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Tag Archives: appreciation


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comfort in power in comfort. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

it was even before the windstorm. before the tree fell in a yard behind us. before the tree – landing on the wires – snapped the utility pole. before the utility pole put intense tension on our electrical wires. before that tension severely bent our electric mast. before our quadrant in the neighborhood lost all power for two days. before the house was aching-joint-cold inside. before the angst of the last-minute – very pricey – ultimatum of having to have a new mast installed – on a weekend – before we could get power restored to our home. before.

because there was plenty before all that that required comfort.

and it was most definitely a pasta day.

had we had power, each of those next days were also pasta days.

it was dang cold in the house. everything slowed to a standstill. no power, no heat, no internet, not a lot to do but watch out the window and wait for any sign that the power company was coming.

our friends and neighbors – we all kept in touch. they rallied around us with offers of help, our turn for the concern of those who care about us.

when the power company did arrive and we saw them out back, it began to raise our spirits. we knew they had a lot to do – the downed tree, wires all enmeshed in bushes and tree branches, a snapped pole in a difficult-to-get-to place, placing a new pole, restringing wires. a ‘hood without power. our comfort lay in their hands.

and these guys – in windy conditions and cold temperatures – and eventually – snow – were out there, diligently getting it done.

at the last minute we were told they couldn’t safely connect us without a new electric mast. 4pm on a saturday.

in high gear, we feverishly placed calls and texts to electricians and our friends and electricians of our friends. we knew it might not be easy to get someone – with a mast in their back pocket – to swing by and install it – at that very moment.

the young electrician who’d done work for us before came through. and it was no small comfort we felt knowing that he and his colleague were out there installing our shiny new electric mast. in texts our friends cheered them on.

the power guys were finishing up when our guys were juuuust about done. knowing the weather that was due to arrive the next day – a blizzard and, subsequently, negative windchills – they worked together to make sure we got connected – the only house with a damaged mast in this particular wind-tree-wires-pole-wires-mast fiasco. comfort.

i walked back into the house – with all the layers on that i had worn for the entire day – and the lights were on. i could hear the boiler as it worked to start warming up the radiators, which had a long way to go from in-house temperatures in the 40s.

d and i stood in the living room, staring at each other, tired from the worry and the cold.

we both spoke generous words of appreciation for the workers who had restored power – that basic of which we all take for granted. we both spoke generous words of appreciation for the electricians who dropped everything and accommodated our need. we both spoke generous words of appreciation for those people who had reached out to virtually keep us company. we both spoke generous words of appreciation for keeping relatively calm in what had become increasingly angst-ridden.

we reveled in light. and heat. and comfort.

the comfort of power.

the power of comfort.

simple stuff.

*****

comfort you – van morrison

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

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do winter. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

dogga stands on the frozen pond out back. it is covered with snow and this is the first time – the first winter – he has not still avoided it. he’s not a water-dog so – as an aussie that circumvents it when it is an actual pond, it is surprising that he is choosing to traverse it, dig in its snow, stand on it.

winter is his favorite. it is his beach-weather. it’s his bliss.

now, i’ve heard many people lately complaining about this winter. “sick of” cold, snow, grey skies, biting winds, they crankily bemoan winter – like it’s a monster dedicated to making them miserable.

i don’t feel that way.

it’s winter, i think to myself, and winter is supposed to be like, well, winter.

the last few wisconsin winters have been easy on us, moderate temperatures, little snow, no real winterish hardships or challenges. maybe that’s made some of us less tolerant of what winter really is. but this winter feels about right, as far as i’m concerned. i think you are supposed to want to linger inside, nest, cocoon a bit. i think you are supposed to rest and maybe clean out a bit, readying yourself for spring and new growth. i think you’re supposed to take stock of it all and appreciate the change in seasons as the spinning earth revolves around the sun. i mean, maybe that’s just me.

