reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: perspective


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

sprinkles. squared.

we ordered fried rice and eggrolls the same day i blogged about joy sprinkles. it doesn’t take much to get us enthused and fried rice and eggrolls do it. because we don’t eat out often, it is always a treat to have something someone else has prepared and this dinner is no different.

we only got one fortune cookie in our brown stapled bag of deliciousness; our order must be considered a small order. we saved it for later.

i got to be the one to crack it open.

“sprinkles of joy will shower upon you in unexpected ways.”

it was one of those stunning moments in the universe when all comes to a screeching halt and you realize it is – indeed – all connected. just when you felt a little bit untethered, a little unsteady, the universe shows up with an anchor.

and here it was. simply the words “sprinkles of joy”.

i texted heidi – forever my keeper of the word “sprinkles” – and we laughed to realize we had juuust spoken these very words, that i had just written them. unexpected, for sure. it was like the universe had its own personal siri listening in – like when you talk about mumbai – never touching your computer or phone or any device – and then it shows up on your facebook feed or in your instagram. here it was – the universe echoing back to me the words “sprinkles” and “joy”.

we walked past the cemetery at the end of our road on the way back from the corner store. it was sunny saturday and, having spent the day doing chores inside and outside around the house, we were going to sit out back on the patio with dogga, sip a glass of wine and eat – yes – chips. we haven’t had chips in a week and thought, “eh…what’s a few chips?!!” it was with chip-guilt in a plastic bag walking home – as we strolled past the cemetery – that d looked over at me.

“i’m glad the cemetery is at the end of our block,” he said. “it reminds me that these people all had lives, too,” going on to talk about perspective, stuff that matters and stuff that doesn’t matter, the passage of time, the not-knowing.

every moment is one in which to create joy. for oneself. for others. together. to be showered by sprinkles of joy. in unexpected ways.

i proudly carried our bag of chips the rest of the way home.

*****

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

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the daffodil told us. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

and suddenly, there – in the midst of dried fallen leaves and fallowed underbrush, trees not yet ready to bud – there – there it was.

and it was simply in seeing it – the daffodil – that hope was evident. next is evident. tomorrow is evident.

anything right now will soon be before. the daffodil told us.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

SMACK-DAB. ©️ 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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the way out of chaos. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

“let there be an opening into the quiet that lies beneath the chaos, where you find the peace you did not think possible and see what shimmers within the storm.” (john o’donohue)

i spent a little over a week in ireland. it was lush and magical and filled with a simple richness hard to articulate. we walked along stone walls separating us and sheep. we perched on high cliffs overlooking the atlantic. we cozied in pubs with pick-up music and dark beer. verdant, there was beauty in its countryside and in its people, in its music and its air. clover – just off the side of the trail – in the shade and still polka-dotted with earlier dew – makes me think of this cherished time of years ago.

we’ll have corned beef and cabbage, white potatoes and carrots with 20. and guinness. we’ll sit together around our tiny kitchen table. he’ll tell of his vacation and we’ll tell him of all the stuff he missed back here. and in the sharing, the sipping, the eating, any storms of this time will part – clouds shuffling back, thunder and lightning easing up. and laughter will gurgle up through the cracks, perspective regaining ground. the chaos will stay where it belongs – in the dregs, the dark caves – and quiet peace – in soft voice and raucous laughter – will rise.

and we’ll know that dewy clover and the kitchen table, the shimmering riches of a good meal and good company, untarnished beauty of shared time and simple nature will always lead the way out of chaos.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

IN PRAYER mixed media 67″x64″

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

the tracks tell the story. they came in and mowed down underbrush and trees, grasses and cattails. all in the name of habitat restoration. apparently, there are buckthorn and cottonwood and boxelder and various other invasive species that are suffocating the growth of young native tree seedlings. it looked absolutely devastated. as did the back half of the woods earlier this year after they attended to that section. but there was space for the sun to get through, for air and a bit of new growth. it was necessary.

now, admittedly, the back half doesn’t look as raw as it did right after that earlier eradication. but – it does look different. just as – i suppose – this section of the woods will look…eventually. it’s the meanwhile that is a bit tough to take. it’s stunning to see such emptiness where there was lush. it’s bracing to recognize how long it might take for this area to grow back – to fulfill the potential the ecologists plan for.

but devastation is like that.

in devastation-light we have the basement/attic project. this will all look decidedly worse before it looks better. the categories – keep, donate, sell – are staged all over the basement and have spilled into other rooms in the house. eventually, this will get better. it will look different. right now, though, it is a ruckus of stuff.

all this review of the past, though…it’s good for my heart. tiny salvageable moments derived from these seeming willy-nilly piles…i am wrapped in the after-devastation feels. for this is chosen devastation – choosing to touch all that is in the house and decide about its fate. and maybe devastation isn’t a good word for that kind of parsing out. just because it looks like devastation doesn’t mean it is devastation.

but there will be more culling before there is something that looks and feels good: the cleared out, organized space that honors the before-stuff and makes way for the next. the same way it is for emotional clearing-out. it will all get much messier before it gets air.

the tracks from the backhoes and heavy equipment punctuate the trail. we may wait awhile – maybe a few rains – before we take that loop again. in the meanwhile, we’ll go along the river where the trail is longer and quiet and the trees and underbrush are untouched – at least for now.

we’ll continue our quest in the basement and the attic and every other nook and cranny. we’ll make messes and piles and categorize each thing we unearth.

and the emotional stuff, well, it will surface and it will recede – both. it will be like a tide – just like the basement, it is a choice to pull things out of their previous compartmentalization. just like the basement, it has the potential to be really messy. and, just like the basement, it will be tedious and time-consuming and it is possible for a bit of anxiety to creep into the spaces previously left wide open by keeping it all in boxes and on shelves. suddenly, it’s all free-floating and there are fragments of emotions and tangible pieces of the past right there in front of us.

so we climb aboard our front loaders and excavators and bulldozers. and we start plowing down all the invasives.

and we just may feel restored after it all. we will have relived many memories, touched – really touched - the evidence of time passing. 

and we just may be rejuvenated. the new saplings will be free to grow. 

and we will look forward to lush, breathing easier and feeling the sun on our faces.

*****

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

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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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