reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: thready


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forward-peeking. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

the honeysuckle has an early arrival on the trail. it makes me want to sit and write poetry about pioneer honeysuckle growing in the forest, along the edges of the path and deep into the underbrush, right on the heels of winter. poetry about a hopefulness that comes with early forward-peeking signs of spring, promises of growth, a nod making the past distant.

we have a way of holding onto the past – a metaphoric rope, if you will – with people and circumstances strung along it – holding the knots like tiny toddlers in a preschool line hold the knot of a rope to which their teacher is attached. in the case of the toddlers it is for safety. in the case of all of us – who drag along with us all the most toxic of our lives – it is not for the purpose of safety.

the day before my birthday i consciously chose to drop that metaphoric rope that dragged all the yuck with me everywhere i went. i have decided that there is no more good that can come from dragging the worst with me – every recollection of betrayal or hurt or time when healing was impossible. i decided – on that day – the day before my 67th birthday – that i was worthy of putting that rope down and leaving the past distant.

now, don’t get me wrong. as a thready person (and clearly, the use of the word thready must be deliberate) nearly everything is on some sort of connective tissue that stretches back to my heart. a compendium of threads and tissue and rope. some of those i will cling onto and hold dearly – that would be the ones with love and learning and success and hardship, a balance of life’s goodness and challenges, people i hold dear, filmy threads that don’t include people who have been intentionally mean-spirited or who have hunted opportunity to be demeaning or to exploit. those? those heavy loads will have to stay behind. i have finally realized – at long last – that i owe those people nothing and my choice now is laying down the rope with the rope-knots they are clutching – weighing me down – taking up space in my brain and heart. it’s way past time.

and so the honeysuckle’s appearance is like balm. new green. renewal. rejuvenation. a new season. a new cycle of growth.

it is a pioneer in the earliest spring, courageously greening when winter can still dash it, pummel it with ice and snow. but it has the promise of its history – when it has survived even with the change in season, even with threat of the challenge of weather. it both brings forward what it’s learned about survival and puts down the pain it has carried from past ropeknot instances in its life in the woods.

someone – just shy of five decades ago – told me i was dirt. it was meant to belittle me and scare me and it did.

i’ve just realized that i am. dirt. an honorable and basic part of this earth like every other living being. but i am also honeysuckle – and morning glory – and daisies – and peonies. i am house finches and black-capped chickadees and cardinals and march robins. i am poetry floating on the breeze and notes in sequence not yet captured. i am sun and moon and the horizon and the tide.

i am stardust on the edges of the trail, forward-peeking.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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momma and peeps. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

my sweet momma was at the grocery store the other day.

well, ok, she wasn’t.

but as we turned to walk down the aisle near the candy section – cutting over to the aisle with the green olives we needed for our mediterranean dinner recipe – there she was.

it was a huge display of peeps – those colorful marshmallow chicks and bunnies – i could feel momma’s glee.

this was the very first year i didn’t include junior mints in my grown children’s christmas gifts. the very first year. they didn’t seem to miss them. at all. i, on the other hand, had to deal with the grief of not including this box of mints that i had included in their stockings – in person or shipped to them – for evvver. it was not easy to let these go; my thready heart struggled.

but it explained why – even though i do not like peeps, really at all – every year my sweet momma would send a box in spring and always – always – she would include peeps.

it wasn’t about me.

it was about her – continuing a tradition she had started, a ritual that meant something to her, sharing something that was a precious memory – an unwavering, ceaseless thread – part of family tapestry, even in its obvious inconsequence.

each year when i received the box i enthused to my mom – not because i loved peeps, not because i even understood at that point. but because i loved my mom and i loved that she thought about me enough to pick out whatever color – or shape – peep she wanted for me and then she set about sending it. that was the part that counted. even though i didn’t really know the part that counted. until much later.

so turning the aisle while heading for the olives i stopped abruptly…so abruptly d plowed into me. i pointed at the big display and we both laughed.

and i blew a kiss to my mom who i knew was right there – on the other side of this plane of existence – blowing a kiss back.

