reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: unconditional love


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love and family. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

every single time. my sweet momma and poppo would stand at the door or in the driveway or on the sidewalk or, even, inside, parting the curtains to look out. they would roll down the window at departures. they would roll down the windows if they were driving away. every single time. they would hold up their hands in the american sign language sign for “i love you” as we would back out, pull away, drive down the road, head into the terminal. every single time.

i believe they know that we have all continued their tradition. every single time.

and, no matter what person in their family – in all the circles of nuclear and extended family – in children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren – in all the definitions of family – birthed, adopted, married into, children-by-love-in-laws – they would remind that person “i love you” in leaving. so that you wouldn’t forget.

and you couldn’t. forget. because you could see them – in your mind’s eye – standing there – hand held up – misty tears on their faces.

we’ve passed this downed tree on the trail many, many times. and yet, this was the first time i saw it. at just the right time, i could see the sign. i ran through the underbrush to get a photograph and thanked the universe for the reminder.

love is. family is. all-embracing. they don’t draw lines in the sand. they don’t parse out biological dna strands. and they don’t minimize the giant commitment that comes with giving birth, adopting, becoming a step-parent. they don’t measure one against the other. they don’t ignore the worrying and the angsting and the supporting and the relationship-building that comes with every one of those. because love is love. and a family – filled with complex concentric and overlapping circles – understands that – that love is love.

even the day – when i was young and my siblings told me i was “cesarean” – and i thought i was from another country, no less – i had no worries that i was not an integral and loved part of my family. and i was only eight. but i knew that being in a family is also a decision. so, i was not concerned that my cesarean-ish-ness would make me peripheral, would make me less-than, would place me under any different heading than the ancestral family.

as we go through life we are fortunate enough to find both people who align with us and people who don’t. we entertain conversation and animated debate and learn from each other. we glimpse tiny pieces of worlds we do not know from these others around us and are better for that. we hold each other in respect and with affection. and these people – these friends – our community – become family as well.

and we look to each other to learn how the other lives. we learn about the tight web that holds us all dear to another. we learn – sometimes – that isn’t the case and we don’t hold tight. we learn we share the same core family values. though – sometimes – we learn we don’t. we learn about the choices others make in their lives and glean from them, taking with us lessons about life. though – sometimes – we don’t. and we learn to open our hearts and wrap each new person in our family in love. but – sometimes – we think there are people who don’t count, so we don’t.

and those don’ts make people draw lines in the sand to exclude others. those don’ts make people haughty and rejecting. those don’ts undermine relationships and love. those don’ts destroy families.

what a waste of time – and life – all those don’ts.

my sweet momma and poppo stood with their hands up signing “i love you” each and every time. even their little family continued to grow…because they chose it. the dna of their ancestry passes love of one another – without exception – generation to generation.

because love and family are all-embracing. they are one and the same.

*****

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

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my heart. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

whoa! 

i have opened so many boxes, so many bins. i have done so many loads of laundry – tiny garments – all freshened and stacked on the dining room table. there is still much to be done. 

every single thing i touch is a memory. tiny onesies and fuzzy sleepers, footie pajamas and oshkosh overalls, polly flinders dresses and itty-bitty jeans, socks and booties way smaller than my hand. 

i was almost at the bottom of one of the dark blue plastic bins. right underneath the storage-safe-plastic-encased christening gown was the last layer. rattles and small hand toys, the smallest keds you’ve ever seen, stride-rite firsties and this teething ring.

it wasn’t just the teething ring, but it certainly contributed to it. i was overwhelmed with a wave of nostalgia – wistfulness at its most tear-inducing. i stood staring at it, wondering what to do with it. naturally, this is not something you pass on. this is not something that you necessarily put in your keepsake box, either. but the power of it…

so i laid it on the worn basement floor – in the middle of the laundry room – the same laundry room that washed all these clothes from the time my children were born to this very day – when they are all grown up – that i am going through their infant and toddler clothes – and i took a picture.

and when i gather together all of these clothes – seeming mountains of clothing – to donate to a mission in chicago that gives people items they need for their families – for free – my heart will be full, thinking of other babies and children wearing these outfits that elicit so many memories and so much love.

