reverse threading

the path back is the path forward


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bowing to time. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

“the white trout lily humbly bows on the forest floor. much like people, though on a different scale, their presence is ephemeral, fleeting. on sunny days, their petals will curl back, up, towards the sun; on shady days these small flowers may not even open. their simple beauty a mystery to the passerby, their faces shyly downward, they fill the underbrush on the side of the trail, dotting the landscape with fragile white blooms. i trust they are not concerned with the impact they make on the world nor do they wonder about their footprints once they are gone. they are simply there – love – dressed in white floral.” (from a post on august 26, 2021)

the tiny trout lily forest – as seen from the ground – stretching on and on, dotting through dry underbrush, the accumulation of fall and winter now giving it up to spring.

the day was stunning…warm, sunny, blue skies. a gift of a day, indeed. it was our first time back on our loop since we arrived home. it was time to process it all and that trail is one of our touchstones for processing. we wandered along the dirt path, talking, being silent, noting how this new season was transforming our woods.

when you travel to or through places where you are not known – where you are a stranger – there is a sense of humility. we immerse in little towns on back roads when we can, finding our way through someone else’s place, through a community of ‘others’ – those in the know about local customs, local gems, local folklore. we are just passersby – soon to be on our way somewhere else.

but we have discovered some of our favorite spots this way. we’ve found places to which we must return some day, places with which we have connected, places that seem magically aligned with us.

discovery is like that. our steps take us past the familiar, into the unknown, the mysterious.

as i got down on my knees to photograph the trout lily forest, i imagined being tiny and walking amongst the lilies. like walking in a city of towering buildings, anonymous to most.

this trail – so familiar – each twist and turn, the spots where we know there will be standing water, the spots where the sun bathes the path, the places where the scent of pine is strong. we are lucky to know this place.

it is not likely that hikers after us will wonder about our footprints. they will be intent on the awakening forest and the swollen river, on their own silence, on their own talk–talk.

but we were there.

and – again – i realize we are each just one of the trout lilies in the woods, just as fragile, just as ephemeral, bowing to time.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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

the woods are different out east. the rhododendron is en masse and the scratchy underbrush is minimal, so you can walk in the trees, weaving your way in and out of the stands of these tall towers.

we had a bit of time before the sun set to walk on this special retreat land, stretch our legs from roadtripping, sit on the balcony with a charcuterie we had prepared ahead of our drive, watch the sun go down.

it was peaceful and – truly – just what we needed. the wind sailing through the pine trees near us was soothing, the scent of spring in the allegheny-appalachian mountains would bring us down from the drone of the interstate. it was the perfect stopping ground.

our accommodations were simple and inexpensive – a small studio above a garage – but with a kitchen so we could warm up the dinner we brought with us and make breakfast in the morning. we were thrilled to have such a serene setting as we knew the next day would bring the hectic chaos of the city, the bridges and the cross-bronx-cross-island craziness.

early the next morning with our coffee we strategized about how calmly we would approach the traffic of the day. we took back roads to the interstate, learning a bit of how rural-mountain folks are living, wondering where the grocery store was, wondering what the roads are like in the dead of winter.

we hadn’t gone too far that morning when on the side of the road were two wild turkeys. just as we approached one turkey decided to take off and fly right in front of big red. i slammed on the brakes, determined not to hit this very-slow-to-get-momentum-flying creature right in front of my windshield, like a lumbering skyvan. thankfully, the turkey made it to the other side of the road safely and we continued on. i felt a bit shaken. but d looked up the significance of this large grounded creature – particularly when one flies right in front of your vehicle. a reminder of abundance, of courage, of tenacity, of openness and readiness – all these attributes of new beginnings and changes were positive trade-offs for the frightening close-up of a turkey in flight. we chose to adopt these meanings and i quietly thanked the turkey for the good omens.

we left behind the forests, sandstone outcroppings, striated vertical walls, and the mountains, trading it for the shore, forsythia, stands of woods, sand and bluffs. and though we didn’t wake up the next day in a sanctuary forest, we sipped our coffee watching the harbor, its water still, perfectly reflecting sailboats and skiffs moored, buoys out past the dock.

a different kind of peace, i felt like i had come home.