*****

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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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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a tree again. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

the day I looked out the sunroom window and saw two black-capped chickadees perched on the-branch-we-brought-out-of-our-living-room was the day i realized all was well. this beautiful branch – from the big old tree in our front yard – was having a renaissance. back in the great outdoors, it was experiencing life – all over again, in a new way.

we missed the branch as soon as we removed it from the living room. it had been there for four years – ever since the water main in our yard burst and the ultra-supersized equipment brought in knocked this big branch off our beloved tree. we pulled it aside and then brought it in, putting it in a big clay pot and right next to the front window, bedazzled with happy lights and in a place of honor.

it was our christmas tree that year and has had a variety of ornaments on it each holiday season since – old vintage shiny brites, silver and glitter silver round balls, crystals. it has held a metal star and a peace sign throughout the year and it has been a tad bit difficult to maneuver around the entire time. regardless, we kept it there – in spite of the difficulty to open or close the mini blinds and open or close the windows. to sit in the recliner next to the tree, one had to be mindful of the little branches blocking the way, waiting to poke one’s eye out. nevertheless, we were dedicated to this tree in our living room, even though it truly took up a lot of space.

this year – as we started our zealous clearing-out, we decided it was time for the tree to move outside and take up a new place on the deck, where we could see it out the sunroom windows. d secured it to the deckboards and the railing and we placed new happy lights on it, along with an outdoor timer so it would greet us at every dusk.

i had a few moments – staring at the blank spot in the living room where the tree had taken up soooo much space – missing it. we will fill the spot temporarily with a little wrought iron table and a curly corkscrew rush plant — which will hopefully last through the winter. but in the long run? i’m not sure. it is kind of nice to be able to open and close the miniblinds without ducking or trying to avoid breaking smaller branches.

my temporary sorrow – at change – eased when i looked out the sunroom window and saw these two chickadees sitting on our old broken branch. one flew away and another landed. i could practically hear the branch sighing, its soul happy. and why not? it was a tree again.

life, change, renewal.

there are many ways to learn lessons.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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

this is called ‘the babycat chair’. though many would have disposed of it years ago, we held onto it…homage to our babycat.

for some reason, he chose this chair – and really, no others – well, to be accurate, he did have a bit of a relationship with the red gingham wingchair recliner in our bedroom. this was his to do with as he pleased, i guess.

babycat would just arbitrarily start scratching the back of this wicker chair. maybe it was when i hadn’t recently cut his dagger-nails, counting as i clipped – 1, 2, 3… – each paw a new 5-count, with his patience on the edge and his teeth locked around my hand holding him. treacherous stuff, but i knew i was in no peril. (though, in retrospect, as i look at this chair-destruction, i can see he was pretty capable of much peril, after all.)

when he’d start clawing the back of this chair, dogga would become instantly nervous, knowing instinctively that b-cat was ‘gonna get in trouble’. dogga would run over and push b-cat aside or pull him by the neck away from the chair entirely. the first time we saw him pulling the cat around the wood floor by his neck, we were totally scared and stopped him. but babycat would go back for more and the dog-pulling-the-cat-around-by-his-neck game would go on and on – for years and years – these two best friends playing and teasing each other.

we put a throw blanket on the chair – and a few pillows – to try and hide the missing wicker, hoping no one would fall through entirely if they chose to sit in the chair. it was really the back of the chair that was the worst – well, and the one side – but babycat had not clawed through the bottom, so this guest-ending-up-on-the-floor thing wasn’t really a big worry.

babycat died unexpectedly in march 2021 and took parts of our hearts with him. he had been with me (and then us) for about twelve years and was a true saving grace for me in his years. i’m not sure how i would have survived many of those years without his lumbering, hulking tuxedo-cat self keeping close to me. we still miss him. both of us. and, for dogga, it’s exponential. babycat was his bestest friend.

in these days of cleaning out, we (or i) have to keep making decisions about things that have threadiness written all over them. this chair has been one of them. do we keep it or do we move on?

knowing that many people are capable of fixing things or repurposing things or utilizing the materials of things, we placed the chair – after i did a photo shoot of it – at the curb. it is never more than a couple hours before someone picks up the things at the curb.

but no one picked up the chair. we talked about breaking it down and placing it in the trash. for perhaps, there was nothing really reusable about it.

in the end, we brought it back up the driveway. it is now at the top of the driveway, adjacent to the garage and the fence, next to the birdfeeder. we haven’t really talked about what’s next for it. but as we pass by on the way from the back door to littlebabyscion or big red, it always makes me smile.

the babycat chair lives on.

