlikelihood of our actually using a piece versus the chance that someone else might be able to use it, has been searching for it or is just charmed by that very thing. storing something ad nauseum seems completely silly now. despite its charm, the beauty of something hand-crafted, the ancestry strands connected with it, if i haven’t used it in decades, why would i expect to use it now?

it is a tad bit overwhelming – i realize i am redundant-beyond-the-beyond here – to go through everything. the bins, boxes, closets, attic, storage rooms seem neverending. and yet, there are some great stories i am able to tell david, some history of these relics, with mixed emotions that accompany them.

as i move them on, i begin to see that the artifacts of the past – though some laden with positive or negative emotion – are not that which holds the emotion. the curio is merely the vessel of what jolts my memory, pokes at my heart, the physical thing that – when i see it or touch it – brings up whatever the emotion might be.

there are a few things that still don’t pass muster. even if i smudged them with great amounts of sage, they would still be too much for me to hold onto, too much for me to tuck back into a bin or box, a closet or the attic. some things must move on – and there is no reticence whatsoever.

it’s been a big learning. and it has gained momentum for me. as i unearth each bit of relic for release, i see yet another and know it is time.

some of it i send out with bits of my heart and some with a deep exhale. and, either way, i know that – eventually – it all remains anyway. even when the bins and boxes and closets and attic and storage rooms are way less labored with stuff.

i have connected with the memory, acknowledged it, felt it, and stored it back away. i have wrapped my heart around it or dealt with processing it.

and the fragments of memory – now invisible remnants of all the stuff – are now my souvenirs.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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sit on the step. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

i have sat on that front step next to that black wrought iron railing countless times. i wouldn’t even be able to venture a guess as to how many times. i’ve watched kids play, I’ve waited for someone’s arrival or return, i’ve breathed fresh air into grief, i’ve pondered some difficult things of life.

as it has rusted through the years, d sanded the railing this past summer. and then he repainted it, so it’s looking pretty fresh these days…well, as fresh as a railing that’s likely almost 100 can look.

ahhh…speaking of age…a few days ago – on sunday – we had a tiny celebration. we grilled and had some french fries and a glass of wine. we used a set of our favorite cloth napkins. because this month d will turn 65. and because saturday at midnight-going-into-sunday was the very last day of the affordable care act for us. we are now both on medicare with a medicare supplemental plan and a part d.

we have had a dubious relationship with the aca. of course, grateful to have healthcare of some sort, there has been the healthcare cliff, the healthcare subsidies, the healthcare deductibles, the healthcare copays, the state-to-state healthcare rules about where you might be able to be treated, the limitations on travel if you have any concerns about, well, anything happening other than what an emergency room might handle.

recall the day in our own town we sat in big red in a parking lot, trying to decide between going to the emergency room or urgent care for my two broken wrists. i am wrapped up like a mummy, both wrists wrapped and then placed against my chest (the way the ski hill medics wrapped me) and i am trying to look at the difference in coverage between the ER and urgent care so that i might be treated but we might not be overwhelmed by medical debt afterwards. these were extraordinarily tense moments and – as it turns out – we probably should have gone to the ER, but the state of healthcare in these united states make proper care of our bodies – decisions based on the reality of your situation – nearly impossible for most ordinary people.

so now, medicare.

we are inordinately happy to be a-week-shy-of-65 and 66…ok, seven-weeks-shy-of-67. we appreciate the chance to move about the country and be covered by insurance to keep us healthy.

yes, indeedy…..move about the country and be covered by insurance to keep us healthy.

like, you know, universal healthcare.

and why would we not want everyone in this country to have that?

it is beyond me to ponder why anyone WOULDN’T want that. how little compassion you must have to have to believe instead in the every-person-for-themselves philosophy of life.

it’s time – again – to go sit on the step.

some things just make no sense at all.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

HELPING HANDS (53.5″ x 15.25“)

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apparently. [kerri’s blog on flawed wednesday]

it was frigid out that day. really, really frigid. a good day to bake cookies and make a big pot of pasta sauce. we added water to the old radiator pans to put a little moisture in the air. we set up the humidifier in the bedroom. we hunkered down.

we’re still in clean-out mode. we will be for a while, likely a long while. cookies mid-day are a perfect reward for keeping-on.

