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

my sweet poppo and i would go out to get a “real” tree every year – sometimes as late as just a couple days before christmas. together we would pick out the one that seemed the most right. they’d wrap it in netting and he’d strap it to the top of the car with rope. decorating it meant also watching him meticulously place each strand of tinsel – individually – on the tree. because we placed the shinybrites on together after he first wrapped the tree with lights, it seemed like we needed to be a part of the tinseling too.

now, tinsel – real tinsel (and, well, even the newfangled plasticized tinsel) requires a special skill set of patience. one piece at a time, stepping back, looking at the balance of tinsel, placing another, repeat. but, when my dad wasn’t looking – thinking many of you might admit to this as well – i would back up with several strands in my hand and launch them high into the air so that they would fall on the tree, scattered and perfectly placed. eh. not so much. they would land in clumps, impossible to disguise as meticulously-placed.

tinseling was not my forte. and, once christmas trees were my own, they ceased to have tinsel.

but tinsel has always had a warm place in my heart and always-always makes me think of my sweet dad. i didn’t realize it back then but later it became obvious that placing each of these strands – one by one – was both a generosity of his for others – to lift them into festive – and perhaps a way for him to immerse into the heart of the holiday as well, to arrive. when it was time to take down the tree back then, my dad would – again – ever so slowly and carefully – remove each piece of tinsel, protecting and preserving as much as possible to be used again the next year.

and so i have a bit of tinsel in the box of decorations – just to simply look at it brings my dad here.

many years ago i added this tinsel tree to my tiny-tree collection. each year, i place it where it is seen and this year, well, it got top billing placement, seen as soon as you walk in the front door.

the holiday itself has passed and the frenetic has somewhat slowed down. it’s time to look ahead – there is a new year arriving.

this new year will have many challenges…it’s already presenting itself that way. i am hoping to meet them with presence of mind and fortitude and meticulous patience – like my dad tinseling the christmas tree – slow and steady, one day at a time, one challenge at a time.

the shinybrites remained tucked away and silver and crystal ornaments took over this holiday. soon – in a week or two – these will also be packed away, ready for next year, save for a few to keep light in the living room even on the darkest winter days. the tiny trees will go into the bin, though i can see one or two staying on for a bit, also lingering to bring light into the darker months. i’ll place the tinseltree in the bin with the other decorations – happy to have had its company, happy that it places my dad in our living room.

and we’ll gear up and turn toward the new year. much as i’d like to avoid it, i know the only way to the other side is through.

and so it’s time to tinsel the new year – to find as much light as we can and to carefully place it around us so that it might be something others can see. to carry love and generosity past these holidays and into next, a reminder to participate in that which lifts others, to protect, to preserve, to be meticulous.

i’m thinking – in the way people hang signs or posters with messages or have daily calendars full of positivity – that i will place a piece or two of tinsel on the frame we have in our room. maybe that way – each morning when i wake and sip coffee under the quilt, david and dogga by my side – i will be reminded of light and reflection and every one of my dad’s silent tinsel lessons.

maybe tinsel – like sprinkles – will make me a better-equipped person in these fraught times than i would be without it.

maybe tinsel’s not just for christmas anymore.

*****

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the infinite infinite. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

somewhere – in the infinite infinite – i suppose that my sweet momma and poppo might be with my big brother, nibbling on crumbcake and coffee ice cream. maybe they are having a chat about christmas eve norwegian fish pudding and rum cake. or maybe about burning your fingertips making krumkake. maybe they are reminiscing about singing carols in the living room – gathered around the organ or the piano, my brother with his guitar, my uncle with his beautiful tenor.

i suppose that the party might be bigger…with their baby daughter i never met, with my grandparents, with their siblings, with friends they treasured. they may pop open the martini & rossi asti or blend some eggnog, assuming there is electricity. maybe they are swinging on stars and peering through the clouds at us here; maybe they are missing us.

in the way that things are in this place right now, i am glad that my sweetest mom and dad are not physical witnesses to what is happening, for their hearts would be broken by the ugliness of these times. i am grateful – in an odd way – that they do not have to experience what will be in the next for this country, for our world. even with everything they saw and endured in their lives – which is plenty considering they were born in 1921 and 1920 – i know that what’s happening and what’s coming would challenge and disappoint their beliefs and values to the core.

and so, in the meanwhile – between now and the infinite infinite – i will miss them. the axis has never returned to balance since they’ve been gone and this time of year brings that home even more.

i do believe, though, that if my momma – ever the letterwriter – could write in the sky – out there by the moon – she would. she’d likely draw words with the help of clouds and contrails. and she’d spell out something like, “daddy says ‘hello brat!‘” and “don’t forget to live life, my sweet potato!”.

when i look up – or inside – i can hear them both.

merry christmas mom and dad.

