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hundreds of them. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

sometimes something comes out of the blue. and it just makes you feel oh-so-good.

a wisconsin high school contacted us about a month ago – they wanted to order a few hundred of our “be kind” buttons for their kindness week. with my sweet momma smiling over my shoulder, i tended to all the extra paperwork and steps that a district purchase entails, happily thinking about hundreds of people wearing our buttons.

i originally designed them when we had a showing of the movie wonder at the performing arts center we co-managed on washington island. i wanted everyone to have a “be kind” button as they left the theatre. i’ve ordered and re-ordered these for various reasons and various organizations since. every single time i think about my mom – thrilled that this gentle reminder would be on someone’s lapel, someone’s backpack, someone’s jacket or maybe hanging from their rearview mirror. i personally have them pinned on a few purses – because – well – too many people need to be reminded.

it’s a simplicity. “be kind”…a choice. it echoes out and out in concentric circles and douses people with the magic dust of generosity. i wish that every school, every business, every service or religious organization, every politician, every single person might wear one – to remember.

i am ecstatic each time these buttons are ordered. and i was inordinately proud of the personnel in this high school student services department. so very happy to know that spreading kindness throughout their school mattered. grateful they went the extra mile. that though this district’s per capita spending may have gone up by just the teeniest-tiniest smidge with the purchase of these buttons, the payoff must have been brilliant.

reminders to be kind. to choose kindness. to experience kindness. to live kindness.

and my momma smiled broadly, knowing she inspired these buttons. hundreds of them.

*****

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

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makes me think of. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

amaryllis makes me think of my sweet momma. the color pink makes me think of my daughter.

on the windowsill of the bathroom there are two small bottles. one is estee lauder’s ‘pleasures’ and the other is a tiny daisy-capped bottle of marc jacob’s daisy perfume. two scents that remind me of those same two beloved people.

because i am thready (some may say overlyyy thready) i surround myself – intentionally and unintentionally – with tokens of remembrance – some actual, some merely floating in my heart – filaments that connect me to people – and make me think of people – whether they are nearby or far away or on another plane of existence entirely. threads. woven in.

this bulb – a gift – requires no attention whatsoever. you just place it anywhere and it will take care of itself. no water needed. it contains all the water and nutrients it needs to flower. it has stored carbohydrates so it is self-sustaining and can bloom without any care.

i am thinking that between the plethora of mcdonalds fries i ate in my teenage years on bike hikes, the wavy lays and cape cod chips in later years (and even recent later years!!), ever-reassuring mashed potatoes and the daily morning breakfast david makes each day that includes yummy potatoes, i have plenty – plenty!!! – of stored carbohydrates. one would then extrapolate that i would be self-sustaining and would bloom without care. but, the flora world has it all over us on this one. i do not have the advantage of the waxed amaryllis bulb. water, nutrients and care are necessary.

the pink-waxed amaryllis is just starting to get closer to blooming, a flower stalk straight and tall from the center of the bulb, the bud tightly wound. i visit with it each day, marveling at it.

and i think of dearest jen every time i look at it.

*****

CONNECTED from RELEASED FROM THE HEART, THE BEST SO FAR ©️ 1995, 1999 kerri sherwood

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on different ground. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

“it is impossible to ever compare two people because each stands on such different ground.” (john o’donohue)

breck has leafed. we are watching with admiration and anticipation. last year, our tiny aspen shot up in height, growing, growing, higher, higher, until it was awkwardly tall with all branches on the lower trunk and this spindly beanstalk heading skyward, full of oddly-sized leaves.

we wonder about this year. but we hesitate to compare it to other aspens – the ones in woods that grow in stands and connect-connect underground to vast quantities of aspen-relatives.

our breck is alone out there. the only aspen in our yard, though we won’t know for some time if there are others sprouting up in the aspen regeneration way, sharing a root structure, genetically identical trees waiting to surprise us with a grove. breck stands on different ground – on midwest soil not the soil of the high mountains. its experience is different from the forested side of the mountain on the ditch trail in colorado or lakeside in dory.

though i have successes and joys in my life, i recognize that you do as well. though i have difficulties in my life, i recognize that you do as well. though i have challenges and disappointments, i recognize that you do as well. i stand on different ground. you stand on different ground.

we have watched breck struggle and we have watched it flourish. we cheer it on, always aware that it is out of its mountain-element, always aware it is one-of-a-kind here, always aware it is steadfastly soaking up the sun and the rain and holding on during wisconsin winters and winds from the west.

no matter the size of its leaves or the distribution of branches, the height it achieves or the root system clones it produces, breck stands on different ground and it is beautiful.

