reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: this country


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energy into energy. [kerri’s blog on flawed wednesday]

every time we drove past we wondered what it was going to be. the farm field had been sold and something was being built.

up north in wisconsin are farms with structures that – at the beginning of this build – look somewhat similar to what was happening here. there are ginseng farms up there. we wondered if maybe that’s what was being constructed.

what we really hoped was happening – right next door to another farm that had posted numerous maga-loving signs – is that ‘they’ – whoever ‘they’ was who had purchased the large acreage – were building a solar farm.

we were thrilled to see the metal structures and underpinnings for this solar field as it became obvious to us that – indeed – it was a solar power generating site. we cheer each time we pass it.

it is truly beyond the scope of my ability to understand the utter lack of responsibility it takes to undermine the handing-down of a healthy planet to our ancestors as the administration gutted the environmental protection agency’s endangerment finding – an agency created in 1970 to protect “clean air and clean water and open spaces as the birthright of every american.” (president richard nixon)

“an EPA that ignores science and dismantles the tools designed to protect public health and the environment cannot fulfill its mission.” (protect our winters)

with 31 deregulatory actions on the cusp of being implemented, clean air, clean water, stable seasons and public lands are all at risk. this is the potential loss of public health and environmental stability, escalating climate impacts on the world. where – on this good earth – is accountability?

when you continue south on the road with this new solar field, turn right on the county highway after passing a few more farms, and drive about a mile further, you find yourself at another construction site.

another solar field.

cheering again, we couldn’t be more proud.

the solar development of these lands is looking forward – not back. it is not mired in the self-serving profiteering of cronies’ fossil fuels. it is not ignoring the plight of the environment – this beautiful earth – and those who follow us.

instead, this solar development is part of an initiative that seeks to support the state of illinois’ goal of 100% renewable energy by 2050. renewable energy…hydro, wind, solar, biomass.

bravo, illinois.

as a country – planning for a future that can be healthy, sustaining – a country that will care for all its inhabitants – we have a long ways to go.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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punchbowl musings. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

and so i have some hesitancy on this. it was on the bottom shelf, tucked back into the shelf unit in the storage room, next to the blow-up pool floaties. it didn’t seem like i had thought about it for years. ok, for decades. i listed it for sale – after researching its ‘value’ as a vintage (circa 1980) cut-glass punchbowl set.

but part of my research brought me to a few blogposts others had written. and in those blogposts were these absolute gems about all the ways to use a lovely punchbowl. not just for punch.

the one that really stuck out for me – and debilitated my quest to sell-sell-sell – was the story about a lovely summer gathering where the person served gazpacho and crusty bread, glasses of chilled sauvignon blanc. yikes. i immediately wanted to have a lovely summer gathering where i serve gazpacho and crusty bread – each attendee ladling delicious soup into their handled cup and visiting on the deck or the patio under warm sun and blue skies.

so, yup…hesitancy. i mean, it all fits conveniently into a box – the base, the bowl, every last cup and hook – so why not just keep it a while longer…?

the power of story, eh?

i cried this morning. it wasn’t about the punchbowl. it was about seeing a post by my very own sister that made it obvious – beyond a shadow of a doubt – that she is completely on the other side of the current dangerous political divide.

gauging by how overtaken i was by grief, i guess i was holding out hope that the stories that are now reality in this country might have changed her mind, the minds of her immediate family members. because every story we are hearing breaks our hearts ever more. every story makes us question what in the hell is going on. every story makes us absolutely sick to our stomachs that this country has devolved into such a cruel and bigoted, sadistic and extreme place.

it is impossible for me to wrap my head around anyone – any.one. – finding acceptable any of these stories of the realities of this kind of depravity.

yet i know that there are media outlets that so many subscribe to – leave on in their family rooms, their florida rooms, their kitchens, their living rooms – for hours on end. these outlets distort the actual truth – to the nth degree. these outlets obfuscate. these outlets lie. and people are watching them, soaking it all in, pompom-ing them, lost in them.

lost.

and i feel totally crushed.

crushed.

the power of story.

used and misused.

i’ll probably eventually decide to keep the punchbowl. it is not likely to sell.

i will make gazpacho or vichyssoise and serve it in handled cut-glass cups. there will be glasses of chilled white wine and sunshine, laughter and conversation.

and stories.

of adventures, dreams, disappointments and loss.

yes.

loss.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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now.never not.never not now. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

it’s a heavy load. to be the woke – the empathetic, voiced, visioned, courageous, big-feelinged folks – both disparaged and desperately needed.

when all else has been sloughed off, when all else has failed, when all else is dross, it is art that will remain…there will still be heart.

this quote – way too big to actually write about without a feeling of undeserved arrogance, way too big to even begin to dissect without a feeling of ineptitude – it is an urge, a plea, a last-licks, it is an imperative we artists follow anyway: to turn complex feelings into something people can touch, can hear, can see, can taste. to turn that which we cannot see in any simplicity – beliefs, faith, love, philosophy, interconnectedness, bigotry, hatred – into something we can feel, something that resonates, something that gives us bite-sized bits to try and grok.

