reverse threading

the path back is the path forward


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place and time. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

we took shelter in the east-side parking lot of a brick building in a town a half hour from home. the intense storm was coming from the west. there were tornado warnings and the winds were gusting over 70mph. a deluge of rain fell from the sky – sideways.

debris had hit littlebabyscion as we were driving so when i finally got out of the big treed area on the backroad, i saw the brick building and an empty parking lot. i pulled in, drove away from the giant metal signage and the telephone poles out front and on the side and pulled into the lot on the east side, parking in the middle.

that’s when the wind attempted to pick up littlebabyscion. i started shaking then – and didn’t really stop until much later when we were finally home.

i backed up the car and pulled over right next to the brick building to shield us from the wind. it helped but the storm was incessant and the warnings – actual warnings – were ominous.

our dear friend jen checked in on us – knowing we were driving home from chicago’s pridefest – and we also checked in with our dear westneighbors to see how our ‘hood was faring. and we kept pulling up the weather app – though the tornado alerts blaring on our phones were information enough. it was bad out.

it’s odd, you think, that the only reason you are dealing with what you are dealing with is because you happen to be in what-could-be-interpreted-as the wrong place in what-could-be-interpreted-as the wrong time. it’s bracing.

as we drove through the little towns on our way back from chicago, we passed through highland park. each time we drive through that town – with “highland park strong” signs – i think about the hideous active shooter at the 4th of july parade a couple years ago. wrong place, wrong time. but how can that be? you are taking your sweet children to watch a parade celebrating our country! how can that be the wrong place? how can that be the wrong time? it’s beyond bracing.

and what about the people at the grocery store in arkansas? and the people at the concert in las vegas? and the people at the sikh temple or at church? and the people at the mall? and the people at the club? and the people at the protest? and the people at school and school and school and…?

i whispered a prayer to the universe as we sat in littlebabyscion in that east-side parking lot next to the brick building in the middle of that treacherous storm. it was harrowing and i knew we were in danger. i asked for the wisdom to know what to do and to keep us safe. i knew that when the storm passed and if we were fine i would have immense gratitude.

no different than the highland park paradegoers, i thought, though nature and evil are two distinctly different causes of terror. and wrong place, wrong time is on a continuum between lack of intent and intent.

and, with all respect and honor to each of those too-many-people who have experienced evil’s intentional wrong place, wrong time – in those moments of wrong place, wrong time is one strangely-wrapped gift.

it is to take note of all the right places and right times. we are not guaranteed these yet we pass through them without paying attention. we take them for granted. we slide through moments – exquisite and plain – with no heed to our good fortune to have been in them.

as LBS protected us yet once again – that little car is intrepid – i, shaking with clenched hands on the wheel, also told the universe “thank you” for the rest of that day – all the good places and good times. for, though there were more than i could count, i wish to remember each and every one.

*****

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

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the time. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

friends of ours asked if we had cicadas yet. they live a short distance away in illinois and their friends – in another close-by illinois town – have so many cicadas that they cannot sleep at night. we haven’t heard a one. at least not yet.

instead, our nights are quiet. we can hear the gurgle of our pond, maybe a little wind. seems about right for the sweet phase.

dogga wakes us early – this morning his first attempt was at 5 – jumping on the bed for pets and snuggles, he encourages us to get up and put the coffee on. but in those exquisite minutes between slumber and plugging in the cuisinart we can hear the birds greeting the morning, the spoon stirring in a mug through our dear west neighbors’ kitchen window, the quiet strains of symphony as the sun streams in through the window and spills onto our quilt. it’s a tender beginning to a day.

last night was warm – we sat out late after we ate dinner on the deck. sans air conditioning it was warm when we went to sleep. i woke up numerous times through the night…always trying hard not to start thinking – because once i go down that road – the thinking road – i have no real chance at going back to sleep. nevertheless, i went there.