“if you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.” (desiderata – max ehrmann)

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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a little shake-off. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

it happened again.

just now.

the warm morning breeze was blowing in the west window. the sun was streaming across the quilt. dogga was laying at our feet and we were sipping coffee. we could hear the slight echo of the windchimes out back and the birds were singing up a symphony.

perfection.

in-between all the other moments – the ones that are not so perfect – somehow there slips one that is.

and the axis of the earth gives a little shake-off and the flecks of yucky-dust that have accumulated from those other moments fly off.

and there is a new start.

*****

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

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we are all tiny ferns. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

looking like a new year’s eve party noisemaker waiting to unfurl in celebration, the fern steadily grows. in-between last year’s clipped stalks and in and among dried leaves and the last vestiges of winter’s effect on mulch, it peeks out, pushing up toward the sun. it chooses to thrive, even covered by sandy soil and bits of the past. one day soon i will walk out to the back – where the fern garden is – and this tiny fern will have stretched and straightened and fanned out into a lanky beautiful feather.

it makes me think about blowout noisemakers. all furled up they look relatively innocuous and not particularly capable of being noisy. a little gumption and air blown into them and they can be pretty doggone loud.

the little fern breathes deep and reaches down into where gumption is stored. against the odds, this seemingly fragile, willowy plant rises up, centimeter by centimeter. suddenly it is a powerhouse, standing tall in the rain and a part of the wind in storms.

though it may be all trembly inside as it makes its journey upward and outward, its gumption, air and the sun give it courage and strength. it is tough and resilient and – it is said – has an incredibly strong survival instinct.

how often we are all tiny ferns – over and over – through fallow and rejuvenation, covered in the patina of the past and growing it off. innocuous and silent.

and then, we rise up and unfurl.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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love more now. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

there are a lot of reasons to zoom through days, to forget about what is really important, to perseverate on things that make us unhappy, things that worry us, things that cause us to push others away, to not take time with others, not give time to others. much of the time we can convince ourselves – somehow – that those reasons are impeccable, that they matter. we can get ourselves all riled up and full of the shadow side of relationships and daily life. and then something wakes us up, takes us out of the dark.

it could be something really inconsequential, seemingly unimportant. the notice of a bird on the wing, the sunrise, dandelion seeds in the wind, a strain of music, a scent. it could be something way bigger – something that brings a sense of mortality, that brings you to a full stop and makes you realize that time is – indeed – passing by and that the moment that has slipped past is never again retrievable.

and suddenly we realize that they are all like that. all the moments.

irretrievable.

and love taps us on the shoulder and reminds us. to take the time, to give the time. to be aware of the things we want to do, the simple stuff that feeds us, the people we love and who love us. it reminds us that there is no time to waste – really, ever – no matter where in life we are. it reminds us we are not all-that and we don’t do this life alone. it reminds us it is flying by and by and more love is the only thing that will last and last – forever.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

SMACK-DAB ©️2024 kerrianddavid.com

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our wagawag. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

and soon, he’ll be eleven.

his shadow on the wall has kept us company – each morning – with the east sun streaming in through the window – reflecting his perch on our bed, the furry top of his head tousled by many good-morning pets.

time has flown by and his muzzle is grey. he is slower at evening’s end, retiring earlier and earlier – maybe a little bit like us. he groans a bit, getting his body moving. but his amber eyes…they are the same. they belie the time that has escaped our noticing. the aussie puppy is still in there.

while d is setting up coffee for the next morning and i am turning down covers and getting ready for sleep, dogga is laying on the bed. there’s a routine. in these quiet moments i sit next to him and we talk. he loves belly-bellies so it is without question that is part of the conversation. there are times – as he looks up – that i am struck by his very being, this dog who trusts us for everything. what a responsibility we all have with these furry family members. what a privilege i feel…the experience of dogs and a cat who love me or have loved me like i love them.

but i am floored by the time. and i realize that in the way i have less time ahead of me than behind me, so does our sweetboy. we – the people in this equation – both tear up anytime we even allude to this, even in the vaguest of ways. but dogdog doesn’t. he just holds a steady gaze, wags his tail, spins and gives kisses, sneezes when we ask and opens his mouth in a silent “love you” when we say “i love you” to him. his amber eyes reflect back his life with us.

and so – now – he goes on more errands with us. he gets even more pets. he has chicken breast with rice and peas and carrots for dinner. we keep him close.

because like really anyone – two-legged or four – we are whirling through space faster than ever – and there is never enough time to be together, to share life, to love each other.

our old wagawag reminds me of this every single day.