contemporaneously, without bruce springsteen there would still be the streets of minneapolis. but his music, his lyrics – his song has given beat and melody to the excruciating pain and stalwart dedication of the people in those streets. his music has given the rest of us – those of us in other places – also in pain and with dedication – something to grab onto, something to hold and wave and hum.

contemporaneously, without bad bunny there would still be a half-time show in the super bowl. there would still be grammy winners. but his tear-filled words, his staunchly raw comments ricocheting off the walls of the arena gave goosebumps to the rest of us – something we could grab onto, something to hold and wave and speak.

contemporaneously, without the cartoonists populating social media, the stuff that is happening would still be happening. but those cartoonists are bravely offering humor – sometimes truly dark humor – to give us something to grab onto, something to hold and wave and maybe, just maybe, laugh at.

there isn’t any way to rise and reclaim this place without the artists who are the building blocks for actual humanity, the collective melt in the melting pot, the mortar that holds it all together even when it collapses.

“people got to come together, not just out of fear…” (chicago – where do we go from here? – 1970)

it is never not the artists’ time. now is not different.

“let’s all get together soon, before it is too late

forget about the past and let your feelings fade away

if you do i’m sure you’ll see, the end is not yet near…“

the artists have already taken all those big, complex feelings and turned them into something we all can believe in. they’ve been doing it all along. the whole of time.

the world does need artists’ voices, artists’ vision and artists’ courage.

steep yourselves in it all. urgently. get brave. get going.

“where do we go

where do we go

where do we go from here?”

*****

YOU MAKE A DIFFERENCE © 2003 kerri sherwood

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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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the wheel. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

in the back corner of the storage room – up on the concrete ledge, behind the boiler and the hot water heater, in a bit of cobweb – sat this the metal wheel. next to it was a plastic exercise ball for small rodents and a water dispenser from a habitat used decades ago.

we took them off the shelf and i washed them all off, thinking i could give them away to someone who might have a gerbil or a hamster, saving them from purchasing these items.

but it had been decades since i’d used them – our children were little when we had these tiny pets.

so i decided i’d best do a little research to make sure these were still safe.

they are not.

come to find out that the plastic exercise balls don’t have enough airflow and the metal wheel has been the source of injury for these tiny creatures. into the trash they went.

that wheel, though.

both d and i looked at it and then at each other, rolling our eyes. the wheel – the subject of one of our flawed cartoons – a statement piece.

as artists we are used to less. it’s built in to our dna, it seems. we have stepped to the side of the wheel – choosing something different than the norm, different than the 9-5, with a different imperative, with different rules, different expectations, and with clearly different financial rewards as well. without the security of tenure in an institution or corporation and its advantages (particularly in remuneration, advancement, healthcare plans, retirement), we have forged a different path. we have avoided the faster-faster-faster of the wheel, but not without sacrifice.

most of the populace, however, have chosen more traditional routes and now we are watching the administration destroy those, destroy their stability, destroy the respect due each of them.

at the time of this cartoon’s drawing, my own interpretation of it was more of a boss-worker cynical take.

in these times, one quick look at it in the cartoon files and it took on a life of its own:

the oligarchy vs the people.

because – well – it’s obvious, isn’t it?

the haughty, condescending, inflated, pompous hubris – standing around in their opulent affluence – rolling in it – their plenty – while the rest of the people – the real people – work ever-ever faster to get nowhere – to have not-enough.

i’m glad the wheel went in the trash. it’s where it belongs.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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heavy hearts. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

“you are not weak just because your heart feels so heavy.” (andrea gibson)

every friday we look at each other and say, “wow. it’s friday again.”

it’s astonishing. the fridays come and the fridays go. it seems that they come and go ever faster.

this has been a long week. so many of them are long weeks now. despite the fact that the fridays arrive in a moment of surprise acknowledgement, the weeks themselves are laden with difficult, burdened with sadness, whelmed over with the horrific.

and we get to friday, panting with others in this hyperventilating country. we are exhausted. we are frustrated. we are frightened. our tender hearts break with the others, shattered by the vile betrayal by leadership.

we feel weak.

but we are not.

our hearts are heavy.

but they are no less fervent.

we are empowered.

the joining of hands, the extension of kindness and care, the shared value of each other, we are connected.

the spirit of this country beats steady in each of us who push back: when your heart is too heavy for your chest, i will firmly hold it. when your heart feels frail, fragile beyond the pale, i will handle it gently. when your heart is feeling timid, i will bring you courage. when your heart just doesn’t know what to do, i will quietly stand with you.

we are in this together. with our hearts. in every long week. in every friday that finally – and suddenly – arrives. in every storm that is raging around us. in every day.

and those without hearts – without love – without conscience – can just stand back and watch how utterly powerful having a heart really is.