and i know that someday the moms (or dads) who receive this clothing will also be paring down and passing down to others. and something will stop them in their tracks. maybe tiny booties, maybe a bib or the teeniest sleeper, maybe little leggings and a floral tunic, maybe a smocked dress or a little baseball slugger hat. whatever it is, they will stare at it, surprised at its potency, grateful for its memories. like me, they may take a picture. like me, they may utter words of thanks.  and then, like me, they will place it in a stack and pass it on.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

SMACK-DAB. ©️ 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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and then their theme songs. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

“dogga, dogga, you’re the one.

dogga, dogga, so much fun.

dogga, dogga, in the sun.

dogga, dogga, number one!”

he loves his theme song. it has a specific melody, but can be sung to many different tunes, in many different styles. what he knows is that it is his.

i suppose that theme songs go beyond the scope of exaggerated prosody – those patterns of rhythm, intonation and stress of the voice you use – most like that of talking to infants – with which dogs so easily identify. i’m not sure how it’s so easy to revert to this higher-pitched baby-talk but it gets his attention and seems to maintain it. there have been studies…whether dogs’ neural sensitivity is attuned more to this higher modulated speech pattern – a pattern that is directed to a listener with limited linguistic competence. as the more longer-vowel-sound-higher-pitched-sing-song speaker in the house, i’d say it’s true.

dogga responds to sooo many words and it does seem obvious: he is more sensitive to dog and/or infant type directed speech than if we were to just speak to him in adult-directed voices. his wagawag starts up as soon as he hears our “e.p.”, er, babytalk. i would guess he might roll his eyes and yawn were we to start holding adult conversation with him, particularly on topics of conversation during which he has retreated to the bathroom for escape. though i have had many a chat with him – he’s a good listener – he has not had the same level of response as he does with the prosody of adoring dogmom. “sleepyniiightniiight”, “loooooveyou”, “withmahhhhmma”….

“babycat. you are the cutest little babycat. you are the cutest little babycat, babycat, wah wah wah wah wah-wah-wah-wah-wah-wah-wah-wah…” (babycat)

“i’m a chopper-whopper-dinkus-baby and you are not; chopper-whopper, dinkus-bayyybee…” (chopper)

“hughie-hughie-hughie-huuwEEeeEE. hughie-hughie-hughie-huuwAHahAHH…” (hughie)

“i was smurfling along…” (missi)

yes, yes. the theme songs go way back – decades. and i suppose so does the tone of voice. in a world that can be pretty harsh, there can’t be much wrong with a little exaggerated prosody here and there.

certainly, there is no limit to it when it comes to our beloved pets. so much unconditional love.

*****

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

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herbs and children. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

parsley and rosemary. in what would seem their prime, it was time to harvest, for another frost might damage them and a freeze most certainly would. we covered them – along with the basil and the mint and the lavender – but it’s november and it’s wisconsin, so it was time to make some other choices. because it’s what we do, i researched. and then, with snippers, went out and snipped off stems, laying them gently on a cookie sheet so that i might freeze them and pull them out mid-winter to use: fresh herbs in the winter from our own potting stand will remind me that spring will, yes, arrive again.

and yes, i know it’s simple to run to the grocery store and pick up a fresh bundle of parsley and one of those little plastic containers of rosemary. but there is something to be said for these herbs that we grew, that gave us so much joy to watch as they flourished this summer. we simply bought them at lowe’s, planted them in good soil in good old clay pots, placed them in the sun, watered them as needed. and we celebrated them as they grew. mighty and strong.

it’s a little like children. you try your best to plant them in good soil, in solid but permeable pots, expose them to the sun and nutrients as they need them. and they flourish. and one day you are watching your daughter fly down the biggest mountain run in summit county – one of the highest inbound ski terrains in north america – on a snowboard, her skills generously coaching and instructing others. and another day you are watching your son’s hands fly across the mixer board, spinning electronic dance music, bringing elation – even rapture – to beautiful people expressing the freedom and joy of living. and then another day and another and another…mighty and strong.

it’s good dirt, a good pot, sun, nutrients. celebration.

and a whole lot of love.

maybe next year we’ll also plant sage and thyme – to complete the old folk song that goes through my mind every time i think of parsley and rosemary.

