reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: perspective


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errands and pompoms. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

there’s not much he loves quite as much as errands. our dogga is a total cheerleader for us to leave the house – taking him with us – to go to and fro around town or further. it doesn’t matter much to him if we are grocery shopping or making a costco run, going to the post office or ups. he is completely on board. his enthusiasm is unwavering. every single time it’s the same. he is dyyyying to go, as long as it’s with us.

i can’t imagine what it might be like if we all applied that kind of enthusiasm to every single thing. the drudgery, the exciting stuff, the near, the far.

last night we watched three guys climb the impossible mountain peak changabang. we could not – even in our wildest imaginations – imagine being on that trek, scaling that mountain, sleeping in a portaledge hanging off the cliffside. it was enthralling watching them succeed, but it was not without incredible challenge and pain and, so, it was not without giant respect for the commitment these three made to summiting. good grief. i was lying in bed under a comforter and was unnerved just watching this quest.

after that we talked for a while. one cannot simply go to sleep after such a summit. i wondered aloud what we were doing on the day those three guys ice-picked their way up and up and slept in a portaledge in negative temperatures with avalanches falling around them. david – in a serious voice – said we had likely written posts, gone for a hike, maybe made a sheet pan dinner. the comparison made me laugh aloud.

but then we really started talking – as we do – about all that might be happening simultaneously around the globe as we write, hike and sheetpan. it’s sobering. 

because – truly – in the same moments we are writing, hiking and making a nice dinner, there are others – elsewhere – who are both elated and suffering. there are babies being born and people dying, communities defending themselves in war, other communities starved for food and supplies, people in distress and families with insurmountable odds. there are those summiting mountains and those studying reasons why species are in decline. people fighting disease, people evacuating their homes. people concerned with climate change and politicians touting their own self-aggrandizing agendas. it is a messy, messy world.

so dogga is one smart dogga. to be enthused about some round-the-town errands – ahhh – he adheres to a simple philosophy. he accepts life as it is, without worry about perfection. he gives no heed to life’s temporary nature and does not regard summiting as completion. instead, he embraces now with everything he’s got.

we might underestimate the lessons we learn from those around us. in a portaledge moment last night – wrapped in a comforter and a quilt – with multiple pillows and the window cracked and dogdog at our feet – we agreed we need not artificially – through disagreement or disdain, jealousy or comparison, not-enough-ness or overabundance – create any suffering for ourselves. 

we need only make our days as good as we can. we need bring our pompoms when we go on errands. and – really – maybe every other moment.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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the place by the big trees. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

i spent much of last year looking back. way back. way past up-close. way way back – way way past the smallest of trees on the horizon. it was necessary and painful and shocking and mighty tedious.

“… the mind clings to the road it knows / rushing through crossroads / sticking like lint to the familiar…”
(mary oliver)

and then you peel back the lint that is dryer-vent-covering it all. you wipe off the fuzzy pieces. you take a good hard look at what’s really there, at what you have softened with the padding of trying to forget, of stuffing you have piled on top of your frame, of what you have buried, of the traintracks you have sprinted ahead on, leaving the veritable picture of perspective – the v of traintracks running far behind – away away – with trees so small you can barely discern they are trees. and there it all is. raw. 

and you can see it. and your brain tries to stop you from seeing it. both. so you sit with it – laden – burdened – in the retrospect of it all – connecting the dots, sometimes nodding your head in sudden understanding, sometimes eyes wide, horrified at it all.

it is surreal. you are back there. you can feel it. but you know – that in merely a blink – you can be where you are right now…where you are really. 

and suddenly, you are at a crossroads. you must choose between replacing the lint – tamping it back down and turning your face away from it – or recognizing it as a shield, pulling it all out – this ancient insulation – discarding it and then staring at what’s left – what is now feeling air and space and attention. 

“trauma creates change you don’t choose. healing is about creating change you do choose.” (michelle rosenthal)

and then, after some time – some processing, some sorting, some meaning-making, some swearing, much courage, sheer survival – you glance at all the baggage laying next to you – rolliebags and backpacks, crossbody bags and trunks, paper bags and reusable grocery sacks – and you pick up only that which you wish to carry. 

and you make your way back up the tracks to the place you really are. the place by the big trees.

