reverse threading

the path back is the path forward


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turn your vision out. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

THIS husby's dollar bill ceiling copy

the high ceiling at husby’s invited some creative decorating.  twenty years ago, at some point in time after their renovation, the staff and clientele starting throwing money at the ceiling tiles.  there are specific instructions for this, which include tacks and quarters and precise folding, but the end result is a ceiling full of paper currency – a virtual piggy bank of resources that are donated to local causes in sister bay, wisconsin.  seeing the bills on the ceiling and the posted list of good causes just makes you want to throw money.  encouraging others to throw money, continuing the twenty-year-old tradition is generosity.  it turns their vision out.

as the season of lent starts, many people will, for reasons they may not even be able to articulate, “give up” something, a sort of faux-fasting.  back in the day when i was a young teenager, and maybe even now, it was something of a contest…who could give up the most interesting thing, the hardest thing, the easiest thing, who could boast louder.  that all seems antithetical to the point.  way back, giving up lima beans would not count; giving up candy counted.  i haven’t often participated in this.  i’ve just tried, successfully and unsuccessfully, to moderate at all times.

yesterday or maybe the day before i saw a post about giving for this period of time.  in an effort to raise consciousness about austerity, the suggestion was made to each day give a THING away, something you do not use but someone else would value having, or something you know, even though you sometimes use it, would be vital for someone else.  that way, at the end of this period of 40 days there would be 40 THINGS that you have put aside to give away, a contribution to others who need the things you are easily (or actually not so easily) able to donate.  giving clothing or shoes or backpacks or kitchen gear or blankets, things that pare down your own concentric circles of stuff and grace another’s life with something he or she needs.  turning your vision out.

today i will take out two laundry baskets for us – as a start for this new practice.  this makes more sense to me than giving up candy.  as a personal practice in everyday life and honoring this life i was given, i should always be giving up anything in excess that isn’t good for me, lifestyle choices as opposed to a diet choice or a lent choice.  as a new ritual practice for these six weeks however, gathering things for others will illustrate how someone else might be benefited by my lent.  it’s not just about me.  it is turning my vision out.

ceiling money donations copy

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

our snowman feb 14 2019 'valentino' website box copy

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the space called the future. [two artists tuesday]

our shadows in the sand cape cod copy

“…leaving to fill in the space called the future…”

yesterday is but a shadow now.  we rise with the sun and the lingering shadows and shapes in the dusk-then-darkness-then-dawn quietly disappear.  we can’t hold onto them, any of them, despite our sometimes-longing to do so.  memories are like that.  the moments we most want to remember…they slyly tiptoe out of our mind’s eye, elusive to our heart-threads trying to hold onto them.  that is why i keep a calendar.

my calendar is written.  with a pencil.  every day i write in it, catching up what we did with our time, what we worked on, where we went, who we saw, maybe a new recipe we tried.  mostly, though, i write down moments i don’t want to forget.  milliseconds or minutes of bliss with a loved one, gorgeous things said, handholds or hugs that i want to keep feeling, things i want to memorize but know will slip softly into a recess that i may or may not be able to access.

on the first day of the new year (or the last day of the old year) it is my ritual to read every day, every log, of my year’s calendar.  in that reading we are transported.  to the places we went, the people we visited with, the exquisite times, the arguments, treasured mom-moments that have repeated-time-release joy.  we remember things we had forgotten.  we stand once again on the precipice above the canyon or the beach on the cape.  we stroll once again under a canopy of spanish-moss-covered live oaks or the big sky of the high range mountains.  we sit once again on red rocks or on the train to chicago or on the subway in boston or on the pontoon boat up north or on the high kitchen stools having potluck friday or on the raft or at the pub near where we scattered ashes one last time.  we hike once again in the nearby woods, on the river trail, through high desert.  we roadtrip, once again, heading east, west, south, north.  we have conversation-snippets-to-remember once again with The Girl, The Boy, david’s parents, our siblings, nieces, nephews, dear friends.  once again, we make music and art, we write stories and blogposts and press releases and letters and emails and texts; some we want to hold onto, even if just a word or two, a sentiment or two.  once again.

we process our year.  we see.  we celebrate.  we learn.  we plan and we plan to not plan.  we dream.  we look to the future.

happy happy new year.

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

oversizedjoy copley place website box