*****

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

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golden moment. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

they were luminescent as the noon sun caught them in its grasp. magical. glowing. each individual seed seemed poised for takeoff, ready to catch the breeze, twirl and fly.

it is much like how i am feeling as i painstakingly go through the house … the bedrooms, the attic, the basement …

the memories all gather on the plume, ready to catch the next breeze and twirl in front of me, bringing me back to moments a long while ago – many decades or even just a few years.

they are golden, these memories, and i give them time as i touch the relics, leftovers saved. i’m trying to go slow, even as i wish to accomplish much quickly. my thready heart relishes what i can remember, even when it sorts to sadness, even when it sorts to tears. in the timeline of life, i am bobbing around like the crazy super balls we had as kids – the ones with bouncing trajectories you couldn’t predict. the wham-o super ball would zig and zag and i am zigging and zagging through time just like that.

sometimes i have to leave a box or a bin or a pile for a bit, step away and breathe through it. i have found that touching these objects – the tactile – makes it all real and up-close, almost like it’s now. and, because i am the sensitive, emotional type, i have to step back … back into the room, straighten up, look out the window, pet the dog, sip some water. it can be overwhelming, this going back stuff.

as the bins empty and the sorting keeps going – this is merely phase one – i can feel the space opening. i can feel the air of whatever is next. i will still save many things, though i know that perhaps some will be relinquished in phase two or three. it gives me a bit more time with the artifacts of my life.

and the treasured antiquities nod as i put them in the save pile. they know it is their golden moment – their chance to twirl for me, their flight with me. they are as luminescent as the plumes, ever so countless, glowing in the noon sun.

*****

HOLDING ON, LETTING GO © 2010 kerri sherwood

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sephora, the arrowhead. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

in ways i can explain and can’t explain, i am really dedicated to sephora. a few years back when our daughter was visiting we went to a greenhouse and nursery. she has a green thumb and it was cherished time to walk around with her and chat. she pointed to this plant – an arrowhead – and said she was growing one back at her home. i instantly decided to add it to our sunroom and named it after another adventure we had the days she was here. it is important to me that sephora thrives, just like charlie – a heartleaf philodendron she gifted me previously.

i watch sephora like a hawk…always trying to figure out if she needs more water, less water, more sun, less sun, more fresh air, less draft. we have a complex relationship; i think sephora knows the power she has over me and she wields it abundantly. i comply nevertheless. like i said, dedicated to its survival.

even as sephora’s individual leaves turn yellow from time to time (causing me much angst) i find this plant to be so beautiful – the light from the window causing the leaves to glow and radiantly light the space.

a girlfriend and i were talking about the cleaning-out process in our homes. she has readily cleared out much of what her two daughters had accumulated – but not taken with – in their growing-up years. they both live nearby now – in the next town over – all grown-up – and she sees them and their families regularly every week. my friend no longer has much stuff of their youth; with their proximity, she found it easier to dispose of most of what they no longer wanted, even in recent years giving away all the baby clothes and paraphernalia she had saved for possible reuse. she was surprised to hear i still have so much of all this. she laughed at my difficulty – surely a form of paralysis – in getting rid of everything.

i thought about this a bit, trying to figure out why i am so thready – besides the fact that i was born thready, have always been thready and likely will always be thready.

i realized that, though some of this is simply my heart-on-my-sleeve personality, it is also a holding-on of sorts. a peril of motherhood.

it would be dreamy – absolutely dreamy – to have my adult children living nearby, merely minutes away. it would be amazing to see them often, though always respectful of their busy lives. we are fortunate and joyous that our son is just one big city away, a couple-hour backroads drive or an hour plus on the train. to be able to jaunt over and see our daughter at any old time would make my heart burst. she has lived far away – with many states in-between us – for over a decade now, so visits require planning and are much more complicated.

i remember when my parents would come visit from florida – or we would go there – it would be an intense time of visiting in the days they were here – or us there – before it was time for them – or us – to leave and a big expanse of time would gap our shared in-real-life moments. i believe it is harder that way – the concentrated-period-of-time visiting instead of bits and pieces of life scattered like seed throughout the calendar.

in moments of looking through my momma’s things after she died, i could see the remnants and relics of me that she had saved. for in her lack of ability to see me as often as she would have wished, she held on with artifacts of our time together. the dots lined up. i completely got it and it became one explanation for the difference in the ability of my friend and me to let-go of stuff.

my holding-on – of the stuff left behind, the trinkets of their growing-up, the mementos of any grown-up visit we have had, wherever they have lived – it is the holding-on of love.

as claire middleton (the sentimental person’s guide to decluttering) points out, “we think that keeping all of those things will let us keep a little of each child who left us.”

my heart skips a beat.

ahhh. to be a thrower-outer, a clean-sweeper.

i’m working on it. i just had my first two sales on the resale site poshmark, which gives me incentive again. the baby and toddler clothes are bundled up and waiting patiently to go to the mission that gives them away to people in the city who need them. the cassettes are in a box, to be sent with payment for recycling. there are things on marketplace and ebay and craig’s list and the goodwill stack is ever-growing.