*****

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

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our theme song. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

i have listened to this song – rascal flatts’ stand – just shy of a million times. on every trip back and forth across the northern part of this country – driving from the midwest to the east coast to perform, sell cds, do a radio or tv gig – it would be blaring on the stereo, this song from the me and my gang cd on repeat.

because we have all discovered life IS like a novel with the end ripped out. every bit of careful planning, every end result we purport to know will happen, every time we are sure of it all, something else happens to throw an itty-bitty wrench into things, to wreak havoc on our tidy landscape, to make the horizon a tad bit blurry, to utterly decimate what we thought would happen.

i suppose we can take it all as it comes, lie down and let the steamroller roll over us – succumb – in any and every arena of life.

but the chutzpah that has come with listening to this song almost a million times – the chutzpah that comes with, well, just living itself – changes that succumbing-to-the-steamroller tune.

“cause when push comes to shove you taste what you’re made of/ you might bend ’til you break, cause it’s all you can take/ on your knees, you look up, decide you’ve had enough/ you get mad, you get strong, wipe your hands, shake it off then you stand, then you stand…”

and so, i find myself driving again – across the northern part of this country – from the midwest to the east coast – standing.

because when you can do something about that which has the potential of undermining every single thing, when you can do something about that which is life-arc-havoc-wreaking, when you can do something about that which has been too much – when you have decided you’ve had enough – when you are mad – when you get strong – then you must stand – in any and every arena of life.

“every time you get up and get back in the race/ one more small piece of you starts to fall into place…”

we blasted the song over the external speaker our boy gave us – because big red doesn’t have a cd player or any capacity to play music that is not on the radio or a cassette. i sang along. loud.

d listened to the lyrics. over and over again.

and suggested that this song be our theme song now.

*****

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

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no time to waste. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

we have two sets of flatware. forks, cake forks, knives, teaspoons and tablespoons, i (and we) have purchased neither set.

the first set has been with me since my very first apartment. my grandmother, mama dear, gave me this set – subsets of it were incentive gifts for deposits into a local bank on long island – so mama dear made enough deposits for a whole set. it moved with me everywhere i have moved since that first apartment. i added wooden-handled steak knives to it – also incentives from a company – and, later, baby spoons and forks, but i never replaced the flatware set.

when my sweet momma died, her flatware – the stainless steel stuff not her silver – became mine. it was familiar to the touch and welcomed, particularly since many pieces of the first-apartment-floral-pattern had gone missing through the years.

so now we have two sets. sort of. there are pieces missing from both. maybe someday we will purchase a whole new set together. we’ll see. it doesn’t feel like a high priority.

in going through basement bins, i’ve found various other pieces of flatware. there’s a spoon thingy with a place to hold tea leaves, a couple of ladles, silver demitasse spoons with a gold wash from finland, vintage souvenir spoons from florida. we haven’t used any of these spoons or other utensils, though it might be nice to include a piece or two in everyday life.

momma had a box just like the one in this photograph – it was red mahogany in color. it was felt-lined and all the silverware fit neatly into slots or into the shallow drawer underneath. we used the silverware on christmas, on easter, on special occasions. but not every day.

sometimes i think that if i were the current owner of her silver i would consider using it every day. i mean, it’s flatware – designed for use, not for saving or just hoarding with other memorable valuables.

it would seem that my sweet momma would smile from that other dimension if she saw people eating mac and cheese or eggs and potatoes or spaghetti or fried rice with her treasured silver/silver-plated forks.

because, after the fact, i’m sure she realized that saving it for good – and you wonder where i got that from??? – is really silly. indeed, i feel like i would hear her as i stood – hesitant – near the wooden silver chest – insisting, “it’s a fork! it’s just a fork!”

in these days of what seems like peril for this world, i’m thinking i would open up that silver chest and pull out the forks, knives, spoons, all the utensil thingies in there. i’d serve them up with homemade pizza or tomato soup or pasta sauce or tikka masala or whatever.