*****

bonus track (god be with you till we meet again) © 1996 kerri sherwood

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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stripes. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

the reeds on our trails in the winter – tall and willowy, reaching for the sky in a color that looks like leftover sun you saved in a jar. the cattails are massive, even the ones that have lost tails…all dwarfing us. tall stripes in the marsh cutting perpendicular into the horizon, they are exceptionally beautiful.

i’m not a stripe-wearer. with the exception of one hooded baja pullover, i’m pretty sure i own zero clothing items with stripes. this has not always been true.

i distinctly remember a pair of multi-colored striped bell bottoms i really loved – way back in junior high. i remember my candystriper uniform – candycane stripes for volunteering in the hospital. oh… and those ever-present red and white striped terrycloth footed dr. denton pajamas. i remember the stripes on my v-neck sweater – the one that everyone had back in the day – navy and maroon v-stripes on a white cable pullover. i distinctly remember one other sweater – a turtleneck – a favorite – that had stripes. i wore it tucked into my jeans way back in high school. i remember stripes i wore when i was a volunteer “arrestee” for the american cancer society’s jail ‘n bail. but i can’t remember many other stri-ped (two syllables as they say) things that have made it into either my closet or my dresser.

and – in more information than you ever needed or wanted, some further thoughts on stripes:

as i sit here and look around i am struck by the horizontal stripes that surround me. the obvious wood floors – though these are vertical as well (mostly) depending on where in the room you are standing. the miniblinds on all our windows. the louvered closet doors, the dresser drawers, the many tiny drawers in the wooden armoire, the stacked (not standing) books in the glass-front chimney cabinet. many patterns – all horizontal.

if, however, i were to wear stripes, they would have to be vertical. horizontal and baby-borne hips don’t go well together. (at least in my opinion as it relates to me). i don’t know if this helps to explain my love of beadboard or my love of big old doors. both vertical. there must be a theory of explanation in there somewhere.

i think i also have a thing about wearing stripes – i feel like if i am going to wear them, they need to stay parallel to the ground – 180 degrees straight – even stripes, not all wonky and helter-skelter…like part of the stripe tucked in and part untucked and on some skewed sort of angle, which bugs me to an unusual degree of being bugged. horizontal stripes have a lot of room for error. and stripes…seriously…well, they should be neat – tidy stripes. it just feels to me that stripes are like that. they demand precision. i try to veer away from such strict parameters.

maybe that is why i wear solid colors mostly. there is less worry about conforming to specific stripe/plaid/print rules, real or imagined.

it is good that i am not a santa’s elf. i am way beyond wishing to wear red and white horizontal-striped tights.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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even if, enough. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

it snowed last night. there is a dusting on the deck and on the roofline that i can see out the window right now. even a dusting is magical. even a dusting is snow. even, if it were only a dusting, only this, it would be enough.

the snow earlier – in november – didn’t last long but – while it clung to the adirondack chairs – i went out, crunching through it, to take a photograph, to remember it. it was the kind that snowmen are made of. and, even if that were the only snow, only that, it would have been enough.

i am trying to learn the art of even if, enough. for right now. for this moment. for standing in this space, spinning on this earth in this solar system in this galaxy. the next moment is a mystery – on repeat – a measure of blank space, again and again.

you don’t just arrive there, we are not simply maestros of this art. it is – what i am seeing – a process like the tides. a little wave in, a little wave out. a grain of sand in, a grain of sand out. it is not simple but it is…actually.

it is the recognition – when you are feeling in right mind, when you are feeling more balanced, when you are not hijacked by outside influences – of the right now and a nod that even if….it is enough.

in this time, these times, our yearnings are real. and – as our world turns and we approach a time of far greater chaos than we have likely ever known in most of our lives – we can see that the even if, enoughs are going to play a big role in staying grounded.

it is a work in progress, i suppose, for each of us. we – mostly – live in societies where more is more and less is, most definitely, less. we are not typically validated in our less. we are not typically commended for finding value in less.

but it is the gift of the tide and time. you begin to realize that the tiniest pebbles that drop in on our personal shoreline are often the mica of life. you begin to realize that they balance out the grains of sand that are pulled out each time and tide.

and so i, maybe like you – am trying to be satisfied with – at peace with – the even if, enoughs.

even if we don’t have enough time with someone – but we have a tiny bit – it is enough. even if we don’t have enough stuff, newest stuff, trendy stuff – but we have a tiny bit – it is enough. even if we don’t have enough time – but we have a tiny bit – it is enough. even if we don’t have enough snow – but we have a tiny bit – it is enough.

though the even ifs make us – make it all – feel somewhat fragile, the enoughs are a good place to seek, a good place to live.

this dusting. wondrous.