but nothing, though, stops my my-name-is-kerri-and-i-am-thready momheart from the wistful.

and, as i gaze at sephora’s stunning golden leaf – sunlight shining through it – i hold my beautiful golden daughter close, blow her a kiss, and miss her.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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

every time i turn a shampoo bottle over and empty the remains into a new shampoo bottle – each upside-down tap of the bottle, drawing the last vestiges of shampoo to the top, makes me think of her.

every bird in the backyard, every endcrust of bread, every leftover dinner, every time i do laundry or make lists, merry morning sunshine.

every time we use the wire cheese slicer, every time i pass by the snake plant, every time i tend our houseplants, every time i thank someone who has generously served us in some way.

every time i see a dachshund or a hosta, every time i think of Long Island, every time i write in my calendar, every area rug on a wood floor, sweet potatoes, math.

every time i make do, every time i save something for ‘special’, every time i turn a few specific phrases or use a coupon, collect rocks or driftwood, every time i make – or have – french fries or iced tea.

every time i see liverwurst or have rye toast, catch the aroma of roast beef in an oven or see a jar of ragu sauce.

when i see beets, when i have onion dip, when I devour crumb cake or chips ahoy, when i coffee-sit, when i repurpose things, when i think about baked ziti or darning socks.

when i defend how to pronounce “sauna”, when i see the “sisu” sign in my studio, spiral notebooks and scrap copies, when i hear “wowee!”, when i stood at the edge of the grand canyon.

every time. i think of my sweet momma. and I wonder how it is possible that she left this world ten years ago today. ten. ten years without her. ten years of not being able to pick up the phone and call her. ten years without mom hugs. ten years without a mom who would listen to any story i told her – any number of times i told it – knowing that my biggest fan was this woman, who was ahead of her time in so many ways.

i wonder how she is feeling now about the turn of all she left behind. i wonder if she has that certain stink eye she’d get, wishing to admonish this country’s current leaders and those following in lock-step. i wonder if the public deflection and distraction of some – avoiding the truth of their choice, avoiding taking responsibility for that choice, literally cheerleading this horror, loudly or silently – i wonder if seeing all that makes her crazy. knowing my momma – and her humanitarian and political leanings – i’m fairly certain she is pretty “irked” – as she would say. she is likely fired up and giving someone a piece of her mind somewhere on the other side. as high-road as she was (and, probably, is) she is not one to put up with the destruction of the country for which she and my dad sacrificed.

and so, every time i speak up or speak out i think of her. every time i voice absolute protection of the rights of members of my family. every time i express horror for the dismantling of this democracy and the cruel disenfranchising of people of the populace. every time i see another nail skewering women. every time i read about the dumbing-down, the elimination of history, the blunting of truth, the big-time grift. every time i stand up for what she taught me about kindness to people. every time. i think of her.

and every time i see the print “live life, my sweet potato” i think of her. and i miss her. yet again.

i think it will always be this way.

after all, she’s my mom.

still.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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in the overlook. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

i pulled off quickly – into a small lot overlooking the lake – because i knew that it would soon cease to be there – this striping of snowy beach, lake, storm, clouds and sky. soon it would disappear – maybe in moments – this differentiation of color – this horizon – soon it would become mostly gray. soon the textures would blend and it would become flat.

i am – we are – in the middle – once again – of a big attempt to clean out. thirty-five plus years of accumulation is a lot to go through and re-organize, donate, discard. every single thing takes longer than you might think. and, frankly, i am not anxious to go through it faster, to flatten it all out into neat-and-tidy in as short a time as possible.

i actually want to see all the textures of all this time. i am – figuratively – pulling off into the overlook so that i might gaze and reflect, remember and feel.

already, i’ve come upon surprises. already, i’ve been given a chance to remember tiny details i had forgotten. already, i’ve danced through children’s books and old vcr tapes, cassettes from the 70s and scraps of lyrics tucked deep in desk drawers. there is much to be done, but i’m in no rush. our focus will mostly be right here – in this era of national upheaval – and we will take our sweet time.

“everything takes so much longer than you think,” stating the obvious, i looked over at d, immersed in his own tasks of our cleaning-out.

“that’s ok,” he replied.

“yeah,” i sighed. “no need to rush,” a promise to go slow.

there’s plenty of time for neat and tidy, organized and pared down.

in the meanwhile, the textures of decades are on the horizon. in closets. in the basement. in the attic.

and i am in the overlook.

*****

THE WAY HOME © 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood

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