i find great beauty in the almost-monochromatic that is winter. i find a storehouse of rejuvenation in its fallow. i find anticipation in the slowly-lengthening days, the slight uptick of temperatures. i find a little bit of hope – even in the midst of the darkness that is this country right now.

when spring comes – after the temperatures level out a little bit – we will cut these grasses down so that new growth will have room to burst through the soil. in the meanwhile the tracks around the grasses show that there are tiny creatures taking shelter in them, warmed by the fronds into which they are nestled. the snow is gorgeous – so bright out back i cannot comfortably look out the window.

it’s february. i don’t know how long winter will last. i suppose it could stretch well into april, maybe a bit into may. whatever. i am just here – me, d, dogga, our new gutters and warming cables – riding the coaster. studying the milder weather where family and friends live, i wouldn’t mind a few days in the 60s, but i kind of need the seasons to be what they are.

we watched the birds in the birdbath yesterday. there were at least seven birds splashing and drinking out there. i guess the sun was strong enough to melt the snow that had accumulated. they seem elated. they’d fly away and then return, waiting their turn on the edge of the bath together. they know where the birdfeeder is and they frequent it. their chirping and birdsong in the morning reassures me that – yes – it’s just winter and this is what winter is like.

i don’t want to race through. i don’t want to wish for months from now. I don’t want time to go by without my acknowledgement of some sort, my appreciation.

i just want to do winter – because it IS winter.

i’ll get to spring when it’s spring.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this not-so-flawed wednesday

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blink-of-an-eye. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

in a really rare moment, we had the amazing chance to have our children and their partners gather around the dining room table with us. to say i was thrilled would be an absolute understatement. it had been six years since we had actually been together – my two children and us. it was a giant gift and i am grateful for it.

plates, pasta, wine, bread – all were merely props as i gazed around me, watching these beloved faces, listening to laughter and conversation. i tried hard to memorize all of it. these brilliant, creative seeds of tomorrow, bright lights of real humans, of good people.

the next day we hiked, just d and me, after everyone had left. we talked about our blink-of-an-eye time with our adult children, about the fun chaos in the kitchen the night before, about the teasing and the ribbing. and i found myself holding onto the filmy threads of each moment before they flew away.

the photographs will help, of course. they will be posted in our kitchen and i will pass by them, often looking at them and smiling. but inside, i will hold onto the way it all felt, the heart-stopping hunger i had felt longing for a moment together, the breath i could exhale as i sat at the same table with my children and their partners or as we all clustered together in photographs.

but i know i won’t be able to hold onto all of it. time tugs at memory like that.

and the clustered fluffs of seeds will be tugged out of the pod by gentle breezes and fierce winds. they will swirl about and land somewhere, planting. another milkweed.

and i hope there will be another table-sitting somewhere soon – all together – as these brilliant humans go about their all-grown-up lives, swirling about with gentle breezes and fierce winds at their backs.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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who’s got time? [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

“life hack: stop trying to be cool. be nerdy and obsessive about the things you love. enthusiasm will get you farther than indifference.” (posted on barkersounds IG)

this could possibly be my new mantra. nerdy and obsessive and (possibly overly) enthusiastic.

indifference slays me. the whole aloof, apathetic, flippant thing. all that gets under my skin, which is particularly sensitive to all the stuff on the opposite end of the spectrum from nerdy, obsessive about the things you love, and enthusiastic.

so that might explain the excessive photographs of barney, the old piano in our backyard, losing keys and structure in each season, its patina dusty wood. it might explain the innumerable pictures of breck – in every season – its leaves – budding in early spring through its golden age in autumn. it might explain why i take a zillion photos and generally completely annoy my adult children with my wish to capture them on film (well, “film” so to speak).

my sweet momma was a person who was also pretty nerdy and obsessive about the things she loved and, most definitely, enthusiastic. her “wowee!!!” goes down in history as a word she owned, and each of us knows we are referring to our beaky when we use that word.

life is short. that becomes more and more apparent as the years go flying by. the age spots on breck’s leaves are like the age spots i find on my own person. everything is fluid and keeps changing and the youth of our budding – like our aspen’s – is fleeting.

i can see no reason to not be nerdy. i can see no reason not to be obsessive about the things i love. and – yes – i can see no reason not to be ridiculously enthusiastic.

i mean, who’s got time for anything else?