*****

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

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indulging out, indulging in. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

we were talking about what it used to be like – out holiday shopping.

we both individually remember the out-and-about of windowshopping and browsing and pondering and findingjusttherightthing as including the time and space for stopping, for a nice cup of coffee and a treat, maybe for lunch out.

it was sheer indulgence the other day when we used a long-saved gift card for dinner out after a fun day of shopping. and yesterday, we did a thing.

we actually – mid-day-mid-shopping – stopped at a bakery to pick out a danish (yes, sacrificing the usual gluten-free-ness) and then we went next door to starbucks to get a christmas blend coffee. we shared both – jubilant at the “old-timey” tradition we were re-enacting, pretty happy with ourselves that we chose to take the time and splurge on coffee and a treat.

it’s beginning to look a lot like christmas!

i spent a-couple-years-less-than-a-decade celebrating christmas in florida. though everyone still decorates and the holiday rush is still pushing you forward, it never quite felt the same as christmas up north. i suppose if i had grown up in the south it – the traditions and rituals and things i associate with christmas – would be different, but having grown up in the northeast, i associate the holidays with being bundled up, the cold, the snow, pink cheeks and noses, mittens and scarves. there is a different sparkle to twinkle lights in snow.

we here in our neck of wisconsin may not have a white christmas this year. but it will be brisk enough for the deck to make cracking noises as we walk to our backdoor, for the radiators to clunk a little, for the wood floors to creak under our feet. ice will paint beautiful images on a couple of the north-facing windows, the stars in the bitter sky will seem brighter and dogga will be in his glory laying outside in the cold. it’ll be cozy inside, surrounded by the glimmering trappings of the holiday.

maybe – as we continue our march toward Christmas Day – in-between bits of shopping and wrapping and shipping and clearing out and giving away – we will take a few minutes here and there to celebrate the right-now of it all. maybe we’ll consider another coffee out, another pastry. maybe we’ll bundle up and go see some special lights. maybe – just maybe – i’ll play some carols in my studio. this is the time of year i especially miss creating a space – with and through music – in which other hearts might open to the spirit of the holidays, to sink into that which they feel but cannot see.

as adults – whose bars for enchantment are higher than in childhood or for whom perhaps reality has life-light-dimmed – we all sometimes struggle as these times roll around. we know it’s up to each of us to create any magic in these holidays, to recognize it, to linger in it. the tiniest bit of indulgence goes a long way. indulging out and indulging in.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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keep the bar low. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

i always make him nervous when i start digging for my phone while i am driving. i mean, i reach over to my purse – which is right next to me between the seats in littlebabyscion – and my hand goes directly to my phone – which is right in the outside pocket of my purse. it’s not like i am scavenging through a trunk of goodies in the backseat while i am driving in the frontseat. it’s also not like i am going to text while i am driving, because i don’t do that now – unless i am at a stoplight and i keep an ever-watchful eye on the light so no one has to aggressively beep at me to put my eyes back on the road. nevertheless, he gets a little nervous.

in my defense, i am merely getting my phone because i need – really neeeeeeed – to take a picture. and, despite any deep-seated fear he might harbor about me placing our lives in jeopardy for a photograph, i always either wait for a stop sign or a traffic light or i pull over to take the picture.

sooo, now that that has been established…the other day i had to take a photograph of the car in front of us before it careened away from us and the chance would be gone.

we – like you – have seen many bumper stickers, many window decals, many messages on the back of vehicles. i have been literally astounded at what people will put on their cars – the language sometimes makes me shudder, the innuendo is sometimes embarrassing, the saying is sometimes totally base. it worries me that people with children will put pretty intense cuss words right on their cars and drive around with that so that other small children might read them as well. i mean, really???

but i digress.

the other day – while out and about and on our way to hike – there was an suv in front of us with positive – wait, read that again – positive (!) messages on the back of their vehicle. it was this one that made me grab my phone:

“i hope something good happens to you today.”

i wanted to blow them a kiss and thank them but they sped away and i lost sight of them after i grabbed a quick photo.

many good things happened that day. we hiked about seven miles; it was brisk and parts of the river were frozen. the sky looked like it was about to deliver a snowstorm but never did. we saw five deer on our hike, all sedately grazing slightly frozen grasses just on the side of the trail, none of them eager to bound away. we felt tired and a little bit achy getting back to LBS, all well-deserved and welcome results of getting outside exercise. 20 came over for dinner; we chattered and laughed and played rummikub.