though i don’t have the silver chest or the silver, i do have the lesson.

now, instead of small dollar-store bowls holding our happy-hour snack-time snacks alongside individual-sized select-a-size paper towels, i pull out the cut-glass vessels, the fenton hobnail serving dish, the small china plates, the cloth napkins.

we have no time to waste.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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beauty on its way. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

in what feels like a moment of gardener glory, i suddenly noticed that the peonies are rising. because they are sooo utterly gorgeous, it always feels like great success when they return, when nothing i have done or not done has dissuaded them from coming back. these reddish-maroonish sprouts – full of promise – are growing and, one day down the road, on a warm late spring or early summer day full of sunshine, we will have stunning peonies again. beauty is on its way.

i stumbled onto a social media post with photographs of a variety of women who are now part of the current administration or somehow peripheral to it in a meaningful way. there were before and after pictures. photo shoots of women who had looked, well, like normal women living life, with faces that had faced whatever challenges or successes had come their way to date.

you know, like ours….faces that have grown up with macaroni and cheese, with petticoat junction and gilligan, with phones connected to the wall, with studying into the wee hours of the night and term papers on typewriters, with apartments or houses to decorate and upkeep, with childbirth or the hurdles of adoption, with middle of the night feedings and fevers and teenagers breaking curfews, with illness and recuperation, with job discrimination and grievances, with the loss of our parent or parents, with our bodies ever-changing. faces that have reflected back the tens of thousands of suns we have seen, the tens of thousands of moons we have stared at – wide-awake, the hundreds of thousands of stars we have wished on. faces that have aged through time, every laugh line, every wrinkle, every worry line earned.

the photo essay i saw depicted women who then changed their faces. they erased the laugh lines, the wrinkles, the worry lines, the jowls. they puffed up and exaggerated some version of youth that, in the end, escapes them. they no longer look real. they look plastic, even like the scary dolls you see in antique shoppes. and maybe that’s their point. that feels sad, but seems accurately reflective of the ideology they are choosing to embrace. which makes it even more sad.

because every day we live – we women AND we men – we are gardener glory of the universe. every day we live – we women AND we men – are great successes of endurance, of keeping on, of facing what comes.

and because every day we live – we women AND we men – are beauty on its way.

just as we are.

*****

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

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to feed or not to feed. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

under the quilt, getting ready to tune out current events, domestic and global news, opinions dedicated to either side of the chaos, we cursor-ed the play button on mike wanders for a stunning video of him out west – a trip about which he literally oozed awe and gratitude. we were ready to no longer have eyes on what was happening in the world. it is all exhausting.

and then we heard it.

the distinct metal clinking sound of the birdfeeder outside our open window. too late for any of our birdies and definitely not helter-skelter enough to be a squirrel attempting to push down the little plate that releases deliveries of seed.

d turned on the back light so we could look out the window.

and there – quite happy for the extra lighting – was this raccoon, happily at what-would-seem our vending machine, designed just for him. standing and tapping the plate and then devouring, tapping the plate, devouring, tapping, devouring. we laughed at him – even with the window opened – and he just continued his munchfest sans interruption, maybe even happy for an audience.

we are not cranky about him eating our birdseed. this feeder holds a lot of seed and we know we will replenish it for the birds again.

instead, we delighted in the antics of this very cute raccoon. a bit later – without knowing we had seen him in our driveway, our dear westneighbors texted us with a picture of him sleeping on the peak of our garage roof, his full belly making him a bit tuckered out, i guess. he is doing his part as an ecosystem generalist.

i’m not sure what else raccoons do in the world – other than eat. though I’m guessing he may think the same about all of us. what we don’t know we don’t know.

it occurs to me – that at the crux of it all – making sure that all creatures – and, even more specifically, all people – having enough to eat should be paramount. to sustain life, to carry on with enough energy for all life’s tasks – the most basic of needs – we should be absolutely committed to the doctrine of keeping people fed any and every where.