*****

GRATEFUL © 2004 kerri sherwood

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read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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that which to hold close. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

“life is strange. you arrive with nothing, spend your whole life chasing everything, and still leave with nothing. make sure your soul gains more than your hands.” (no attribution)

it’s happening.

we can feel it.

i stood in his shop’s driveway talking to our beloved mechanic. “a simple life,” we agreed. we just want to live a simple life. not a life lived for or gauged on the stuff we have.

because that stuff – the stuff of life – inundates us. everywhere we look people are chasing it – a materialism that just never culminates in any moment where it is “enough”.

and in these unbelievably fraught times, stuff seems even less important than it ever did.

one of my best friends from high school sent me a bunch of texts early this past week. we were out on a trail, trying to soak up sun and hold at bay the yucky cold symptoms we were experiencing. suddenly, there were multiple notifications. he had become a first-time grandpa.

i stopped short on the trail and looked at the photographs of the baby girl just born into this world. i was overwhelmed by the sheer miracle of that and the miracle that this man and i had been friends for over fifty years (despite seeing each other only once in all that time since high school) and – back then – it would have been hard to imagine the moment i was experiencing: standing on a trail in a completely different state five decades later while he shared the moment of his entry into grandparenthood. truly a remarkable gift.

there were other moments this week, moments when i felt more connected to the world: talking with the woman with the jeep in the parking lot at the market when we went to pick up more advil, the frog that suddenly showed up in our pond, the jalapeños we grew that were ready for picking, a note from a dear friend to “stay strong”. we virtual-tracked our daughter running an incredible half-marathon in the mountains and we listened to our son’s music online. friends checked in to ask if we needed anything. the other side of the spectrum from feeling appalled by the world.

soon it will be time to resume the cleaning out. i told our mechanic about the sentimental person’s guide to decluttering book i had purchased (hoping for osmosis to make it stick) and another title i had seen: “nobody wants your sh*t“, which we both found infinitely funny. and true. because it is. true, that is.

i remember when my sweet momma – in acts of generosity and kindness – began to give away possessions. she knew. she knew how little all that stuff really mattered. and, in these quieter moments of getting a bit older, i – we – can see that, even more than before. especially in these times.

it would seem that dropping the shopping bags and the trappings of the ladder are thresholds into the gains of one’s soul, into the real stuff of life – because, as my poppo used to say about the other stuff, “you can’t take it with you.“

and it would seem that – instead of the receipts of chasing and chasing – the buddhist prayer is that which to hold close:

“may you be happy. may you be at peace. may you be free of danger. may you be loved.”

*****

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

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merely steps away. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

the breeze was decidedly heavenly, refreshing, a breath of fresh air.

it had been a while.

this summer – clearly in the midst of changing climate – has been a doozy. hot and humid and downright uncomfortable. it used to be that we’d ponder whether or not to place the window air conditioner units in the windows. we’d fuss and debate and look at the extended weather forecast, trying to decide if we could suffer through a few days or a week of sticky, knowing that wisconsin would reward us with a breezy sweep-through back into exceptional summer weather.

not this year.

it literally felt like it – the sticky – arrived. and never left. every morning i’d open the back door, step out on the deck and say aloud, “it smells like florida.” the fact that it also felt like florida made me want to get my money back from the wisconsin-summer for which i’d signed up.