we are making discoveries as we go, so the going is slower than if there were no stories whatsoever, if there was no personalization. it would definitely speed things up if we felt no attachment whatsoever to any of the stuff, if we were decidedly ruthless about cutting all threads to any sentimentality.

but we can’t…well, mostly, i can’t – since most of the things in the basement are related to me. d didn’t tote decades of belongings with him when he arrived well over a decade ago. his physical baggage was simpler – a budget-truck-full. though he still willingly participates in the sluggish crawl through bins and boxes and closets and storage rooms.

so we move slowly and give credence to all the stories, the memories, the narrative, the life that whispers from each thing we unearth – short or long, loud or soft.

we read an article about the historical united states – pre-lincoln – when the mud-sill theory was rising as a way-to-be in this place – caste system heavy, subordinating women and those of non-white races. ugly and cruel, the system disregarded the stories and lives of the ‘regular’ populace, of any working class of people. not that it ever really went away – despicable stuff – it has risen its brutally hideous head once again. right here. right now.

this administration would much like to speed things up. this administration would much like to be entirely ruthless. they are honing their merciless skills every day now. there is no ‘slow’ in their vocabulary nor in their agenda, for it would seem that slow might elicit accountability or conscience and there is neither.

we don’t really understand how one gets there – to a place of such depravity. despite the somewhat-constitutional-pom-pom-waving-somewhat-marginalizing-sordid history of this country and its arc through time, we do believe that most people would like to live in harmony, most people would like to live in peace. they are the ingredients for a democracy, the recipe for the sweet life.

they’re gluten-free, these chocolate chip cookies. but you’d never know if i didn’t tell you. they are just as delicious as tollhouse cookies with wheat flour. they are just what we needed in the middle of the afternoon.

apparently, right now, the sweet life is limited to what we can create together with others who are like-minded in their desire for goodness, who are not callously embracing the unrelenting horrific.

yeah. that and these cookies.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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making the cut. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

before she had her ears pierced, my sweet momma had a collection of beautiful old-fashioned screw-back earrings dangling on this display on her dresser. i don’t know if i have any of those earrings but somehow i have this chrome and acrylic display that i think she and my poppo used back-in-the-day when they owned a small jewelry store.

i don’t have a specific use for this. it sits empty on my dresser. every time i look at it i think of my mom, so maybe that’s its use (though thoughts of my momma are prompted by many things and moments in my days.)

in this time, in the going-through of the stored stuff – things in boxes and bins and closets – there have been a few treasures. the crèche from a well-loved christmas house in a little town in florida that i passed on to a dear friend who has significant connections to that town. the painting we sent to the family of the painter. the hand-painted collector plates – painted by ancestors – i’m sending to family members so that they, too, might have a piece of this history.

other things? well, not so much.

it will be a slow process and last night – before we went to sleep – we were talking about how we might have missed so much had we just quickly given everything away. i’m grateful we are taking our time. the gifts are in the time-taking.

now, i would be remiss if i didn’t mention how hard some of these things are to part with. despite no real driving imperative for banana curls, i am reticent to part with the pink sponge curlers. despite no current (or impending) babies in the family, it is a tiny bit difficult to give up the sesame street baby play gym. despite a lack of counter space for it, the 1970s roll top breadbox is a tough giveaway. despite never having used it – and frankly, not even knowing i had it – finding the Betty Crocker plug-in warming tray seems a splendid idea for entertaining. despite not wearing them for – like – ever, the sweatshirt collection – and yes, it is a collection – has a zillion memories, each one its own reason for purchase. how can i give up montauk or galena or northwestern university or long island or nyc or seattle or lawrence or the university of minnesota or the high school tennis team? despite zero talent for woodworking, my brother’s scrollsaw templates…were my brother’s. despite, despite, despite. despite no real need for them, i will struggle as i photograph and ponder the fate of these things…remembering always that they are simply things and that any memory is still a memory, cued up and ready for my heart to wander through or linger in.

it’s gonna take a while. likely, a long while. but each day something is given away or sold or sent to someone or – in some cases, when appropriate, thrown out. little by little we are making headway. and, now, david – who used to be much more ruthless about culling possessions – is finding himself also relishing the process. well, relishing might be a tiny exaggeration. but definitely appreciating the process.

i’m not sure about this vintage earring holder piece. it has no function on my dresser, but it doesn’t take up a lot of room. there is a gingham stuffed heart hanging on it right now.

maybe that’s all it needs.

when the play gym and the warming tray and the sweatshirts and the scrollsaw templates and all the other things i will unearth and unbox and unbin and photograph and ponder actually move on, maybe it’s the small seemingly meaningless that will remain. to someone else, those things might look extraneous. but my heart connects the dots. and this time through, well, the chrome and acrylic stand might make the cut.