good things. regular stuff.

the bumper sticker stuck with me all day. mostly, i loved that whoever this person or these people were they were offering up a gift to strangers. no bad language, no aggression, no political yuck-yuck, just a kindness.

something good actually happens every day. we probably need to remember that it’s the bar we use to measure “good” that changes. i have found that if i keep the bar low i am more likely to notice the something good.

it’s not generally flashy or lit with neon lights. it’s not generally something that arrives with folderol or with bells on. it doesn’t necessarily make a grand entrance. it’s generally not gigantic. but it’s brilliant nonetheless.

i thought about that bumper sticker again that night when i was hugging dogga goodnight and he hugged me back; i could hear d setting up coffee and a few minutes later we tucked under a warm quilt.

something good.

yep.

*****

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

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

we were on the phone and she said, “we all just need to check out a while.”

i couldn’t agree more.

it has been a lot. more than a lot. and it just continues on and on and on – this farcical nightmare of politics. there is nothing like watching an incoming administration poking fun at every single serious issue out there, lining its own pockets and the pockets of kakistocratic cronies, maniacally ranting and raging and seeking revenge, raising up the uppers and cruelly disempowering the middles and the lowers. it is utterly exhausting and disrespectful to the core of this nation.

but this is me…checking out.

so as we are tending to this holiday season, looking for gifts – the things people may need or wish for – and shopping, i know that there is one thing that we simply cannot buy – for ourselves or anyone else:

hope.

and so we’ll do our best to make people smile, to engage people, to let them know we are thinking about them and holding them close – particularly now, when so many others have disappointed us and them, particularly now, with the emotional whiplash we have felt as a result of the loss of positive possibility, particularly now, grieving the burial of any goodness from the top down, particularly now, overwhelmed by the stunned surprise we have felt watching those we care about wholeheartedly support this horror.

i know that we cannot buy hope. and i know that right now it seems far away, especially if we are actively paying attention to the intentional bullying and destruction of all we know as this democracy.

but that doesn’t stop us from yearning for it, from seeking it, from creating it. together.

we won’t check out on hope. particularly now.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

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dried flowers. [kerri‘s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

“may this house shelter your life. when you come in home here, may all the weight of the world fall from your shoulders. may your heart be tranquil here, blessed by peace the world cannot give.” (john o’donohue – for a new home – benedictus, a book of blessings)

back in the day – referencing the 80s and 90s or so – i used to have lots of dried flowers – everywhere. dried flowers and herbs and red peppers were definitely a thing then, part of the homey, country look – hung on any hook, any trellis, any door jamb you could access. it all felt comforting, smidges of beautiful, tiny respites from busy-ness.

there’s a moment in the movie my big fat greek wedding when ian miller tells toula portokalos that he remembers seeing her a previous time. she, who has had a bit of a self-makeover, says, i was going through a phase then. i was frump girl. in one of the best he’s-a-sweet-guy moments, ian responds kindly, i don’t remember frump girl, but i remember you. and you cannot help your heart from going pitter-patter and you just know what might happen….

well, i have gotten over the dried-flower-phase. though i loved it then – and completely embraced it – there are no dried flowers hanging around now. though, truth be told, i do have a few dried daisies from our wedding tied with jute and a little garden lavender posey gathered with string. oh…and the first rose d gave me. and i think there is some hydrangea drying (long-term) in the basement and maybe a few wildfield thistles in the sitting room sharing a vessel with a bit of pussywillow. oopsies. i might have been a bit off on the word “no” in “no dried flowers“…

perhaps I should yield on using absolutes.

moving on.

i am most definitely a fierce appreciator of dried flowers and wild weeds in the fields and meadows of our hikes and adore the textures and morphing shapes of them through the seasons. it is likely that we have already shared a thistle or two as our blog images, but – – – this one, this one counts too, i argue for its inclusion.

because of my propensity for hangingontothings – emotionally and in real life – it is quite amazing that all those -older- dried flowers made their way out of the house from the latest 80s and through the 90s. when you have lived in a house this long – 35 years – you know it will iterate through time. and you cannot hang on to all the vestiges of the last phase, no matter how splendid they are.

so now, here i am, not even sure what this post is about. this stunning in-fallow-stoking-up-energy thistle made me think of the dried-flower-phase, of things that – at some given time – made our home feel like our sanctuary. i suppose i might let you just try to connect the dots.

or you can just nod your head, roll your eyes and quietly support my stream of consciousness today.

