reverse threading

the path back is the path forward


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a familiar sight. [two artists tuesday]

jelly jars & sunset

this will become a familiar sight. sunset coloring the lake, an island populated by waterbirds in the distance, jelly jars in hand.  we have arrived.

fog dawned this day, which somehow seems apropos, considering.   dogdog and babycat are struggling to adjust – a different house – the “littlehouse” as opposed to “home”.  we are surrounded by bins and artwork and happy lights and a bulletin board full of photos. we have our picnic basket and our nespresso, office supplies and our peace signs. we’ve hung an old window frame and the chalkboard from our wedding. we have a vintage road-worn black suitcase just waiting to be filled with the stuff of this adventure. we have beach buckets with sunglasses and paintbrushes, kitchen utensils and a bottle of wine. we brought our cloth napkins, jelly jars and a set of our favorite bowls, our hydroflask coffee mugs and water thermoses, our lidded yeti wine tumblers. we have dogdog’s penguin, his lion, his candy cane and babycat’s chase-the-ball-in-the-circle plastic game. we have candles and clipboards, ukuleles, lawn games, and various devices that play music. we have threadied us up.

and it all boils down to this one thing – in my pocket now every day since jen gave it to me – a silver token that says PEACE.

right now, these thready things embrace me. they help with that peace I’m reminded of by this little token.

but this will all become a familiar sight. i know that.

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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eileen’s gloves. [two artists tuesday]

eileen's gloves

i remember i wore gloves the day i flew to finland with my grandmother mama dear.  i was eight and i wore my sunday finest.  i even wore a hat with my fancy dress, because that is how you flew – all dressed up.  it was 1967 and we were departing for ten weeks together in scandinavia.

i remember lawn chairs in the front yard, my grandparents watching me hula hoop and skateboards with my brother and sister down the driveway.   playing croquet with an old wooden set on the front lawn, kickball in the street, s-p-u-d across the neighbors’ yards and chasing fireflies clutching jars with punched-hole-lids so we could capture, watch and release them.

i remember riding bikes all over long island with my best friend susan.  we’d tell my sweet momma we’d be home for dinner and off we’d go.  just two girls on bikes, riding miles to the beach or a state or county park or each other’s houses, or just anywhere, with stops at carvel or friendly’s or mcdonald’s.  no cellphones, no gps, no worries, no fear.

i remember in the mid and late 90s flying midwest express, often.  the airline served actual meals on real plates with real cutlery, with champagne or mimosas or glasses of wine, depending on the time of day.  they made warm chocolate chip cookies and brought them after the meal with hot cups of good coffee in real stoneware mugs.  i dressed appropriately – in clothing that said i respected this lovely flight and those around me, the attendants working hard to make the experience pleasant.

i remember the day i flew to meet david’s family in 2013 the flight attendant asked me if i wanted to purchase water.  water!  no tiny bag of pretzels, no meal, no freebies, not even water.  i had jeans and flipflops on, many people around me in their sweats.

time had passed.

the relics of a simpler time gone by remain.  while helping 20 prepare his momma’s house for an estate sale, i opened a drawer next to the bed.  in it were gloves – mostly white, but a pair or two of black or brown.  there were short gloves and long gloves, cotton gloves and soft leather gloves.  gloves with bows and gloves with seed pearls.  gloves carefully placed together with their mates, clean and ready for wearing.

i wonder when the last time was that eileen wore these.  for that time has passed.  and we can only now vaguely remember it –  a time when people celebrated occasions with stockings and heels and gloves to the elbow, customer-appreciation-gratis mimosas on airplane flights and kickball in the street.

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in the distance now. [two artists tuesday]

mountains in the distance CO copy

i cry when i first see them.  i cry when they are disappearing.  those mountains.  my last long look at them as we drive east out of colorado.  those billboards and tshirts and bumper stickers that say, “the mountains are calling and i must go” speak to me.  they have ever since i was 18 and first experienced them.  john denver’s rocky mountains have been a lure for decades now.  and i can feel the pull, even from a distance.

if you look past the horizon in this photograph you will see what i last saw as we drove away a few days ago.  you won’t know that tears came to my eyes or that i turned in my seat to watch the vista fading away at 70mph.  we didn’t even get into the mountains this trip and i could still feel my heart stretching, reaching to hold on.

they are in the distance now.  so much so that i cannot see them.

but i carry those mountains with me and know we will one day, again, be there.  i will catch my breath when they loom suddenly into view.  we will drive deeper into them, surrounded by forest and canyons and soaring beauty.  we will hike on adventures and we will sit and gaze in wonder.  and then, when it is time to leave, i will crane my neck and watch them disappear.  into the distance.  no dry eyes here.

