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our sturdy old tree. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

at approximately 3:48 last wednesday afternoon, in the first mighty gust of the storm, the great soul – the great tree – in our front yard – for decades and decades and decades – fell. and nothing was the same.

this sturdy old tree was wise beyond its years, withstanding all manner of weather-fury, all seasons of plenty and not-enough.

this sturdy old tree – magnificent, its canopy shading our lawn, its spirit encircling our home and family – stood vigil out in front, a talisman of protection and a peaceful adapter to the change of winter to spring, of autumn to winter, each time, bending to the rules – or whims – of nature…for at least seventy-five years.

this sturdy old tree – was what i looked at from the nursery while rocking babies, looking out the window. it marked the passage of time as my babies grew, early morning light in its leaves, the sun setting through its crown, its winter-nakedness to its verdant maple-leaf splendor, its yellow glow in fall, the way snow lay on its strong branches, its promise in early spring.

this sturdy old tree – was what i looked at from my bench in my studio, sitting at my piano composing, lyricizing, practicing. it gave me breath and reminded me to place rests in the music, to give others breath, time to process, to take in, to feel. i stared at this tree out the window from that spot, standing still or sitting quietly, pondering what had been, what was, what might be. it was a touchstone of consistency, of continuity, of the timeline that goes back and forward, dynamic.

this sturdy old tree greeted us as we came down our road, as we turned the corner. it offered shelter and filtered sunlight, framed the moon and the stars and planets, played with color at dusk. it elicited our appreciation for yet another homecoming. it was the monument, the lighthouse, the trailmarker that said “home”.

this sturdy old tree – wizened – was that which i advocated for, in times of electric-wire-branch-trimming, in times of water main work, in times of road construction, in times of other injuries it withstood.

i whispered words of – truly loving – gratitude to it, “you did nothing wrong. you did everything right,” as they began to tend to the-cleaning-up after the wind had wreaked havoc upon it. with more extreme storms coming – and a heavily one-sided bit of our beloved tree left – i knew that it was its time. and it was hard to watch, this family member which had preceded me, which had lived here the whole time i have, which had seen much life in that bit of yard at this house on this street. we were fortunate that it was our tree and we loved it for being our tree.

it feels like a marker in time to have felt and heard this great tree fall. to see its brokenness. its soul continues on with us; we need that wisdom and resilience, especially now. we need its tenacity as it aged, especially now. we need its stalwart goodness, its dedication to being the best tree it could be, especially now.

our big, sturdy old tree lives on. it will always be one of the great trees because of its great soul.

and – after its decades and decades and decades of time as a tree on this good earth – in the bowing of its beautiful canopy of leaves, its hefty rough-barked branches, its branches that curved outward with a bowl in the center of the trunk where creatures could rest and shelf fungus could excel, it reminds us of something:

there is no great anything without a great soul.

“and when great souls die/after a period peace blooms,/slowly and always/irregularly. spaces fill/with a kind of/soothing electric vibration./our senses, restored, never/to be the same, whisper to us./they existed. they existed. /we can be. be and be/better. for they existed.” (maya angelou)

*****

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convergence. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

i could get lost in just gazing at this spot where greens converge. i find myself breathing deeply, taking it in, appreciating how utterly extraordinary the nuance, how textural, how life-affirming.

it has been a week. with multi-layered challenges, personal and nationwide.

in the middle of the week, neck spasms – which i had in february for the first time in my life – and which sent me to the emergency room – returned with a vengeance. to say that i was laying awake all night, fearful of the way these manifested in my shoulders, my jaw, my chest, my neck, would be an understatement. it was downright scary. and so painful – even for someone with a relatively high pain threshold.

when it finally slightly eased up for a bit in the morning – after a long, sleepless night – i was exhausted and overcome with how it must be for people who are in chronic pain. the chronic pain of disease, of life-altering treatment plans, of hunger and thirst and of not-enough, of homelessness, of psychological and emotional scars, of addiction, of deep, all-consuming worry. thinking of others always puts one’s own pain in perspective.

for a bit of time – the bit when the spasms did not refer to all these other parts of my upper body – i could breathe more deeply. and so i went outside to our deck and little potting stand – to look at new growth, to soak in the colors green.

in wednesday’s news there was much headlining about a quiet interview that the speaker of the house had on a tiny radio station in his home state. and, in that interview, he revealed the intention of this administration – to fix (read: gut) medicaid, medicare and social security in an effort to free up money so that this government might be able to make a dent in the country’s trillions of dollars of debt which is – clearly – attributed to mountains of tax cuts for the ultra-wealthy.