*****

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

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when we dance. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

he invariably joins in. dogga cannot just watch us dance. he stands on his strong aussie legs and joins with us. it is utterly one of the sweetest things. he’s like that with hugs, too. he wants to be a part of it.

since we love to dance together – even a few steps here and there – he has plenty of opportunities to watch (and join). we dance in the front yard, on the back deck, in the living room, in the kitchen. there is nothing like a slow dance to (literally) slow you down, tune you inside, make you feel like everything-is-going-to-be-ok in the world. maybe that’s why we’ve always danced together – from the very beginning.

and to think that dogdog is right there, with us, makes me realize that – actually – he must love when we dance.

so do we.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

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in every season. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

the ornamental grasses weren’t there – out the window – when the studio was the nursery. instead, there were hedges – ancient hedges lining the front of the house, thick hedges lining the driveway, dense hedges in front of the old brick wall. it looked completely different all hedged in.

i’d sit in the rocking chair in the nursery with my babies and watch the seasons go by out the window. rocking them to sleep, reading a book, nursing, we spent many, many hours in that rocking chair. and i spent many hours with sleeping infants in my arms gazing out the window, pondering the season out there and the season inside. somewhere there is a recording of my song rocking chair seasons, but i’m not sure where.

it is evident from the grasses what season we are in. looking out any front window – or back, for that matter – there are grasses answering to the dance of the calendar. they sprout out of the ground in later spring and then rise skyward. stunning in the breeze, they are tall and willowy in hot summer sun. and then, the plumes. gorgeous and feathery. and now, the grasses are golden orange, a showy nod to the cool of autumn. even later they will stand in the snow, catching the winter winds. all just out the window. a timeline of life.

the rocking chair is now downstairs in the basement – one of two in david’s studio. the crib and the changing table and all the babystuff is no longer in my studio, though just outside the door hang tiny shoes on a doorknob which were my girl’s and my boy’s when they were little.

sometimes i stand by the window in the studio – at the same angle that the rocking chair sat – and look out. it is easy to get lost in the memories that flood in.

the seasons have changed. they are all-grown-up and living creative and independent lives, strong humans in this world.

i’m still right here – and always will be for them, waving my plume in the air, rooting for them at every turn, in every season.

and i look at the grasses in their perennial transition as time passes and realize it is all the same.

*****

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

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the blue jays. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

my sweet poppo died three years before my sweet momma. when she died, the tilt that my world had already felt dove down into a deeper angle, the axis of the earth struggling to keep it in balance. the loss of both parents is profound, no matter your age.

it had been years since i had heard or seen a blue jay. they were common where i grew up, the screeches of jays in the woods or the trees surrounding our home. they have husky voices, always a little bit raspy. but they make me think of home.

i still remember the first day i saw one – after. it’s a few years ago now.

we were hiking on one of our favorite trails and suddenly i could hear them. they flew across the path and i stood still, reveling in the moment, taking it in. since that day, there have been more sightings and i have heard their birdcalls, even out our bedroom window from time to time.

since they are a common bird in wisconsin, i wonder how it is i missed them.

and i realize that sometimes the way home – the sound of a blue jay – is something we just don’t pay attention to, something that falls down on the list of priorities. until one day.

the day comes that all the really important stuff comes into focus. and we realize that we have – maybe – taken for granted the stuff that really is a part of who we are. we slough off paying attention to those things, those places, those people because we believe that there is plenty of time – later. or perhaps there are reasons we cannot grant grace to those things, those places, those people and we somewhat haughtily, in some selfish kind of righteous amnesia of our own actions, put them to the side, the corners of our hearts. or maybe we are just too busy and we have gotten lost, overwhelmed in our very real and partly contrived busy-ness.

any way you look at it, i am surprised i didn’t see the blue jays. until after.

now i hear them, see them, find their feathers in the usualness of our days. each time it is like a tiny nod to home, to all the moments of goodness, to the realness of unconditional love in the midst of the ridiculous hardness of life.

and they were there all along.

