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

were this monarch to have the tiniest of notebooks and a tinier pencil, i would feel even more kinship with it.

i can imagine that it – perched on the vine-wall that has taken over the fence – is writing gentle poetry, haikus about flying and how sunshine feels on its wings. i can imagine that it – late in the summer, maybe a super-generation butterfly – is pondering the freedom of a bit-longer lifespan, the sky-trip it has booked to mexico as summer ends. it might write of adventures and exploring, of new discoveries, milkweed and other plants it now feeds on.

i wonder if it feels the same way i felt – so many decades ago – sitting in my maple tree, perched against the trunk, writing. it felt like there could be nothing at all wrong in the world, and that, like the monarch’s vibrant colors warning of toxins, my coca-cola it’s-the-real-thing pants and floppy hat would keep away any predators. i wonder if its words flit over sunrises and sunsets, grown-up seagull dreams, innocence and possibility.

we’re sitting in the old gravity chairs we unearthed from up in the rafters of the garage. our feet up, pillows behind our backs, we quietly watch the busy life of our backyard. there’s so much space to just think, to ponder.

the butterfly floats past us, over us, behind us. it lands on the burgeoning vine, the natural privacy screen growing helter-skelter on the fence. it is free to roam. it is free to be.

and then.

i overheard, “he got a monarch.” the butterfly’s vivid orange and black and broad stripes didn’t protect it from the cat prowling for prey next door.

i felt my heart sink. in like manner, my coca-cola pants and dr scholl’s, hard-held value set and a sunrise-sunset horizon full of possibility didn’t protect me either.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

66 and 19 © david robinson (mixed-media)

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mighty garden. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

it is a mighty garden.

built from a couple planks of old barn wood and some galvanized pipe, its possibilities were endless. tucked into a corner of the backyard, cozied up between the edge of the deck and the fence, every day this mighty garden called my name.

not so mighty in size, it was wildly enormous in delivering zen. with a pair of clippers in my hand and a watering wand waiting nearby, i spent hours through this summer tending this garden.

and it has rewarded us with jalapeños and cherry tomatoes, basil and mint and rosemary and cilantro and parsley. nothing you can’t purchase at a market, but there is something about growing right outside your kitchen, a few steps across the deck, through a wrought iron gate from the patio.

we continue to harvest from this potting stand. we’ll see it through to the last of the herbs, the last of the peppers and tomatoes, all the while planning a bit more for next year. success begets trying some new things. we planted in previous years – and there was a yield of herbs, a few tomatoes, a handful of peppers – but there was something a bit different about this year.

and this was the year we needed it.

somehow, the universe – in all its energy and light – knew that this was the time. a time for us to invest our own energy and attention into growing things. not just grasses or ferns or peonies or a few other flowers, but things that would nourish us, things that would connect the dots from dirt to our kitchen.

a gift of growing at a time when growth – real, human, throw-out-your-arms-and-hold-all-the-world-close growth – seems to be shunned, devalued, debased.

it has been mighty.

*****

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

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urgent needs. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

the grocery store receipt reads $157. there is no meat on this bill. there is not much on this bill. we made a menu, made a list from the menu and shopped to the list. there may have been an exception or two: a 99 cent box of tissues and a loaf of bread that somehow didn’t make it onto the list. $157.

we are frugal. and we know that – when the ridiculous tariffs take effect – this $157 will be lots more.

on the way home we talked about how families are doing it. sans high wages and benefits covering health insurance, it seems like it would be impossible to exist. it is a world – this country – that is leaving the middle class behind, burying us all in costs, living expenses, debt. all imposed with a side of apathy and cruelty. my heart hurt for the man standing on the other side of the road with a sign asking for help.

it takes an instant to go from feeling shaky to feeling fortunate.

and being washed in gratitude is empowering.

we can make more with less, we agree. we can make meals that extend leftovers for days. we can ignore the frivolous and buy only the practical. and we can help.

the local food pantry/shelter has an easy-to-access list of needs on their website. it is clear. i called to make sure that something that was labeled as “urgent” was still considered urgent; we wanted to address that need the best we could.

driving away from the center after dropping multiples of their “urgent need” was a gift. it was a reminder of all the times someone has sensed an “urgent need” in us.

and sometimes, in those moments, somehow the white light of the universe enveloped us and someone stepped up to help.

we are all capable of being that white light. and – in these times of need, these times of people’s lives being beaten down and minimalized, these times dismissive of compassion and care – it would seem urgent – and incumbent upon us – to gather that light and pass it on.