it seems – most times – when you end up on the thinking road it is on autopilot, as if you have no ability to steer. last night, though, i tried to stay in control of the steering wheel. and each time my mind wanted to veer off and ruminate over something else, something of concern, i tried to gently bring it back to my breathing, to the sounds of quiet night, to the feeling of d laying next to me, to the gentle snores of dogga.

i’m pretty sure the cicadas will arrive. i hope so. i don’t know if they will be so loud that i cannot sleep. i’m not too worried. there are plenty of other reasons i don’t sleep. and i have actually been a cicada fan my whole life – i love the summer night sounds of crickets and cicadas and miss those when they disappear in the fall. i try to memorize the sound – until the next season of them. i find both reassuring and pointedly centering – “you are in summer,” they seem to say, “relish it.”

the sweet phase. it’s begun. every day. every night. we are fortunate, no matter what. because we are here. period. this is the time to remember that.

*****

IN THE NIGHT from THIS PART OF THE JOURNEY ©️ 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood

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

“in rivers, the water you touch is the last of which has passed and the first of that which comes: so it is with time present.” (leonardo da vinci)

fluid.

never static.

this is something we rarely remember. this is something we often forget.

evanescent, filmy, gossamer-winged time. showing up. disappearing.

too little to waste, too fragile to fritter away.

we reach to hold onto the tailfeathers of the river and keep flying.

*****

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

at the john denver sanctuary – aspen, colorado

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a little shake-off. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

it happened again.

just now.

the warm morning breeze was blowing in the west window. the sun was streaming across the quilt. dogga was laying at our feet and we were sipping coffee. we could hear the slight echo of the windchimes out back and the birds were singing up a symphony.

perfection.

in-between all the other moments – the ones that are not so perfect – somehow there slips one that is.

and the axis of the earth gives a little shake-off and the flecks of yucky-dust that have accumulated from those other moments fly off.

and there is a new start.

*****

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

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love more now. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

there are a lot of reasons to zoom through days, to forget about what is really important, to perseverate on things that make us unhappy, things that worry us, things that cause us to push others away, to not take time with others, not give time to others. much of the time we can convince ourselves – somehow – that those reasons are impeccable, that they matter. we can get ourselves all riled up and full of the shadow side of relationships and daily life. and then something wakes us up, takes us out of the dark.

it could be something really inconsequential, seemingly unimportant. the notice of a bird on the wing, the sunrise, dandelion seeds in the wind, a strain of music, a scent. it could be something way bigger – something that brings a sense of mortality, that brings you to a full stop and makes you realize that time is – indeed – passing by and that the moment that has slipped past is never again retrievable.

and suddenly we realize that they are all like that. all the moments.

irretrievable.

and love taps us on the shoulder and reminds us. to take the time, to give the time. to be aware of the things we want to do, the simple stuff that feeds us, the people we love and who love us. it reminds us that there is no time to waste – really, ever – no matter where in life we are. it reminds us we are not all-that and we don’t do this life alone. it reminds us it is flying by and by and more love is the only thing that will last and last – forever.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

SMACK-DAB ©️2024 kerrianddavid.com

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of being here. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

“may you awaken to the mystery of being here.” (a blessing for presence – john o’donohue)

when my big brother died i had trouble wrapping my head around his not-being-here. at the time i was an adult, pregnant with my second child and was personally acquainted with previous loss – i had lost all my grandparents along the way. but there was something i couldn’t put my finger on, something that was so perplexing and mind-warping for me that it sat with me and sat with me and, even now, there are times i ponder it. my big universe query was: wondering how the world could go on if he could no longer feel it.

i still don’t know the answer. i do know that it just does. the universe keeps keeping-on, despite who is present – in any of its dimensions.

in the decades now that have passed since my beloved brother died, i’ve also lost my sweet momma and poppo, other relatives, dear friends. in exquisite moments of reassurance, i have experienced them – from time to time – reaching from the other side. they’re right here, i think, just over there. though i wish i could summon them when i need them, that’s not how it works. and so i just glory in the moments when they happen and try to remember.