and yet, here we are. eliminating nationwide emergency food assistance, snap and wic in our own country, eliminating food aid to the international sphere by usaid and the world food program. the rhetoric and propaganda around eliminating support of these humanitarian efforts are demeaning and literally beg vulgar responses.

what the hell are we doing here?

starving people is despicable policy. particularly when you are personally pocketing grift that could feed the poor, provide education and healthcare, take care of the populace and then some.

in the case of this – the very absence of compassion – the lack of soul of this administration – this shaw quote should instead read: “there is no sincerer love than the love of self.”

shameful beyond belief.

i imagine that now that our raccoon knows where to find it, he will be back for a snack tonight. we will be glad to hear him outside our window.

*****

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

photograph credit to dear michele

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how it’s supposed to be. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

the first fresh flowers of the year…these beautiful tulips. 20 gave them to me for my birthday in a vase he said he purchased at one of the local thrift shops. they have graced the bistro table in the sunroom and the kitchen counter for over a week now, cheering us in rainy, windy weather.

we have spent some time in the local thrift shops as well, browsing or looking for a specific item or two we need. the st vincent de paul shop in town is clean, organized, with clearly marked items and people to help. it feels respectful of all who enter, for whatever reason they enter.

last night, sitting at the table in the sunroom with these glorious tulips, we used the little china plates we recently bought at the thrift store. with a bit of cheese and bread and a few olives, we looked up from our mini happy hour and, once again, talked about how we really liked finding these sweet 99 cent plates and how proud we were of places nearby so dedicated to making life a little easier at a time when the tasks and obligations and costs of life have been made much, much harder by an administration that doesn’t care about the struggles of ordinary people.

this morning i read in a nextdoor post dedicated to our neighborhood and vicinity a post that a woman wrote looking for opportunities for food. i would have responded with places that generously offer staples and groceries, but there were many – many! – people who had already responded, listing food pantries or shelters that could help provide. it made my heart sing to read all the replies to this woman who had vulnerably expressed her need. people even offered to make a casserole or leave bags of food on their front steps for her to pick up. the woman wrote back, overwhelmed by the sheer number of suggestions and offers. another woman wrote back, “that’s how it’s supposed to be. people helping each other.”

that’s how it’s supposed to be. people helping each other.

exactly.

20 comes over on mondays and thursdays. we share meals those days, with us usually cooking on monday and him on thursday. it is not just for the chance to see each other. it is pooling our resources and sharing a dinner – one less to cook in the week, one less to shop for, one less to pay for. for three people accustomed to leftovers and simplicity, it helps. one concentric circle to another to another…

and every monday and thursday as we stand at the door and wave goodbye, we are reminded – once again – that that’s how it’s supposed to be.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

HELPING HANDS

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what we want to see. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

every day he peers through the semi-opaque miniblinds, looking for any sign of his pals in the yard next door. the dachshunds are the object of his seeking shadowy movement through the blinds. we somehow think he even might be focusing through the small holes that each blind has through which the accordion string is threaded.

we can’t see anything but the darker shades of horizontal and vertical lines of the double hung window, maybe the fuzzy shape of a house next door, a chimney, the movement of the squirrel highway wires from the breeze – depending on where you are sitting and your angle on the blinds. but he is determined, our dogga, standing on the bed, staring at the window.

he looks to see what he wants to see.

eh, so, yeah, he might be a tad bit more optimistic than the rest of us here right now.

he looks to see what he wants to see.

we are different – david and i. he is more of a trusting, above-the-ground-birds-eye-view, esoteric thinker. i am more of a detailed, dubious, feet-on-the-ground, thready thinker. we make a good team. he tends to be more like dogga, encouraging me to have a more generous take on things. i tend to push back on him, insistent on connecting the dots or piecing together details of things or people of which i am wary.

i am aware of the shadowy shapes beyond the blind, but simply cannot ascribe to the dachshunds being right outside the window without seeing (or hearing) them there. i have a tendency to think about what’s-the-worst-that-can-happen and plan backwards accordingly. he tends to be way more confident in outlook, less suspecting, with less skepticism.