*****

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

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clarity. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

there is no way to maneuver the depth of field on my old iphone. it is all about coming in closer and backing up – eyeing what is framed in the aperture and moving to adjust what i want the photograph to look like. i know that the newer iphones have some access to depth of field options but – at the moment – i don’t have access to a newer iphone option. so. i adjust.

i almost rejected this photograph as a melange post. with the closest red dogwood branch a bit out-of-focus it didn’t really meet my parameters for a post. and then i stopped to reconsider it. it’s a great visual reminder of how distorted things can look from up close.

clarity is something that comes when you put a little space between you and the issue or object of your attention. 20 always says, “you’re too close!” and it’s impossible to not hear his voice in my head now in the throes of any decision. and so i try to remember to back up a little, to have some distance as i consider – an overview. 

when d was working for a new software startup (before the business was unfortunately closed) their product was the perfect tool for clarity. after i understood even the most basic functions of this remarkable software – as they were looking for names – i kept blurting out suggestions like “pinnacle” or “eagle eye” or “lookout” or “apex”. it seemed obvious to me that having this incredible overview – a step back – was the perfect new software for people struggling to make sense of too much up close and personal…a pragmatic way to sort and prioritize…a realistic way to have perspective. it’s beyond my wildest imagination that they did not continue on their merry way into software stardom. but alas, such is life, eh?

anyway, that lookout tower approach has its wisdom. it’s like pulling into the overlook in the appalachia region on route 25e in tennessee. up until that moment – in the middle of them – you were aware that there were mountains but you were seeing them from too close to really appreciate the grandeur. you drive into the overlook, step out of your vehicle, walk to the retaining wall and you are stunned by the magnificence of how the whole world drops off beyond your feet, stretching on and on and on. and you can see – there are mountains and lakes and a river – things you could not discern from up close. 

in the middle of the middle stepping back is one of the ridiculously hardest things to do. it feels counter-productive when you are trying to come to some sort of conclusion or have some kind of perspective about a specific thing. but up close and personal, the red dogwood is blurry and i can’t appreciate its stunning beauty. from a little distance away, i can see how it plays against the warm beige of the grasses and cattails, how it enhances the fallow of this meadow.

in this crazy-busy time of year – with people rushing around trying to make the holidays perfect for themselves and others – i’m thinking that maybe we are all a little too close. i’m reminded again and again of what is most important. i’m taking in serenity as i can. we are trying to go slow – to appreciate the big picture – to not be clouded by that which is hard to sort or discern or, for that matter, even clearly see. 

yes, the red dogwood is blurry up close. but from a little distance it stands out in a field barren of much color. the dissonance fades. the chord resolves. there is clarity. 

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

INSTRUMENT OF PEACE acrylic 48″x91″

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out from umbrella-world. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

and from my tiny home under the clover, i can look up and see that maybe the sky is clearing and the rains have stopped. the whole town has put up black umbrellas; some are bent from the wind and most are taller than they are wide, so it’s still easy to get caught in the downpours. and i can see – over there – the brown fulton birdcage umbrellas all set up, rounded bubbles – but everything that has been drenched is now drying a bit and it’s all verdant green and lush. it’s time to carry on.

i’m leaving my little home under the clover to go back out into the world. to see its giantness and feel the arriving sun and appreciate the balance of sunsoaked and rainsoaked, to try and understand the relationship between lack and abundance, to navigate the seesaw of positive and negative.

i see that it is quite possibly all about perspective. for the birds flying over our umbrella-world don’t see us here and, from our vantage point under the umbrella canopy, we don’t see them there. it’s only in the open field that we see each other, in the open field we can discern and hear each other, in the open field we can find truth.

my perspective has gotten lost from time to time, focused merely on my own parched landscape and drenching rainstorms. stepping out, looking around, taking stock – i see past the tiny market-umbrella-town in which i’ve taken shelter.

and i am no longer silent. there is much to be said, much to be learned.

and in the sun i’ll revel. and in the rain i won’t carry an umbrella.

it’s time.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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EARTH INTERRUPTED acrylic mixed media 50.25″x41″
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all the angles. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

i grew up loving protractors and mechanical pencils, slide rules and really good erasers. it’s a wonder i didn’t pursue a career where these were valued or necessary. digging through bins recently, i came across a pencil case with yet-another protractor, yet-another slide rule, a very sturdy compass, some fine-point drafting pencils. a treasure! from long ago i can feel the slide rule in my hand and the circly swirl of the compass. even without a specific purpose for these (save for the pencils) i am planning on keeping them. and the pencil case as well. because who doesn’t love pencil cases?

and so, it was without hesitation i immediately eye-measured the angles in this photograph. the north side of our house, rooflines as they meet the sky. this old house is filled with angles – crown molding meeting crown molding, wood floors as they run an expanse of a room to partner with another room, ceilings over a reversing stairwell, ceilings in bedrooms that long ago housed matchbox cars and barbies.

there are photographs in the bins-in-the-basement as well. i study them for a bit. it’s obvious i was always looking for a different angle – a different way to view what everyone else was looking at, to compose my image. closer-up, upside-down, the horizon on a deliberate tilt. but, most always, tighter-in, to feature some subject matter.