in those very moments – and any other, really – i think about what wisdoms they might share with me from that other side, from the Next place, the Next time.

i’m pretty sure they’d agree with john o’odonohue. they might tell me, as i sit in the adirondack chair on the sun-showered patio with my husband and dog, sipping a glass of wine and watching the grass grow, “just being there should be enough.”

they might whisper to me to slow down.

they might remind me of the sacredness of each minute.

they might cajole me from my angsts. in turn, they might admonish me to let go of ludicrous overplanning.

they might point out the new buds on the aspen, the volunteer daylilies in the garden, the black-capped chickadees and house sparrows dancing by the feeder, the shadows playing across our field of vision in this small sanctuary we love.

they might tap me on the shoulder and repeat a few more words of john o’donohue’s, “enter the quiet immensity of your own presence.”

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

MEDITATION mixed media 48″x48″

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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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all of it. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

it never fails to amaze me. even the familiar turn in the trail. even the familiar trees. even the angle of the sun which has shone on us so many, many times here. even the sky, this midwest sky, sometimes ornery, sometimes brilliant. still. still, i love this curve of path. still, i love these tall pines. still, i love the tease of sun through the highest branches of needles. still, all of it.

in a world that presents unexpecteds every day – some of which are more difficult than others of which are tiny or enormous gifts – there is this. there is the still-all-of-it.

and so we go here. and we process life here. we are silent and we talk-talk-talk. this woods has kept us company through it all. this path has led us when our feet didn’t know where to go. these trees have wrapped us in scent and held us in strength, towering over us. this sky has graced us with all weather.

and we have always arrived back at the trailhead, safe. we have been freezing and sweltering. we have been covered with snow and sopping wet. we have been exhilarated and bone-achy tired. but we have always been safe.

so it shouldn’t really surprise me. this place is a haven, a sanctuary, shelter for our hearts and minds. i imagine one day – if we might live elsewhere and no longer hike in this place – we will look back, remembering and reminiscing. and we will nod our heads and agree – yes…it was all of it, all of that place. every single time.

*****

GOOD MOMENTS from THIS PART OF THE JOURNEY ©️ 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood

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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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for you. not about you. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

“99% of people wouldn’t notice that”, he said, “and they’d just keep walking.”

the stranger had stopped where we were. i was off-trail, taking a picture of sun as it glinted off cattails. i was precariously close to the water’s edge, hidden by dried leaves and twigs in the marshy area, but worth it for the photo. d had just given me a hand-up back onto the trail when the stranger stopped.

he asked to see my photographs and i complied. and we all started talking. george spoke from the wisdom of someone close-to-80 as he recounted stories of trails he had recently taken, of people going too fast to SEE anything at all. he told us he was happy we noticed the glowing cattails, happy that we were looking – really looking – as we hiked. he told us that “it” (life) is all about looking and learning, researching, wondering, thinking and looking some more. we agree.

i’m not sure there’s ever been a hike – anywhere – when i haven’t taken at least a few photographs. there’s just so much to see. sometimes, in the middle of our not-knowing, we’ll look things up right away. sometimes, we save that for later.

just a couple days ago – in a truly magical moment – we stopped on the trail, separated from a pond by a bit of woods and grasses.

the red-tailed hawk was still. in the air – suspended on a current, wings curled up – it was absolutely still, hovering in place. though i know hawks are apt to do this as they hunt, this hawk just stayed still as we watched. then it flew a little lower and hovered a little bit more. it never dove down for any prey; it just hovered and then landed in a tree nearby as if to say, “there! that was for you.” it was a gorgeous and spiritual moment. i won’t forget it.

the trail – in both its simplicity and complexity – is a constant reminder for us.

“it’s not about you,” it whispers. “look around. there’s so much to see. it’s all here FOR you.”

we most-always listen.

*****

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

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