in these days i am much less tolerant of the heat. me and dogga. and even d. all three of us, dogga’s tongue hanging out and all of us panting – it’s not a pretty picture. and so, we (the plural we, though it is most definitely the singular d) installed the window air conditioners. and, with WE-energies’-exponentially-rising-costs and caution to the wind, we ran them.

and then.

then the breeze shifted.

finally.

and, with great flip-flop glee, we started back walking our long ‘hood walks.

because merely steps away is this great big beautiful (oh, wait! i simply cannot use those words in that order anymore)…..merely steps away is this vast, stunning lake.

we feel lucky every time we walk along its edge. we feel lucky as the breeze wraps us in cool. we feel lucky at the harbor, at the beach, on the rocks, at the historic beachhouse where everyone gathered after our wedding. merely steps away is this reminder to breathe.

and so we stand there, staring at this lake like an old friend we’ve known for decades. and, just like people – filled with stories and layers and grief and bliss and tenderness and churning and color and monochrome – it’s always familiar and always an enigma – both.

the sun dipped below the west horizon, amping up the ombré of the east.

and arm in arm we walked home.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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the real. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

104. in the moments i am writing this post – a couple days ahead of today – my sweet momma would have turned 104.

i wasn’t sure about using this photograph. it isn’t something we stumbled across when we were out and about; instead it is a photograph i took in my studio. but, it is an effort to continue an effort we are making – which, i might add, is a big effort considering the here and now – to list over to presence and gratitude for the other parts of the here and now…the real…the stuff that i simply cannot imagine that the rabid purveyors of cruelty ever notice. for, if one can see the stunning in the falling dusk or feel the heart-stopping of a simple james taylor song or taste the fresh basil in the stockpot of sauce, one cannot also relish the sheer and abject depravity of current events.

my sweet momma – always – her message to me, “live life, my sweet potato.”

and to that i would add – as i stood in the kitchen – his arms wrapped around me, with our birthday dog at our feet – “never, never, never give up.”

there is a visceral response – breathing – i have to seeing the wild horses in the documentary, the dueting voices in the music video. there is a fascination of the munching-munching caterpillars on our dill plant, the finch drinking from our birdbath, the tomato plant’s explosive growth, the jalapeños becoming peppers from tiny blooms. there is an appreciation of the eye-to-eye contact of our amber-eyed aussie, the feel of flipflops on a hot summer day, the wafting scent of basil on the air.

we didn’t go to any celebrations on the fourth. we did not feel that this very moment in time was aligned with commemorating the democracy and freedoms as written into the declaration of independence for these united states. this moment – instead – feels like the antithesis of all of that – the un-uniting of this country, the dismantling of freedoms, the fall of democracy. so we stayed home, away from the carnivals and the parties and the bands and the fireworks (though our neighbor set off fireworks right above our backyard for hours late into the night).

and this morning, while d was picking up the vestiges of those fireworks which, thankfully, did no harm to our home, i watched the caterpillars on the dill. while he brushed away the chalk marks of firecrackers landing on our patio, i watered the herbs. while he made doubly sure there was nothing pyrotechnic-like left that dogga could ingest or could cause him harm, i watched and listened as the birds returned on a refreshingly quiet morning.

we have a list. i mentioned it the other day. it’s simply a list – not far away – of places for us to go, to visit, things to immerse in. to do the best we can, right now.

to the top of the list i am going to add “never, never, never give up.”

because momma was right. live life. it is not unlimited.

sweet potato out.