so. their goal? take away from the most vulnerable and the eldest in order to further bankroll the gluttony.

it is hard to wrap your head around this kind of whoring of humanity. the word “disgusted” barely touches it.

again, i say, there is no reverence. they have reverence for nothing.

i wonder what our communities, our states, our nation, our world will look like once they have eliminated all that is good, all that is natural, all that is lawful, all that is compassionate, all that is life-giving or life-affirming. what will be left after the land and the natural resources and the regular folk and the goodness are decimated?

as i stood and looked at our tiny vegetable and herb garden, i was filled by the beauty, wrapped in the essence of green, and a sense of balance was restored in me.

though the spasms started up again, this is not about my neck spasms. when they re-started, i felt slightly more equipped to deal with them, carrying into the pain the knowledge that they would – in time – ease up.

but for some, there is no easing up. there is only long-term pain, without ceasing.

there are people intentionally hunted down for their ethnicity, people intentionally taken off rolls for food assistance, medical assistance, housing assistance. people removed from jobs of science and education and journalism so that the country ceases progressive forward-movement and so that the only narrative going forth is vile, self-serving propaganda. there are people targeted by the brandishing of bigotry. there are people whose chronic pain – no matter what it is – no matter the umbrella under which it falls – seem a nuisance to this administration, an administration without a heart or a conscience or any sense of reverence for anything other than self and money and retribution.

were i to be given a choice – live acknowledging simplicities – like the nuance of green OR live inside the insanity of always-wanting-needing-hoarding of moremoremore – i would go with cherishing the tomato plants and herbs and lavender and licorice plant every time.

i would go with the convergence of green, the convergence of goodness, the convergence of growth, the nuance of breath, the affirmation of life, living and reverence for it all.

*****

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what about? [kerri’s blog on flawed wednesday]

it isn’t hard.

it isn’t hard to clean and fill the birdbath so that the birds in the area can count on a drink of fresh, clean water.

it isn’t hard to clean and fill the birdfeeders – or the hummingbird feeder – or the oriole feeder – so that, if necessary, the birds in the area can count on accessible, clean food.

it isn’t hard to sweep the driveway and clear off the seedshells on the top of barney so that the birds in the area aren’t sickened by wet, moldy seed or bits of bread that have become sodden and mildewed.

it just isn’t hard.

but neither is it hard to be concerned – to wrap your heart around – those people in our country who are hungry, who do not have enough food, enough clean water, who are suffering from hunger-related or poor food issues.

yet, the government of this country – the administration that is gluttonous even beyond our imagination – has eliminated millions of dollars funding yet another source of food for the hungry, for the downtrodden, those who can ill afford food yet face peril without it.

i am truly sick of it.

what is so hard about this?

ours is a government in charge of a large country filled with people of phenomenal potential – yet they are limiting the most basic element of need for those very people – so that they might fund a garish ballroom and its associated bunker, an ill-intentioned war and its apparently-coveted weapons of mass destruction, vanity projects, payola to criminals pardoned by a narcissistic hand, wildly expansive tax cuts for the wealthiest, crude corruption never before witnessed on such a cavalier, widescale plane, the slicing and dicing of healthcare, education, global health, medical research, climate change programs that actually help people, mass deportation sans conscience, and the elimination of lawful rights of people who fall under the machete of bigotry.

but, you say, what about the people…how does this government view the everyday, everysingleperson people?

and what about the american goldfinch?

they clearly could care less.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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daisy-path-ing. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

we took off our sunhats. it was a hot day and we had been gardening for hours. the purchased plants had been potted, all the transplanting in the yard was done. it was that golden hour after all the work and before making dinner. we poured a bit of cool pinot grigio, took a tour around the yard and then settled into our adirondack chairs in the shady corner of our deck to gaze out at the yard – one of our favorite pastimes now.

the daisy path – as d has aptly named it – is slower. it doesn’t require the striding or racing around of earlier years. it is a – rather, The – sweet phase and we are trying our best to hone it. we never expect to perfect it, so we are doing everything we can to appreciate it, be grateful for it, honor it.

every night last week we sat on our patio or on our deck, just sitting. at the end of the day – after having dinner al fresco – we – truly – just sat.

and we talked. about anything, everything, nothing.

earlier in the day – on one of the days – i got ready to plant one last sweet potato vine. d had spray-painted a plastic pot and it was ready for the transplant and to be hung on the old ladder in the corner of the deck.

d asked me if he could get me a chair – as i have found that placing a chair on the patio next to the raised deck makes planting easier on my back. i thanked him and said that i was only planting this one pot.