it was when i was in the canyonlands sharing precious time with my daughter that i learned a lesson. we were both snapping pictures – the expanse, the red rock, the sky, the immensity, the 90 degree angles to the canyon floor – it was all overwhelmingly take-your-breath-away. we took photographs of each other in this incredible terrain. her images were a teaching.

there, taking up barely any space in the middle third of the left side of the photo, i stood on the top of the cliffside. the sun was almost down, the deep chasm below dark, the red rock upon which i stood still lit orange. i am the smallest percentage of this photograph and, yet, it is one of my favorite photos of myself – ever.

it was that day i learned little bit more about perspective – through my daughter’s brilliant creative instinct to give the visceral gift of seeing tiny in vast. to back up, to wide-angle the view. i remind myself of these amazing moments with her often.

i hold my camera ready – to consider all the angles of what i’m seeing. and, most especially, what i might see, what i might be aware of, from a distance. the bigger picture.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

from a distance. acrylic 53″ x 29″

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

“…and i got saved by the beauty of the world.” (mary oliver)

there are the tiniest of moments – like this one – when everything harsh, everything wrought, everything dark or full of angst, everything of challenge just falls away. like the universe took a feather duster to the worries stoked up on your shoulders and reminded you. to breathe. to feel the realness of the moment. to be hyper-vigilant of all senses. to be in it.

it could just as easily slipped by, unnoticed. the fresh air, rich colors, the sun filtered through layers of pine, the scent of a humid summer day, the gravel path. it could have been lost.

but i am grateful to have stopped. i am grateful any time i remember to stop. to have perspective. to grasp onto the tiniests. to allow myself to be saved by the beauty of the world.

*****

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

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under the i. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

in downtown chicago, it is not uncommon to walk under highways or tracks carrying heavy railroad cars, the metra, the el, freight carriers.

but out on a trail, meandering alongside a river, through meadows and forests, passing fishermen and being passed by marathon-aspiring bikers, with turtles and baby snakes, heron and mosquitoes punctuating our hike, it seems really odd – and slightly unnerving – to walk under the “i”.

you can’t help but look up at the cars and trucks going 70 or 80 mph just above you. i shudder to think of the infrastructure problems that might abound. 86% of bridges in the state of illinois are considered acceptable. i just want to be sure this particular bridge is not part of the other 14%.

as i have some trepidation under vehicle and railroad bridges, my imagination is working a little overtime as i slither underneath the overpass, my eyes on the light coming from the other side. it’s much cooler under the bridge – and surprisingly quieter than before we entered – and there is a pigeon who is touting his wisdom for hanging out where it is sheltered. but most pigeons are not civil engineers nor do they really worry themselves about that sort of thing. i speak softly to it as we pass; it’s not frightened, even of us.

of all the trails we have taken in our general area – i have to say this section hike of the river trail was the least satisfying. we were in a triangular map-section of three large highways, including the interstate. so we weren’t ever far from the noise. and noise – and general hubbub – is what we are trying to escape on a trail. nevertheless, i’m glad we section-hiked that part. it surely makes us appreciate the rest of the trail, in quieter areas, removed a bit from the ruckus of daily life.

perspective is a funny thing. there are times we get sort of lax in appreciation. we take for granted the everyday luxuries of contemporary life, the ease of movement, our connections to family and friends. we see same-same through the same eyes. it’s a theme with variations.

and then, there was the pigeon. it found its safe place under the underpass – a place where it was cool, where the river ran and it could sip, where the insects and worms might be plentiful, where passersby might toss it a morsel or two. it didn’t seem to mind that the interstate was directly above, that this spot was not nirvana for most.

idyllic is in the eye of the beholder. so is wonder. in a busy world, they are easy to miss, easy to same-old-same-old-put-aside.

so, instead of dissing the trail that went under the interstate, i’ve decided to be in amazement that we walked under a road that hosts a daily average of 1.5 million cars of people driving to their destinations. and that on the way back on our eight or so mile hike, we could stop and linger with the pigeon, out of the hot sun.

sharpening the dulled, putting new eyes on the ordinary.