i do think, however, that we both tend to a bit of our dogga in us. there are times we do both look to see what we want to see.

and right now we want to see a future in this country that actually brings it closer to self-actualizing, a future where concern is for each other – despite any social identifier that makes people different from each other. we want to see a democracy that solidly commits to the equalities as delineated in its constitution and amendments. we want to see a place that celebrates people and lifts all so that each person living in this grand land might have a life of goodness and grace, fairness, security and prosperity. we want to see a nation that values truth, that rejects corruption, that does not normalize grift or the “isms” of hatred.

we are both looking to see it.

after the blinds have been pulled on this administration, after the wizard has been revealed for what he truly is, after so many have fought to maintain this republic, when the curtain comes up on this time, we are both looking to see america, land of the free and home of the brave, embracing every bit of diversity.

including the invisible dachshunds on the other side of the miniblinds.

****

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

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

this charming little flower started popping up all over the top part of our yard – between the old brick wall and the garden by the house. striped squill require no special skills, no plant food, no specific watering instructions. it just appears. and it thrives. and every single one of these tiny striped blooms makes me smile. they are incredibly low-maintenance in a high-maintenance world. it’s hard to think of something sweeter to broadcast that spring-in-the-midwest is actually on its way.

because there is wild geranium under barney – the old upright in the backyard – and there are day lilies growing feverishly in every bit of garden and there are the tiniest curlicues of ferns along the back fence over in the corner by the garage and there are sedum’s wee cabbages obstinately ignoring any deep temperature drops – we have to believe that we here in wisconsin are on the docket for spring’s arrival.

years ago i planted hundreds of tulip and daffodil bulbs with the great hope that, well, tulips and daffodils would grow in our yard. but – the squirrels dug them all up and ate ’em all. que sera. it wasn’t to be.

i am not horticulturally derailed by that. i enjoy the bulb flowers in other gardeners’ gardens and appreciate what actually grows easily in ours. striped squill – its delicate flowers – are our gig, it seems. no credit to us.

and i have to say that i really love it that way.

because these tiny flowers – even in what seems their inconsequence – are most meaningful. their presence in our grass signals the hope of fallow-coming-to-an-end. it signals the freshness of a new season, a new time. it signals rejuvenation of a place on earth that has rested for some time – in this case, right here, through winter.

i can’t help but linking-thinking it to the hope of fallow-coming-to-an-end and the freshness of a new season, a new time and rejuvenation….of me, of us, of each of us.

somewhere deep in our own fallow – our own dormancy – we start to thrash our arms at the darker shadows and invite in the light. somewhere deep in our own fallow – our own dormancy – we begin to cultivate the chance of growth, of healing, of rising up through the debris of whatever had been plowed over. from somewhere deep in our own fallow – our own dormancy – we emerge stronger, more vital, chutzpah leading the way.

the little squill stand firm in the wind and the rain, their skinny little stems steadfast. they keep reaching for the sun, grinning. they know they matter. they have no doubt. they are the harbingers of renewal. and they cheer each of us on our way with them.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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these. every day. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

i wish they had been my size. but they weren’t. and so it seemed right to hand them down – these peace-sign-high-top-converse i had given my dad. and 20, well, he was cinderella in this equation. his feet fit.

he wore them for our wedding. he walked me up the aisle to join david, who i would stand next to for our ceremony and our life. he had tears in his eyes as we walked together. it was one of those moments, when long-term friendship and all its challenges and rewards come to the tippy-top and love of chosen-brother-sister rises above all else.

i love it every time i see 20 wear these sneakers, especially when he tells me about people who comment on them. i’ve never seen another pair.

i have hand-me-down converse high-tops from my girl’s closet; they are solid pink. there’s a second pair that are kelly green, loaded with all kinds of pen-doodles. i wear the pink ones – they make me happy because they were hers. yes…no thread escapes my attention.

but these? these peace-sign-high-tops? right now – in the toxic climate of this country – in this precarious world – if they were my size – i would wear these converse every day.

*****

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

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