but then i was struck by how generous this offer was. for in the middle of everything he was doing, he was concerned that it might be easier for me if i had a chair – as i had used while potting other days – and he was going to drop everything to go get me one if i wanted or needed it.

and so, it was then – one of those rare moments you remember – not because you don’t appreciate each other all the time, but because sometimes a very intentional wave of gratitude is easy for your brain to snapshot into your memory.

i walked over to where he was weeding the cracks in the patio and bent down. wrapping my arms around him, i told him how much his kindness meant to me. it wasn’t even a few seconds and dogga was there, right in the middle of our embrace, pushing his head up into the armwrap hug, his face even with ours, in the middle of so much love.

i whispered to d, “memorize it.”

of course.

we three stayed that way for at least a full minute, which is a long time for a busy aussie. it was a magical minute. definitely daisy-path stuff.

our old dogga stuck close for a bit more, to get kisses and pets and butt-butts. he didn’t see the tears welling up in our eyes as we committed it all to visual and visceral memory.

d went back to weeding and i potted the sweet potato vine and hung it on the ladder.

it seemed right that this sweet potato would keep vigil over our little corner on our deck. my sweet momma’s words, “live life, my sweet potato,” ring in my ears.

sweet potatoes and the daisy path. sunhats and glasses of wine, a checkered tablecloth and adirondack chairs. our dogga and a sanctuary of peace. love and gratitude.

the sweet phase, indeed.

*****

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

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enchanting. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

we’ve gotten a few plants now. a couple sweet potato vines, a couple licorice plants. we also have our basil, chives, parsley, cilantro, jalapeños, cherry tomatoes and lavender. in the last few days we transplanted them into clay pots for our potting stand or their new home on our deck or patio.

our first day at the nursery was completely about reconnaissance. the second – at a different nursery – was to be wowed and make a few purchases…four to be exact. we were directly behind someone who had ridiculously-loaded carts of plants and flowers, along with a ridiculously-loaded price tag. we were just as excited as she was, only our joy was about our four plants, not a multitude. there is a reality to budgeting and we try to plan our purchases wisely, particularly in these times.

our third day out was crowded with people, the nursery was messy and the plants were picked over, but we still managed to find some herbs and tomatoes, lavender, salvia and sweet purple flowers whose name escapes me. our fourth day we filled in the gaps. the nursery had resupplied and we picked up the mint, jalapeños, and little white with purple flowers to contrast with the purples we had already gotten.

d lined up all the pots and planters on the patio and i took out my gloves from the old cabinet we had placed on the deck. and then it started.

from individual elements – these small (though not inexpensive) plastic pots of baby plants – turning into our own backyard sanctuary, filled with potential of beautiful flowers and edible produce. exquisite. each morning we look out the window – in the earliest morning light – to see these new residents of our home. each morning they are enchanting.

one day – over a century ago – all the pieces of barney were put together into an upright piano. where he went from there is unknown, but we found him in the church’s basement boiler room, not exactly a prime location for this musicmaking instrument.

after we managed to have him delivered to our backyard instead of to the junkman, we were thrilled with his presence. his aging might have been preserved by some marine wax, but we chose to go organic with barney. he’s way more of a granola piano than a botox piano.

through the years we have now had him, he has become more and more gorgeous, more and more a part of our backyard, offering shelter to the wee critters, a landing pad for those who fly or scamper. barney’s higher-purpose presence is grounding and part of the peace we feel when we step out our back door.

it’s hard to believe that it is almost june again. already. summer is at the edges.

the last two nights we have had dinner outside on the deck. as the sun just begins to slightly wane – to fall off into acute angles with the horizon – we sit and chat while the garden lights reflect in the pond. we wait for hummingbirds to zoom to our feeder. we watch breck quake in the breeze, marvel at the play of birds and squirrels, adore our dogga laying on the deck in the shade. it is all enchanting.

as the dark begins to settle into the alcoves of our yard – the ferns breathe deeply, the peonies stretch – we yawn and make our way inside. as we settle in under our quilt we talk about our day. we talk about the delights of new plants, marvel at the perennials we are astounded to see again. we are grateful for plastic adirondack chairs, a tiny bistro set, two old gravity chairs and a couple round rugs – the trappings of our deck – a place we truly find enchanting.

as it turns out, we don’t require much to be enchanted.

