reverse threading

the path back is the path forward


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conversation. [merely-a-thought monday]

where you can actually hear copy

we started our day with mimosas.  the up-north-gang was in cedarburg and we descended upon the stagecoach inn’s pub, a place built in 1853, dedicated to their bed & breakfast.  we sat at wood and iron tables surrounded by vintage stone and brick walls and chatted away a very fast almost-two-hours.  we hadn’t ever been at this little pub before to start our winterfest fun.  but it was perfect and it was an easy choice when the day was over and we stopped back there to sip wine or old-fashioneds (a wisconsin staple), review the parade and bed races on the river and talk about any old thing.  i grabbed a brochure (because i, well, love brochures) and looked at it later at home.  “where you can actually hear your conversation” the little pub (named the five20 social stop) advertised.  it was true.  it was refreshing to be able to actually have a conversation and hear each other.

we do our best work in the woods.  d and i will take a walk and solve things that have stymied us.   the quiet, the beauty – it’s centering and it removes all the interruptions of home-office-work.  it offers us a chance to actually have a conversation and hear each other.

at this point, i don’t know what it would take for this world, this country, our state, our community to actually have conversations and hear each other.  so many seem to be yelling, reacting.  certainly not conversing.  it’s tempting to turn off the news app on my phone, but i don’t want to bury my head in the sand.  and yet, lately, this earth seems oddly tilted on its axis, bent on anger and strife, inflated egos, name-calling, exponential self-serving, and pointed blame.  it’s all so toxic.  where is the listening going on?

i would think about suggesting mimosas and a walk in the woods but, with all the noise out there, i don’t know who would hear me.

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

boots on frozen river cedarburg website box

 

 

 

 

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peace marbles. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

peace marbles copy.jpg

we were in cedarburg and on our way out the door of one of our favorite shops there – leap of faith.  i go way back with this shop; during the years that small boutiques sold cds they carried mine and i would, from time to time, play a live performance, hand in hand raising awareness about my music.  the silver peace ring i wear at all times is from this shop.  i have meandered many a time through this place, breathing a little easier as i peruse and read their cards, signs, gifts, positive messages all, open to all.

as we walked out, i spotted this small bowl of blue marbles and the words “take one”.  a symbol for our planet.  a prayer for peace.  i didn’t need another invitation.  the song lyrics accompanying this blue marble hummed in my head all the way home, even after wendy and i loudly sang  “i believe the children are our future…” while striding down the sidewalk after hearing it in another shop.

“let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me.” if we each made that our intention how powerful…Screen Shot 2018-11-03 at 12.35.18 PM

our blue marble, our good earth, tiny in the vastness, might thrive.  we might thrive.  if not for us, then for the children.  our children.  they are our future.

 

 

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

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color.

flowers and trees have dominated the photo stream on my phone this summer. soaring pines against snow-topped mountains and streamside wildflowers, a street called “daisy dr”, aspen trees reflecting on a building in a light show, roots of fallen trees in sculpture untouched by hands, gorgeous flowers in a downtown boston median, window boxes filled with red geraniums on a beacon hill walk, IMG_0031the nurse-log’s new life in the lake up north this year, the strawberry patch, the new herb garden we built out of re-purposed schtuff (as wendy calls it), and, speaking of wendy, the tulips on her wall (sometimes the flowers aren’t real-live-in-the-dirt-flowers). there are photos from ocean-side marshland, the sweet gift of farmer’s market sunflowers, saved pictures of susan’s porch with hanging flowerpots…just to look at…as if i were there. flowers in linda’s abundant garden, IMG_0035huge basil at jen’s, gorgeous orange impatiens that stubbornly live in our backyard, even when we don’t notice them. black-eyed susans from our walks, white-flowering hostas on an iowa farm. soybeans in the field and bamboo alongside the lake, unidentified purple flowers IMG_0033and pink and yellow flowers along a neighbor’s front walk, purple sedum buzzing with bees a few houses away. the first tree to turn in the woods we were hiking in, a lone red leaf on a maple in the ‘hood. my photo shoot of the painting david painted me before we married, the daisy we used on our invitations, the daisy we are using in website and marketing materials for our upcoming, soon-to-be-released two-person play, “the roadtrip”. so many flowers. so much color.

perusing through right now, i see that isn’t the only source of color…the IMG_0040old painted chairs hanging in the shop in the mountains, the homebuilt faux-adirondacks in front of the liquor store in breck, the photographs of texture in vibrant colors, the gay pride flag flying outside a church in the city, the peeling-paint side of the old barn, the sunsets, piles of rocks, the solid blue sky, the sand, aqua water, white snow on the mountain in june, rainbows, the red moon. color.

now, truth be told, there are a TON of pictures on my photo stream. i take a ton of pictures and save everything that the boy or the girl send me, so at any given moment, i can re-visit the whole summer IMG_0034and breathe it back in. sometime, in the middle of winter, when the days are not as fluffy or romantically snowy, i will want to look at these pictures. to remember. you know, the whole thready thing. it’s a curse.

last weekend we went to a wine and harvest festival in a little town up north a bit. expecting it to be like the winter festival we attend there with friends, a kind of joyous and outstandingly fun mecca every february, we were surprised when we got there and it was a mob scene. the streets were full of vendors, food and art and creations of all sorts. overgrown humonga-pumpkins were being weighed in a contest and we hear we missed the carved-out-pumpkin races on the river. we walked around, squished between people, laughing about how hot it was, how crowded and how we had underestimated the festival. it was absolutely a blast.

there was this bag there…just a simple backpack. from the side of the vendor’s 10×10 IMG_0029tent, which i am well-acquainted with, it called my name. “look at that happy bag,” i said to david. usually i don’t purchase much at these shows. i am often feeling that i-don’t-need-more-stuff feeling. but, as david told someone recently, pieces of art (really, despite what medium they are) reach out and find their true owner. and, i have to tell you, this happy bag found me. and you’ll never guess what the fabric was. for this dedicated wear-blue-jeans-and-black-tops girl (ok, that term “girl” may be outdated for me, but humor me, ok?”), this flowery backpack found its way into my hands. now i am using it each day. i know i will return to other purses i own (aka pocketbooks, aka handbags), but this happy bag will bring back -with just one glance- the hot day at the festival, the flowers in my summer, the color in my life. and we all need that, don’t we?

itunes: kerri sherwood

www.kerrisherwood.com