*****

THE WAY HOME from THIS PART OF THE JOURNEY ©️ 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood

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read DAVID’S thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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our whole world. samesies. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

his amber eyes are mesmerizing. his double coat of hair is as beautiful as it is plentiful. his heart is huge and his sensitivity is tuned in. his quirks are numerous and his dedication is steadfast. he is always present and only rests when he feels like he is finally off-duty at 8:30, his self-chosen bedtime. he’s taught us more than i could possibly write about.

he’s been central since he arrived. in everything. it’s one of those miracles that he’s here – with us. it’s one of those time-warpy things we realize it’s been ten years. already. and so soon.

what our dogga doesn’t realize, maybe, is that he is our whole world just as much as we are his. samesies.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

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love, love, love. [merely-a-thought monday]

when i was in sunday school – decades ago – we sang a song with these lyrics: “love, love, love. that’s what it’s all about. cause god loves us, we love each other. mother, father, sister, brother. everybody sing and shout. cause that’s what it’s all about. it’s about love, love, love. it’s about love, love, love.”

and then, somewhere along the way, it seems that the rules changed. and suddenly, it wasn’t all about love. it – on the contrary – became about the parameters put on love. it became about who people identify as and who people love. it became about valuing only male-female love. it became about quashing people’s gender identification. it became about ancient, close-minded, patriarchal interpretations. it became about bigotry. and the sunday school song takes on a different meaning.

but we know that nothing immensely beautiful, nothing meaningful or of import has come from limitations. it is not the ostrich with its head in the sand who can feel the dawn of a new day on its face. it is not the people who do no true research, who do not ask questions, who do not ponder the possible; these same folks who, if they instead would have respectful consideration of others, could find that we all can be spokes-living-better-together.

one of the things i really loved about my sweet momma was her willingness – her desire – to learn new things. even in her nineties, she tried to stay current, to stay informed. if she didn’t understand something, she’d ask questions or she’d look it up. she stayed open, non-judgemental. she hoped for happiness, love, freedom, peace for everyone – despite their race, ethnicity, gender identity, religion, sexual orientation, socioeconomic status. she did not make broad sweeping statements dissing any group of people. she held onto her belief that everyone deserves “to thine own self be true”. i’m guessing she would agree with ruth bader ginsburg, “we will all profit from a more diverse, inclusive society, understanding, accommodating, even celebrating our differences, while pulling together for the common good.”

the day my beloved son came out to me, i rejoiced in his freedom. all i really wanted for him – that day and every day since – was to love and be loved by his partner, working together with mutual respect, loyalty, understanding, generosity, admiration, affection, support. it is the same for my beloved daughter in her love relationships. i merely birthed them and then, in the briefest time that flew by, they became adults, out in the world. and with them, they took the knowledge that they had freedom to be who they are, knowing – without a doubt – i love them.

i can’t imagine poking at a group of people – including, and particularly, an all-embracing LGBTQIA+ community of beautiful people. lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, intersex, asexual: their individual and precious lives are not mine to live, nor mine to decide, nor mine to undermine.

we are the same. remember the sunday school song? or are there limitations to these lyrics? in what faith is love not love?

we purchased a new yard sign. half of the proceeds go to PRIDE.

*****

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

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seeds. [two artists tuesday]

and the beautiful flower – with tiny white petals – its seeds were ripening. slowly, it began to wrap its inflorescence in, protecting. and the tiny bird’s-nest-shape remained, wound around, parenting, holding dear until the dried seeds, ready, release and go off into the world.

nature repeats itself. its stories – from one species to the next, one genus to the next – seem inordinately similar.

we – now adults – have left our own green-bird’s-nest years ago. it was a haven of sorts, but only for a time, as we grew. and then, suddenly, we are out and about in the world, riding the jet stream, surfing the tide, subjected to scorching sun and bitter cold. we trust the world to carry us safely. we are innocent seeds.

we learn – in different stages of our growth – that though we are held in unconditional love by some, there are others who will not tend us gently. we begin to discern the difference. we choose those who support us, whose inflorescent arms wrap us lightly, tenderly. we are buoyed, encouraged, picked up, bolstered by these arms. the others – the ones who aim to dilute, push down, disempower – they are loud voices – righteous and suffocating and dispiriting.

but – amidst either – we are still seeds as we continue on, other seeds also on this way.

and we try to remember to be as queen anne’s lace – once held gently and released – always with the knowledge that there are nurturing tiny and big blossoms out there, sharing the universe with us.

and we try to remember to be as queen anne’s lace – to, similarly, hold gently and release – with empathy our north star as we float and soar, celebrating every single other seed.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

(composers pat alger and ralph murphy)

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