*****

GRATEFUL © 2004 kerri sherwood

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big water. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

we sometimes forget.

as close as we are, as much of a presence it is for us, we sometimes forget that this giant lake is right there.

we walk along it, we drive past, we linger – staring at it. but we still forget the magnitude of lake michigan, its oft-seemingly-own weather pattern, the big-water force it has on us.

i’ve never not lived near water, big water. my growing-up town on long island is between the atlantic ocean and the long island sound. i lived in florida a hop, skip and a jump to the gulf of mexico. on island we were right on water’s edge on the lake michigan side. and here – a block or so off the lake. i don’t know what it is like to live in an area that doesn’t have big water, that’s land-locked. i suspect i could find it difficult. so, near or on a lake will have to be the future minimum standard. somehow, big water all makes me feel closer to the far horizon, closer to the universe, closer to a two-way with god.

valerie bertinelli in her book enough already wrote, “i [] had long since lapsed in terms of structured religion. but i [] had develop[ed] a recipe for my own spiritual soup. it still included a belief in god, a higher power who accepted collect calls in emergencies.”

i, too, have lapsed in terms of structured religion and i, too, have my own spiritual soup. after thirty-five years of working for churches plus all the rest of being at churches, i have had enough of it all. i realize now that my last church job did me a favor when they fired me. they broke the continuity, making it possible to NOT do that which seems obvious TO do. i am grateful. it was a long time and i endured much at churches that you would likely rather not know. it was time to stop.

but my faith has not stopped. and as i stood at the edge of the sound a couple times in last months, as i stand at the edge of our lake michigan, i can feel the tidal strength of the universe. i can feel the days sink into nights into days into nights. i can start to understand the stars and the vast-ness. i can feel the connection to that which is so much bigger than me.

maybe that is what big water does for me: a place that brings the divine closer, just across the waves, just beyond the shore, just brushing the sand and leaving shells and rocks in its wake, just right here for me. a place to gaze and stare, a place to ponder and pray.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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the beach helps. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

yes. there is something about it, isn’t there?

the crisply-combed perfect-sand beach. just waiting for feet, for flip-flops, for a wrangly dog, for a gleeful child overladen with pails and shovels to burst onto its clean canvas and send sand flying.

but in the meanwhile, pristine, ordered.

walking along our lake we come upon the freshly-manicured beach. the orderliness makes us stop, stare, breathe.

just ahhh…

because there is nothing orderly in the world right now.

and so, the beach helps.

it reminds us that – yes, indeedy – things CAN be orderly, things can be measured, things can be cleaned up and returned to a center of discipline, tidy, with a sense of equilibrium.

in the case of the beach, there is a big tractor that restores it, a big rake pulled along behind, grooming it to almost perfection. the rake can sift out the garbage, bits and pieces of life that people have left behind, trinkets or detritus strewn about sans conscience. the sand is sifted, loosened, de-debris-ed, flattened and smoothed. when it is finished – this amazing transformation reveals the even look of a perfect beach, waiting for its next sunny days, its people, laughter in its waves, love-filled picnics under beach umbrellas, serene naps on beach blankets, life.

i wonder what could possibly serve as the beach cleaner of our times…what could possibly sift out the hubris, the corruption, the cruelty, the bigotry, what could possibly restore the sanity of this nation, what could possibly transform this country back to order, to the wethepeople it was meant to be, waiting for its next sunny days, its people, its laughter, its love, its serenity, its life.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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this daisy. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

it sits on the dashboard of littlebabyscion – the vestiges of a single daisy. it is now thirteen years old, this daisy. and it has been right there for all thirteen years, its seed coats still hanging on, though toughening by the day.

because we had never met when we met, i brought a daisy with me to o’hare – to distinguish myself from all the other people waiting at baggage claim, to be clear that it was me – there – waiting to meet him – arriving.

i told him that i’d be the one holding the daisy because i thought it better than a sign and because daisies are happy. i stopped at the florist earlier in the day to get my one daisy while in the middle of perseverating over what to wear.

in the end i wore jeans, boots and an oversized black chenille sweater and i felt like me. which is a good thing, particularly when you are meeting someone you have never met.

we had written for about six months. every single day. emails would arrive in the evening or in the wee hours and i’d lay awake devouring it all and writing back about my own life, candid and vulnerable – honestly typing it all to this new friend with whom i had only had one phone conversation.

we discovered that life – as artists, even in different mediums – had some parallels to which we could easily relate. we discovered that life held some of the same mysteries for us. we discovered that life’s challenges were, well, challenges for both of us. we discovered we could see that life’s joys were swinging on a star…or two….or a zillion.

i was sort of aware of people laughing when we skipped through the airport to get on the escalator. but it was more like a slow-motion movie happening outside of me, one of the people skipping. slightly dreamy.

but it wasn’t all dreamy.

and though we found our zealous friendship evolved into something much, much bigger, something where two hearts melded together, something where love was undeniable and where we found we made a good team, it had many moments that were less than dreamy.

because life is like that.