*****

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

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this is the stuff. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

(about this week: there is a peril, it seems, to writing ahead these days. we had decided that this week – the first full week of a new year – we wished to use images of light as our prompts, we wished to linger on the possibility of light, of hope, of goodness. though our blogposts might stray from that as we pen them, it was without constant nod to the constant updating of current events – a mass of indefensible, unconscionable acts. we pondered what to do about these blogposts we had written and decided to keep them. we hope that – whether or not any absence of the happenings of the day, whether or not the chance these written words seem somewhat inane at this moment – you might know that those events – of corruption, illegality, immorality – do not distill or distort our intention – to bring light and hope to this new year – the first days of which bring more insanity and unnerving instability. we are still holding space for light.)

and so…

and what does the ceiling fan see, looking down at the centerpiece on the dining room table? what is the bird’s-eye view of this bit of old peeling-paint chairwood, this tiny dollar store tree, these glass votives, the glittery ornament tucked in? acknowledging that everything is clearly a bit easier if you are a ceiling fan, i wonder – is it thinking, “now, THIS is the stuff of christmas!”?

the piece of wood comes from an old chair that used to sit at the kitchen table. it’s part of the seat and there are two other gorgeous pieces that we can use for some other purpose. how many times i have sat on that chair, how many times a beloved child or family member or friend sat on that chair. i revel in having a slice to carry forward, a slice of those times, an artifact of meals and conversations, a touchable piece of history.

we’ve been talking about our dining room table lately. we have this great teak table – with giant leaves – that i got from a dear friend about twenty years ago. it was her dining room table but it became the perfect work/conference table in my recording label offices on the lake. when i moved from those offices back home, the table came along and became my dining room table. it’s been the gathering place for so, so many dinners and parties – i would be hard-pressed to even venture a guess how many. it has served us well.

there is definitely evidence of all that life. there are the stains: the rings from water glasses, the lighter blob from a pumpkin that was secretly aging, the scratches from babycat or a multitude of projects created on this surface.

and so now it needs some refinishing. the chairs need to be reupholstered. it needs some work.

and we have begun to think about this.

downstairs, in the storage room that houses the boiler and the hot water heater, there are doors. many doors. six-panel doors with some heft. doors from old closets. screen doors. cabinet doors. a bunch of doors.

one of these doors is a french door with windows, the glass still intact, the white paint just weathered enough. it’s not as wide as the dining room table – which has been a great workspace, a terrific staging ground – a place where one can put a plethora of serving bowls and accoutrements for a big dinner.

but it’s – this door – it’s got some charisma. there is a certain charm to the possibility of having a dining room table that is actually a door from this very house. with a good piece of glass – or plexiglass – or whatever the good folks at town and country glass recommend – this could become our new gathering table. food for thought, we consider it.

but then we’d need chairs, for the chairs at the teak table are also teak and would need to be given away with the table.

so. chairs.

i suppose we’d be off and running on a fantastic chairquest – odds and ends of vintage (read: old) and repurposed chairs with personality to circle the perimeter of the new doortable.

and thus would begin a whole new set of relationships and stories and memories – between us and the dining room table and the chairs and all the people who would sit there, with us.

and the ceiling fan would then look down – with its bird’s eye view and its ceilingfanlife perspective – and giggle – once again, as ever – at the thought of just how many times it has taken a screenshot in its mind’s eye (assuming the ceiling fan has a mind’s eye), how many times it has wanted to memorize the moments below it, how many times it has thought about how lucky it is to be hung over a gathering space, how many times it has thought “now THIS is the stuff. of life”.

*****

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

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