*****

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

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and so should we. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

somehow, this tiny plant is surviving.

it’s growing. maybe even thriving.

in this moment, in this time, despite all the challenges it has faced, it is facing, it will face, despite all it does not know, it persists – growing in the top rail of the fence that spans the river.

this tiny plant is grabbing on to life. and living it.

and so should we.

*****

IN A SPLIT SECOND © 2002 kerri sherwood

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read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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sticking out. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

even after all these years – a full five decades – it is andrea vrusho who sticks out. in her bandana kerchiefs, her flowy clothes, her peace sign necklace, i can still see her. she was the shining light who encouraged us all to write, to search, to be poets, to be ourselves, to embrace words.

i’ve written about her before. i will likely write about her again. the lighthouses in your life are like that; they keep rising up and waving at you, encouraging you just like they always did.

and i still see her – standing at the front of my high school english class – all tie-dyed and hoop-earringed – even now – in the latter part of the middle of my sixth decade, as i continue – ad infinitum – to do this: “the thing that is really hard, and really amazing, is giving up on being perfect and beginning the work of becoming yourself.” (anna quindlen)

she was one of the first – outside my family – to lessen my concern of being a different coneflower, the flower spent from living aloud, a flower on the edges. she pompom-ed my tree-sitting, my practice of journaling. she challenged my beliefs and rained questions on us. she buoyed my feminism and stumped in class for our rights. she cheered on my voice.

and i think about her now. now, as i reclaim that voice. now, as i broach the distance between before and after. now, as i reach back in time to who i was and, thus, who i am.

i know that my coneflower looks different. i have always felt it. artists are outliers, sticking out sometimes simply because of simple reasons. the suits don’t quite fit. you are somewhere lagging behind the trends. you are hopscotching from creative project to project. you are exposure-heavy and earnings-light. you are different – your perspective, your ultra-sensitivity, your empathy. you are the silver in a field of gold, the gawky sunflower in a meadow of daisies. but, despite your best efforts at being the best blendy coneflower you can be, your own distinct and peculiar – offbeat -voice stays with you. like gum on the bottom of your shoe, as much as you try to dislodge it, it is there – still sticking around.

a few days ago on the trail i stopped and turned to d.

i preambled what i was going to say – “this is not a solvable moment. this is just something i have to say.”

and then –

“that’s it!” i declared. “no more sniveling! i’m done with that! it is not who i am!”

without context that could be confusing. but in the middle of the middle of life right now, it made complete sense to him.

and he looked back at me – with andrea clapping her hands on the other side – and said, “good!”

“never compare your insides to everyone else’s outsides.” (anne lamott)

*****

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

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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 small ways. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

“positive cultural change today (as it has always been) is about leveraging your life where you are: by doing small, possible, measurable daily acts of decency, of protest, of advocacy, of collaboration.” (john pavlovitz)

the bumper sticker read: “kindness is an act of defiance.“

in a country with an administration that is leading the way on trying to make people believe that kindness is weakness and wokeness and various other nouns, being kind seems an infinitely easy way to push back.

i have been astounded to see people i know and love spew words of hatred aligning with this administration’s mounting display of cruelty. it would seem that they have plucked kindness and decency out of their hearts. it is my hope that this plucking is not permanent. it is my hope that a vigor – to help people, to collaborate with people, to share rights and freedoms with all, to advocate for those who are in need – will return at some point. but cold hearts become rigid quickly and their version of defiance seems to be complicity with the authoritarian vision.

and so we sit on the deck with dogga and talk about it all. we talk about our own plans. we ponder how we might make a difference, besides writing and writing and writing. we copy lists of things that are needed by local non-profits and organizations aiding people. we sort needs and wants and prioritize as responsibly as we can.

and we wander around the backyard, looking at the phenomenal growth of our herbs, the tropical-like burst from the flowers and the grasses and the sweet potato plants. we are grateful for this tiny place of earth that is ours. even in our own lack and thriftiness, we are grateful for our own abundance. in our own tiny yard, we snip basil for homemade pizza, cilantro for chili, parsley for red pesto, tiny cherry tomatoes and jalapeño peppers.