this year it was thirteen years on the thirteenth. thirteen years since that veryfirstday we set eyes on each other – two artists scanning baggage claim, both in jeans and boots and black – both nervous, both excited. the next day we got big star drive-in burgers and fries, had a little champagne. this year we got big star drive-in burgers and fries, had a little champagne. a celebration of a big day.

back then, thirteen years ago, on the way into the airport, a girl asked me why i was carrying a daisy. i told her why. we ended up going to the same baggage claim. she was meeting her fiance at baggage claim because he was flying in. it was their wedding weekend. we saw each other in the ladies’ room a couple of times, nervously fixing our hair, pacing.

she looked at me and said, “he’s going to be your soulmate, you know.”

i laughed and said i’d be happy if we even turned out to be friends.

she was right.

and so was i.

thirteen years since the first day i laid eyes on him now.

and we were both right.

and the daisy sits on the dashboard of littlebabyscion, the eye keeping an eye on us with still so many seeds for the future.

*****

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

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next will come. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

“we might think we are nurturing our garden, but of course it’s our garden that is really nurturing us.” (jenny uglow)

we have had a journey with breck. as a baby aspen, we brought it home in 2017 – a tiny sapling in a black plastic pot, bouncing along with us across the country in littlebabyscion.

there were more than a few times – in the first years – we thought we would lose breck – to the weather, the conditions, the displacement. we wrapped breck’s roots in its then-clay pot in blankets and black plastic. we planted breck and discovered it was the wrong place. we transplanted breck. and we always talked to breck, affirming its importance to us, its place in our lives, the meaning it had for us, cheering it on.

and now – breck is as tall as the garage roof and full of gorgeous quaking leaves. sparrows and cardinals regularly land on its branches and we can see it smile and sigh from our place on the deck, watching like proud parents, quietly grateful for its happiness – just like with our grown children.

to have breck in our backyard is to have a little piece of breckenridge in our backyard – a little piece of the high rocky mountains from where it came. it feeds us to look out back and see our aspen, standing taller and taller. it makes us dream and ponder, reminisce and just gaze at it in wonder – that what was a tiny aspen in a plastic pot has turned into a real tree.

it is not unlike artistry and artists – also real trees in a real world. even during the periods of fallow, when creativity is merely a pilot light, there is what comes next. there is the tiny spark that makes ideas come alive – the first stitch on a new quilt, the first note in a melodic gesture, the first paint in the underpainting, triggers of nurture.

and the ideas begin to quake – with or without wind – as they take hold of us.

“to plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow.” (audrey hepburn)

time goes on. and on.

and breck grows taller and fuller.

it is a constant source of both contentment and awe to watch.

soon now, we will plant our basil, parsley, mint, chives, jalapeños, tomatoes.

and next will come.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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there are days. [kerri’s blog on flawed wednesday]

there are days. and on those days – even in spring’s wild-child inconsistency – we sit on the deck and look to the sky. because i have had the good fortune of thirty-seven years of that very view, it does what it needs to do…it soothes and centers and takes everything down a notch.

because what glenn kirschner said in early april is right: “if you’re not jaded, you’re not paying attention.” the barrage of … stuff … going on in this country is truly unbelievable…the corruption rampant and ignored, the racism, xenophobia, misogyny, the hatred, discrimination and blatant disregard of the rule of law, the gross manipulation of control by the narcissistic administration, the grift in plain sight, the absolute apathy toward the populace and real-life-living….the list seems neverending, the country barreling into some kind of hellish, dystopian landscape of gluttony-first. yuck.

so we sit on the deck and look to the sky. and these very familiar trees – this particular well-loved quartet – slowly shift from winter to spring and, eventually, soon, summer. and i can feel the color green absorbed into me – life – living – breathing.

and so, for a few minutes we don’t talk about it all. we just sit, quietly.

but fran lebowitz is also right: “…[ ] allows people to express their racism and bigotry in a way that they haven’t been able to in quite a while and they really love him for that. it’s a shocking thing to realize people love their hatred more than they care about their own actual lives.”

and we know those people. they are in our families. they are in our friend groups. our workplaces. our communities. it is devastating, truly heart-breaking. and every single time i allow myself to think about the immense loss – the fact that this very administration – the same one that touts propagandized rhetoric of “family values” – has caused schisms of exponential size – rifts that will never be healed – in the families and communities of the very people they are supposed to be serving – it makes me feel ill. gut-punched kind of ill. sad beyond sad.

there will be many more days of sitting on the deck – at the end of days – particularly some days – when we will just look up – at these trees – at the sky.

and though there will be no answers coming from the sky, it will help.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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