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flipflop parking lot. [two artists tuesday]

flip flop parking copy

the sand was ridged pointy and very hot to the touch, but this is the place we had already chosen to park our flipflops.  each time we all walked down to where the waves hit the shore we wore our flipflops through the dune seagrasses, punctuated with sand spurs, trying to avoid the inevitable.  the horseshoe crab shell was our marker…the place we would leave off our shoes and venture to the water over sand that had been warmed by extreme-heat-wave-induced temperatures. The Girl said we needed to be zen, as if we were walking on hot coals.  and so we scrambled over the blistering sand, all zen-like, as we walked and then, quickly, ran asfastaswecould down to the water or back to our shoes.  we became creatures of habit.  no matter how far we walked along the beach, this horseshoe crab signaled home.

until.

the feels-like temperature was about 106, the sun beautiful and bright but dangerous.  the sand….was brutal.  i started to leave my flipflops by the horseshoe crab and make my way again across the pointy-burning-the-bottom-of-my-feet sand when it suddenly occurred to me that we could wear the flipflops further.  that we might c.h.a.n.g.e. where we were leaving them.  that there may be other places we could all park them.  there could be another horseshoe crab parking lot.  or some other marker.  we could actually wear them across the pointy-burny sand, all the way down to the damp sand cooled by the ocean.  brilliant!

The Girl and The Boy immediately followed, no second thoughts for them.  change must be easier at 29 and 26 than it is at….our ages.  we laughed aloud at this habit, this ritual, that we had created, that we were adhering to, d and i.  we wondered aloud why it hadn’t occurred to us sooner to just leave the flipflops on till we were closer to the water’s edge, to avoid the pain.

i’d like to think it was because it was held over, from way-back, when our ability to zen-ly walk across burning coals excelled.  and habits were easier to break.

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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ducks in a row. [two artists tuesday]

ducks in a row copy

i am a list-maker.  i come from a long line of list-makers so dna is definitely involved.  with the layer-cake of jobs that comes with being an artist – performing, visual, any kind of artist – lists are a necessity.  i use paper calendars, old spiral notebooks with kirsten or craig scrawl on them, pa pads that my sweet poppo made, composition books.  sticky notes, pencils, highlighters and sharpies rule my office-supply world.  i am analog.  and i love having all my ducks in a row.

we were on our way to hike late one afternoon when we encountered these ducks.  walking the crack in the street, all in a row, i heard in my ever-present-soundtrack-mind, “quack, quack, waddle, waddle, quack, quack, waddle, waddle (from an 80’s mcdonald’s commercial – watch for 0:54).”  they seemed unperturbed by our approach.  we stopped to let them pass and get safely to the side of the road.  i’m positive i saw the last one carrying an office max bag.

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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co-existing. [two artists tuesday]

co-exist

the dried bones of the cornfield are beautiful. we have watched the field change through the seasons.  last summer when we couldn’t see beyond the stalks in front of us, lush and green and full of life.  the fall when, as the field browned, we would find cobs on the trail, feed corn for the deer and other gluten-free wildlife.   (just making sure you are paying attention!)  the winter, when snow charmed the tall stalks. and finally, early spring, combine-blunt-cut-short stalks remain in this no-till field, sharing the rich soil with the promise of spring.  dandelions and corn.  co-existing.  apparently, dandelions are easier to control in the fall than in the spring.  they store up moisture and nutrients in their roots and so are pretty hardy in these may-days.  they were there all along.  co-existing.

we don’t disparage dandelions.  we have dandelions in our yard.  co-existing with grass. we aren’t pro-active about gaining their presence, but neither are we terribly pro-active about eliminating them.  we don’t spray chemicals that would be harmful to either domestic pets walking by or to wild animals that roam our area.  we do have neighbors who are deeply invested in their removal, so we try to be good community stewards and pull some out so as to not spread them.  but dandelion-removal isn’t a passion of ours and we really don’t mind too much the co-existence of dandelions with grass.  besides, we can always blame it on last fall.  they’ve been there all along.

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coffee. without fail. [two artists tuesday]

starbucks copy

coffee is how we start the day.  hot bold black coffee.  columbus says it’s way too strong, but this is from a man who makes coffee that his son says tastes like ‘sockwater’.  our coffee must be an acquired taste.

when we travel we seek out starbucks (and, to be honest, small independent coffee cafes as well) to stop and have a double espresso.  now that we are a teeny weeny bit older, it’s not as smart to have huge cups of coffee while driving long distances.  there’s a teeny weeny bit of an issue with not enough rest areas now.  so we try to be smart.

every single time we stop for a double espresso we take a picture and then we send it to 20.  we have pictures of double espressos in illinois and indiana, in colorado and wisconsin, in florida and georgia, in north and south carolina, in kentucky and tennessee, in connecticut and massachusetts, in new hampshire and rhode island, in new york and pennsylvania, in washington and idaho, in iowa and kansas, in montana and north dakota and minnesota, in missouri and california, in amsterdam and brussels, in paris.

coffee has always been one of our touchstones.  from the very beginning d and i spoke about and revered coffee, together.  i learned early on from my sweet momma and my poppo how to coffee-sit and it is with them in my heart, coffee in hand, we continue the tradition.

as each day ends and d sets up the coffeemaker for the next morning, dogdog listens for all the familiar sounds he knows that signal the end of the day.  he waits on the bed for his bellybelly and then time for sleep.  and he knows, too, that when he wakes we will sit with our hot black bold coffee the next morning.  without fail.

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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