*****

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

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and poppo was smiling. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

my sweet poppo used to say, “put it in the barn out back!” only we didn’t have a barn out back.

he thought it would be wise to simply save everything – old stuff would all come around again. and, judging by the seventies clothing we are seeing in the boutiques ‘out there’ he was right. bold colors, big pattern, crocheted-granny-square sweaters and vests….i should’ve saved everything. i’d be right in fashion.

now, it goes without saying that in my closet are plenty of items that date back. no…not like six months or a year. they date back to the 2010s, the 2000s, the 90s and beyond. i always think, “save this. it’ll fit again one day/it’ll be in style again one day/i love it too much to give it away so keep it to wear again some day” etc etc. and, to my credit, some things are just classic pieces and they work no matter when you wear them. well, at least in my estimation they do. i’m guessing that’s up for grabs.

as you already know, we love antiquing. it flings us to and fro through the decades we have been on planet earth and is quite entertaining. we laugh as we see the corningware and tupperware we currently own. we stand in front of record albums reliving our teens. we roll our eyes at the inundation of tchotchkes, miscellany and bric-à-brac galore. and then we pass something that just cuts to the chase, goes right to our hearts.

these ice cube trays did it for me.

we had these ice cube trays growing up. i distinctly remember them. steadying the cold tray with one hand, i can feel the crunching thwap of pulling back the aluminum handle, releasing the ice cubes, ice shards flying out of the tray. it totally brings me back to my childhood home.

we stood in front of the ice cube trays for a bit, reminiscing aloud to each other, the only audience who wants to listen to an ice cube tray story.

when we moved on it was to discover that there were three – 3!! – viewmasters also in the booth. because you must – the visceral tugs mercilessly at you – i pulled down on the lever, looking around for the round slide thingies that go inside them. i still own a viewmaster (with a few slide thingies) and i was trying to decide who we should gift with one of these.

alas, we moved on sans purchase. we didn’t even purchase the ice cube trays, even though our kitchenaid icemaker no longer works and we either have to make ice cubes or purchase ice. we have other ice cube trays – ones that work better than the metal ones – and we still hold out hope that one day the icemaker might work again.

but, if those trays had been out in the barn it would have helped us, at least temporarily – until the icemaker revives.

and then outside – on a table in the weather – sat the birdhouse. rusted metal roof, old peeling painted barnwood, a tiny backdoor, and a nest inside, we were smitten.

$5.28 later and my poppo was smiling from the other side.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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there is love. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

it is a ritual. the dandy dandelions show up and i instantly become the mother of toddlers. oh, those very, very precious times.

it is wondrous to me that i still receive notes about this song – fistful of dandelions.

my children are both in their thirties now. life as a mom has changed dramatically…but only from a practical day-to-day point of view. the heart stuff is the same. it never changes.

a friend wrote to me, wondering if she could turn her mother-emotions down a bit now that her child was an adult.

i wrote back it doesn’t get any easier. motherhood is both the joy and grief. it is the fierce loving, protecting, worrying, cheering on…forever and ever. it is the backing up. it is the letting go. it is trusting that – in both the bliss and the pain – the connection exists, there is love.

“all the riches i will need today…”

*****

FISTFUL OF DANDELIONS ©️ 1999 kerri sherwood

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

the first sentence in the new york times arts section front page article reads, “chris domig was ready to throw in the towel.” but then…

for years he persevered and persevered, through thick and thin, this dear friend of david’s. a consummate actor and dedicated off-off-broadway theatre co-founder and artistic director, he was not hindered by the somewhat invisible but definitely impenetrable wall in new york city’s theatre world. and then…

the front page in the arts section belies the rest of the story. but every artist knows it. the ever-present imperative to create and to succeed, not only from a soul place, but from a place where you just might be able to afford to pay the bills, to have a littlebit extra, to hold the esteem of your colleagues, to be recognized. you hold the towel close, knowing that at any moment it might be the thing you do – you just might throw in the towel.

chris decided to take on mitch albom’s tuesdays with morrie. but it took a long time to land. everything takes longer than you think. a long fermata of longing. every artist knows this. most craftspeople know this. most philosophers know this. poets write of it. composers strew melodies around like patio lights. painters throw paint and prep canvas time and again. dancers pirouette, spinning ever faster. writers wordsmith, deleting and reading and elaborating and deleting. beavers in bogs – singularly focused, ridiculously hard work – and the tree still stands. and then…

the sea dog theatre tells this remarkable story – tuesdays with morrie – through the interwoven magic of len cariou and chris. it is earning high regard and the reviews are outstanding. it has landed.

and the towel is set aside.

*****

LONGING from AS IT IS ©️ 2004 kerri sherwood

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

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