*****

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

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buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly impact an artist whose work directly impacts you. xoxo


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a squall of light. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

it will surely get worse before it gets better.

it was while i was waiting for the person to arrive to pick up the desk that i started. it wasn’t really on purpose. it was simply a way to keep an eye out the window at the front of the house. i opened the small chifforobe cabinet and began to pull things out and stack them on the floor of the studio. then i went over to the small desk and did the same thing. before i knew it, it was chaos on the floor of the studio, piles on the padded artist bench, even small piles on top of my piano.

in the unearthing of space, i am finding notebooks of lyrics, slices of songs, chord progressions jotted on scraps of paper. there are piles of process cds – from demos of songs to recording studio takes, edits, production in all its phases, final products of albums released into the world. there are radio charts and encouraging cards, pencils and erasers and staff paper.

i think of my son – at the other end of the journey – the closer-to-beginning part of his artistry. though he is waaay past just-beginning, his heartbeat is quickened by his own growth in his music and by the outer reaction to and support of his EDM. i remember those days and i celebrate for him and with him. they are the days that feed artists when we are depleted, when we are in the midst of hunger, when we are pondering our place in our art form, when – if we are feeling disoriented – we are trying to see where it was – discern how it was – we got lost so that we might find our way, when it’s a little bit agonizing, when we are a lot a bit tender, when we are wondering.

later on – much after the computer desk was gone – after the frenzied muse had left the building – i groaned looking at the mess.

but there is no going back now. it’s time to keep going, to keep going through, eliminating, filing, re-designing the spaces and space in my studio. time to bring in new light, time to give it a chance.

in more than a bit of vulnerability, i must say that i don’t really know if that will change anything. i know that the studio will look more spacious, it will be slightly less muddled in there, more austere, more piano-focused. i feel like that could definitely be a good thing…a tiny step toward actually playing, actually composing. cleaning out will remove some of the tangible tokens of feeling remote, or of hurtful, harmful things that have undermined my artistry, that have waylaid me. it might remove some of the visible and invisible layers between me and my music. i guess that’s all to be seen. as overwhelmed as i am – thinking about all the work in front of me – i do see some magical bits of light in the dark, even amid the squall of chaos.

when my grand first arrived – over 25 years ago – it was the only thing in the room. just a big C5 on bare wood floors with high ceilings and freshly painted white walls of plaster and beadboard. it was pure and glorious.

since then – for various reasons – i added a chifforobe, a writing/reading chair, a desk, music stands and mic stands, other instruments.

maybe sorting through, reorganizing, removing the desk, minimalizing stuff, clearing the space will surface the essential reason for this studio, will distill the paralyzing fog that has settled over the space and in my heart, give light to a dimmed imperative. maybe a tiny bit of balance will return. maybe it’s all still relevant.

i stand in the doorway and acknowledge that i don’t know.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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from the bottom up. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

if you asked george winston about reprising, he’d laugh and tell you that we here – in this household – have reprised his thanksgiving album hundreds of times. there is nothing wrong with a good reprise.

we put the rolling computer desk up on facebook marketplace – for free. the first person to respond was a young woman named steph. there was a bit of a goof-up on pickup and she messaged her apology and said she understood us moving on to the next interested person. and, even though i messaged a couple others about its availability, i decided to write back to her to see if she still wanted it. she needed us to wait a few days for her to pick it up. i agreed to wait and the computer desk had an awkwardly-placed home smack-dab in our living room for those days. it turned out a bit helpful as we decorated our home yesterday – a place to put ornaments and mini-trees while we planned and designed our decorations.

this morning she came to pick it up, this rolling desk we had placed on our front door sidewalk, this rolling desk i thanked before it went away. i went out to meet her when she was walking up the driveway and she thanked me profusely for holding it for her, for waiting.

i told her that it seemed to me that people really need to be nice to each other right now, especially right now. she replied she wished that it were christmas all year round. i said that i just wished people were good to each other year round. we shared just a few more moments before she left, but it wasn’t before i was grateful that we had waited – to give this desk to her.

and so, with george winston’s approval, we reprise this SMACK-DAB cartoon from december 2023. because right now is as good a time as any to remember the feeling of the holidays, the feeling of peace and joy, generosity and kindnesses shown to others. right now – before what’s next, before what could be harrowing, before the intended cruelness from this country’s top down – right now is a good time to zero in on how we really want to live, what we truly hold valuable, what it feels like in a community of giving, of support, of love for one another – whether we know them or not.

little morsels of goodness between people are possible. it’s impossible to close our eyes and not feel it.

now we need to decide it, to choose it, to live it.

even if we have to do it from the bottom up.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

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