we cook, we clean out, we give away. we hike, we photograph, we write. we pay attention to little details. we try to find the small, possible, measurable ways to create culture change.

to be where we are and be defiant.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

“HELPING HANDS” 53.5″ x 15.25″

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what we sow. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

the cosmos splashed across a bit of sidewalk were an invitation for attention. that color! instantly-happy-hot-pink.

she looked wary when i asked her if it was her house. she hesitated a moment and then answered, “yes, it is.”

we were passing by and, as is the case every time we pass by this house, we were charmed by the flowers out front, the porch, the cleverly colorful way the house is painted, the firepit in the front. it is just all delightful and so i told her, “we love it every single time we pass by.”

it wasn’t what she expected, i guess. she smiled, looking surprised, and thanked us, going back to watering her front garden.

and we walked on.

we are living in such trepidatious times. it seems much easier these days for people to say something negative to another person. we drive and blatant f*** you stickers are on vehicles, foul messages of rage and violence. it is clear that the bearers of these messages believe it is perfectly ok to display them to carloads of strangers – adults and children – with whom they are sharing the road. it’s disturbing. people have been given permission to be aggressive, to be filled with anger, to be vile to others.

and so, in light of all the rampant hostility, i realized – afterwards – that this young woman may have felt uncomfortable with my question “is this your house?” and i noted to myself to – next time – start with my compliment, “hi…we love this house every single time we pass by, so if it is yours i’d like you to know that.”

our town does a really spectacular job of flowers. there are stunning gardens in the parks by the harbor and beaches, pots of flowers hanging from the streetlights in downtown, in big planters on the sidewalk. they are all well taken care of and, from time to time, as we have passed people working in those gardens, we have thanked them. they always seem surprised.

i feel like we have fallen down on the job of being human when it is a surprise that someone is courteous, when it is a surprise to be complimented or treated kindly, when the expectation is first that of the possibility of pointed antagonism, when we succumb to spewing the loathsome and revolting rhetoric of hatred, divisiveness, bigotry.

we are what we sow.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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

though i didn’t sign up for it, i receive emails from a source called uncover words. in the middle of the middle of all the chaos and destruction of this country, this is the word that i received one day recently: addle.

i could not help but grimace at the timing.

addle: to confuse or muddle; to make unable to think clearly.

gee…i wonder who that could describe.

might it be people who are being tossed around as if they are at the end of a crack-the-whip – flung from one inane or juicy-gossipy topic to another in an effort to cover up the really important things that are taking place in this country? might it be people who are absolutely and completely averse to fact-checking, to looking up anything that might distort their cultist admiring view of the current administration? might it be people who have been propagandized into sheer ignorance by watching a news channel that is overtly dedicated to the pedestalizing of this same administration? might it be people whose base anger has made them into spitting, spewing hate mongers? might it be people who react before thinking, who yell before talking, who see only red even when it brings harm to their very own families, people in their own communities?

to addle.

addled.

lost.

a second word in that email was maunder. maunder is a verb. it means to talk in a rambling manner, to wander aimlessly in speech or thought.

wow. that seems contemporaneously and politically connected to “addled”.

to maunder.

the addled.

to maunder to the addled.

to make the lost more lost.

hmmm.

a third word that came on that email was this: effulgence.

effulgence is a noun that is defined as: a brilliant radiance; a shining forth.

an auspicious word.

using that in a sentence:

let’s hope there is an effulgence that might awaken the addled among us.

yes.

otherwise, we are destined for this country’s democracy to be entirely mauled by a maunderer with a dedication to depraved darkness – the opposite of effulgence – while the shockingly addled stand by, complicit.

*****

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

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we do both. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

in true escapism fantasies we are either touring around in a tiny rv or we are hiking the pacific crest trail. both speak to us.

there is an obvious difference – the physical nature of the PCT is a tad bit more taxing than pulling a little rv around behind us.

in my dream, we do both.

and we never look at the news.

ever.

we just ride – or hike – off into the sunset, toting the minimum of stuff we need. we write, we paint, we compose, we take photographs. we drink coffee made over tiny ultralight stoves by streams and sip wine in canyonland blm sites. we hold witness to day in and day out.

we remember what is good, what is gloriously beautiful, what is real.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

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