*****

WATERSHED © 2004 kerri sherwood

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falling is falling. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

and many have come here before us.

we are the not the first on the trail after fresh snow. there have been many. boots, deer tracks, dog prints, raccoon hands, horseshoes, even something with tire tread. many.

but it is of no less value to us – this trail – because others have walked it before us. and it is of no less import.

often, after a snow or a melt, there are indications of the alternate trails hikers have taken – to avoid icy snow or slippery mud. we follow those sidetrails, grateful for the wisdom of those before us. their experience suggested to us a different way to go – a decision point. often, we have been grateful after following that which seemed to help mold our choice. and, often, we have seen the impact after not following. falling is falling.

the trail – and how to deal with ice or mud or other tricky impasse – far less potent than the things we now must muster up from helpful hints on the trail of life, learnings of the past, from lessons and decisions of the wise before us.

now we must deal with the dastards and dastardly all around us. now we must make informed decisions about the future – with history as our guiding force, discerning. now we must act with conscience – pushing back against any sway of the temptation of quiet, pushing back against any catalyst of evil. now we must empower ourselves with knowledge – with the vast volume of perspectives that can ground us in truth and integrity, that can point the way to holding this democracy.

many have come here before us.

we need remember that – in any shape or form – falling is falling.

and we must choose prudently.

*****

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

and the river runs…

i’d say that each time we see it, it looks different.

the des plaines is not a raging river. it is not a major water thoroughfare. it bubbles out of the ground a little north and west of here and flows south, through the rest of southeastern wisconsin and into illinois where it eventually – through joining with the kankakee and the illinois – becomes a tributary for the mississippi. its origin is from glaciers long ago, a heritage it carries in its current, in each bend.

it is a treasure, this relatively unknown river. we have hiked many of its miles, getting to know it in all its different seasons, its river-ness unflailing even in drought.

a place of solace, the trails that have developed around this river must be wrapped in the magic of the flow – for it is there we go (as we have written time and again) to sort, to ponder, to laugh with abandon and to cry.

and even in the moments when it is frozen, when all appears still and fallow is on the calendar, it is still moving. it is a living and breathing river – a body of water that continues.

i suppose that could make me feel the slightest bit less panicked about this country. this is a living and breathing democracy. though it appears frozen and at inordinate peril, i suppose there are tiny streams of constitutional law that are still bubbling up, pushing their way to the surface from aquifers deep in the earth. i suppose that the river’s origin 14,000 years ago should speak to me about tenacity through challenge – both natural and manmade. i suppose that the import of this simple river on the places through which it flows should remind me that every single impact counts, every effort to eradicate invasive species makes a difference.

and so, with no small measure of hope, i honor the uprisings of those who protest against the cruelty being dealt to the people of this country. i applaud the efforts of those who push back against the authoritarian rule that has surfaced in plain sight. i acknowledge that under it all – flowing underneath the vileness of this administration – are steady, solid, compassionate, reasonable voices. the people who stand firm on the principles upon which this country’s democracy was built – not silent, not still.

and the river runs…

*****

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

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the trail comes to us. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

ahhh….i miss this place.

as i write this, it is a feels-like of -41 degrees outside. the actual temperature is -14. we are staying inside.

this is one of the bends in the trail i really love. as we come around this outer perimeter of the trail – a section beyond which we have explored with good boots and warm weather – i know that the stand of pines is coming. and with those pines, the scent…

we stocked up before the big freeze. going to the supermarket is astonishing each time we go, so this time was no different. we had a list – and shopped to the list – though we did buy a small bag of cape cod chips not on the list – but it was still a small fortune. we didn’t want to have to go out to resupply in the frigid arctic blast.

not to mention the fact that this time – this time in this world – oddly and horrifyingly suspended – feels overwhelming.

it’s a little bit risky writing a post ahead of its publish date, particularly now. anything could happen, it seems. and we don’t want to seem – or be – tone-deaf.

in the moments of stepping away from all that is happening – and they are merely slight moments – we seek any source of reassurance, any source of comfort, any source of grounding. we try to get good sleep, eat well, drink water, exercise. we try to find things to laugh about, things that take us away from the chaos. we hug the dog. we listen – still – to george winston’s december album. we hike when we can. we plan distractions.

but we’ve cancelled some meaningful plans, things we had on our calendar for months. things we’d been looking forward to. it was disappointing to do so, but we recognized our limits – physical and emotional – and decided to be adult about it.

yesterday, sitting on the old deck glider in the living room, looking out the front window, i tried to reason with myself about it. cancelling plans and tickets and such is not just a nod to the weather or to our personal limits.

it is a deep sigh of the exhaustion we feel as we navigate – with the pummeled populace out there – the current world, the devastation we feel about our country, the shock our hearts register each and every day as we stay as plugged in as we can manage about everything that is happening – rapidly, with no brakes.

sometimes, i guess, one just has to stay still, to sit still, to stare out the window.

and sometimes the trail comes to us and wraps us in it, hoping to assuage our fears, to calm our hearts, to stoke our courage.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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