*****

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

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but sometimes. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

we started a list. things we haven’t done before, things we’d like to do, things we’d like to repeat sometime, places we’d like to visit locally, things to explore. since we aren’t traveling this summer – on a vacation anywhere – we want to try some other things.

we added a few different herbs to our potting stand. we added dianthus and sweet potato vine to the planters on our deck. we added books to our list. we added recipes to our stockpile.

we are appreciating being home.

on friday night – just a few nights ago – we lounged in the old gravity chairs on our deck. it was cooler, the slightest of breezes off lake michigan. the air was soft. dogga was laying on the deck just feet from us. we watched the birds and the pond fountain. sipped a glass of wine. marveled at our quaking aspen. it was quiet.

we had had a hard time deciding what to do on that friday-night-date-night, as we call it. we had been thinking of driving up to milwaukee or down to a harbor in illinois where there is live music. but, for some reason, we just didn’t do either. dogga looked at us – with a big-eyed, sorrowful look – as he anticipated our departure. and we just agreed, “let’s stay home.”

dusk arrived and we finished dinner outside. not anxious to end the peaceful evening in our backyard, we stayed put.

we could spend all our time – all our words – on what is happening in and to our country and the world – and that would be a worthy thing.

but sometimes, even in the middle of all the madness that we simply cannot forget or put out of our minds, it is good to step aside, to go nowhere and do nothing, to zero in on the very simplest of things.

like the dianthus after the rain.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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decrescendo of the day. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

there is a spot in our backyard – a pretty specific spot – where we can sit and watch the sun as it gets lower and lower in the sky. it filters through clouds or the trees to our west. it lingers over the familiar rooflines of houses nearby. it is a spot on the patio that is ridiculously reassuring as we adirondack-chair sit, sunglasses on, witnessing the beginnings of the end of the day.

because we are not given to dinners out – and they aren’t really in our budget anyway – we tend to spend the waning hours of daylight on our deck or on this patio. maybe with a little happy hour, maybe just quietly – either way, it is a magical way to be a part of sundown, to begin evening, particularly when the ‘hood around us is silent but for the sparrows, chickadees, cardinals getting in last licks at the birdfeeder, dustbathing in the dirtspots dogga has generously dug, sipping water from the birdbath or the pond. it can be so quiet as to hear the hummingbird’s tiny chirps as it buzzes over our heads after devouring at its feeder. these are good days, the days that decrescendo like this.

and so, i try and capture these ends-of-day – for other days when the time comes for sunset and the horizon is full of clouds or rain, for other days when our hearts need the reminder, the universe hug that there is a night of rest coming and a new day to follow.

i glance over at d – whose hand is holding mine – and watch dogga run his backyard circle of joy.

for this moment, i feel a sense of peace. I breathe it all in – soaking in the energy that we need to be in these moments of history. i lean back against the throw pillow and exhale.

and hope to sit here again tomorrow.

*****

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

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before it was gone. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

i suppose it’s human nature. we tend to take it all for granted – our health, the place we call our home, our freedom. we are relatively complacent about it – maybe not necessarily actively grateful – more passively matter-of-fact.

until we are without it – our health, the place we call our home, our freedom.

and we want it back.

and then we wonder why we didn’t appreciate it when we had it.

each and every time i have had any kind of physical challenge, any ailment, i linger on what it was like before it began. before i broke both my wrists, before frozen shoulder, before i had covid, before…

it’s – of course – a fool’s errand and does absolutely no good save for being somewhat masochistic – which doesn’t fall under the category of good.

and – of course – the lesson i find is to intend gratitude for all in each moment we experience.

but we humans – particularly in this society – are slightly more hindsight types. and we tend to sort to the “in retrospect” view of things instead of being anticipatory or present.

so i do a heads, shoulders, knees and toes check-in and thank my lucky stars. i look around at our old house and thank this place we call home. i move about daily without restraint, making decisions about what to do, where to go – for which i am thankful.

and yet, right here and right now, we stand at a crossroads – an absolutely critical moment – when we must decide what all it is we are grateful for, what all we wish for, what all we believe in – before we don’t have it anymore.

those of us who are not in allegiance with the takeover of our democracy into autocracy, those of us who have not normalized an administration which is morally bereft, those of us who pledge our pledge to a republic and not a man – we all must decide to stand up for the freedom of this country. before it becomes one of those things we wish we had appreciated – when we had it – before it was gone.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING SMACK-DAB

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