*****

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

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from the perspective of a fly. [merely-a-thought monday]

in the column under the word “detest” i would place mosquitoes.

anything that can be minutely tiny and, really, barely visible, but can instantly wreak havoc on any summer evening or afternoon hike or, geesh, morning coffee, really has no right to be on the “well-loved” list.

that incessant buzzing you hear – in the bedroom – when you are trying to go to sleep…you just know it’s headed for you, it’s looking for you, it will bite you. mosquitoes own big stock in sleeping aid companies, i’m quite sure. they are just – in the voice of my former mother-in-law (who i can still hear in my mind saying this) “MIZZZerable!”.

wisconsin is among the states that has informally declared the mosquito as the state bird. it’s an effort to be humored by these pests, to take them in stride, to share space with them. yuck.

i picked a slip out of the jokes and riddles bowl, sweet mementos of cherished helen. “mosquito – an insect that makes you like flies better.” considering what i know about flies – all the disgusting stuff – in general one would be hard-pressed to like flies better than anything. but – relative to mosquitoes? i guess they aren’t as pathetically-unloved. unless they are the horse flies of the beach or those black flies in new england or midges or biting gnats or the dreaded no-see-ums. none of these deserve much adoration and one has to wonder what their true purpose might be. i know, i know. the whole food source/pollinator/composter thing. (i can hear elton john singing the circle of life now.)

i’d have to agree with this slip of paper. mosquitoes make me like many things i detest – more. and, despite the bats that fly in the summer dusk sky above our ‘hood here near the lake, i still wonder about their self-esteem and self-actualization. i’d be happier to support their life goals if i wasn’t one of them.

mostly, this slip of paper from this tiny-but-powerful 95-year-old is a good reminder about one’s perspective in life, one’s point of view. i’m betting the flies appreciate it.

*****

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

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training wheels. [merely-a-thought monday]

perennial-training-wheels-mode.

i would say this quote – “everyone has their training wheels on” – is one of the best descriptions of life i have heard lately. when jack spoke the words in his pct-thru-hike documentary, i jotted them down.

because nothing is absolute, and nothing is perfected, and no one can stake claim to knowing-all-ness, i see everyone in my mind’s eye on their banana-seat-two-wheelers, training wheels attached, riding around the globe, pedaling fiercely, trying to get somewhere, anywhere, even nowhere.

i am thinking that if we all could acknowledge how little we actually know – i mean reeeally know – and how nothing we think we know is actually certain – i mean reeeally certain – we might all get along a little bit better.

the stubborn stancers, the unbudging discurious, the omniscient narcissists – these are the troublemakers. the universe is – again, in my mind’s eye – guffawing at their misguided haughtiness, the sheer arrogance of fallacious righteousness, delusional at best.

for each and every day, perspective strikes us once again. and we see that we really know very little and we realize that nothing is for sure. so we learn – in these daily lessons – to embrace these little easily-attached helper-wheels. because life is full of unnatural skills and pedaling through can be tough.

somewhere, there is a long line of humankind-humans who are waiting to size up their training wheels so they can add them next to their ten-speeds, their roadbikes, their colorful cruisers, their folding ebikes. they – the canny ones – know they are always in training.

*****

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

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hag icecube. [merely-a-thought monday]

it was easy to lose ourselves on the beach. it was cold, but the sun was out and we were all dressed for it. our hike had brought us through the preserve and then – a little jaunt through the woods – to the shore. deserted, it was sandy, punctuated by driftwood and thick stripes of rocks. the further south we walked, the more rocks. the shoreline curved and must have been the place where the stones were captured as lake michigan rogue waves carried them in. so much to pick up, with smooth edges to run our fingers over, ponder. so easy to lose ourselves.

we walked – heads down – looking, looking. the treasures were abundant, all right there. we found the first hag stone. there is something about hag stones. these rocks – with a hole straight through them – mysterious and beautiful, hag stones are thought to have special powers that represent protection and luck. sandstone, limestone, flint…we found another. and then another. we walked and walked on the beach, looking, looking – because it becomes addictive – finding treasures just waiting to be found. easy to lose ourselves.

it got colder and, with the wind picking up, it was time to leave. we ended up bringing home a few rocks, some magical hag stones, and some sea pottery, gorgeous sherds of earthenware with green glaze, worn down for years perhaps by the powerful great lake. despite no knowledge of the origins of any of these, the connection to the day and to the water made them alluring.

“luck will show itself when it’s there.” (ricko dewilde – life below zero) on challenging days, luck is certainly hard to see. the grass-is-always-greener mindset takes over and it’s easy to succumb, the we’re-never-lucky-like-that defeatist, unmoored. easy to lose ourselves.

but the grass-is-greener-anywhere-else moment yields. and after a pause, a deep breath, mind-quieting, a good lookaround tells us something else.

a walk on the beach with dearest friends. talking and laughing and quiet treasure-hunting. finding sea pottery and sea glass and heart-shaped rocks and smoothed-to-ivory driftwood and hag stones – there all along, just waiting to be seen.

and luck starts to show itself. even in ice cubes.

*****

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