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live and learn. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

“live as if you were to die tomorrow. learn as if you were to live forever.” (mahatma gandhi)

the last time they were here, we made them promise that they would keep nudging us. we urged them, “don’t let us get lackadaisical!! just keep pushing us to learn new stuff, try new things.” they laughed and promised, but i hope they know how much we mean it.

it is too easy to become sedentary about learning, to be aloof to new technology (or, worse yet, to be rigidly opposed to it). it is too easy to be mired in the-way-it-used-to-be-done or to be too lazy, overwhelmed, or afraid to take on new challenges and attempt things that are hard to grok, things that are difficult to wrap our somewhat-older brains around. and so, we are placing the onus of responsibility on our kids (though our daughter doesn’t yet know this) to make sure we keep growing, to encourage us and, mostly, to help us as we try to keep learning. we don’t have too much of a problem at this point – we love to learn new things, even if we have to wrangle with complexity or confusion.

anyway, we are committed. and we hope they will help.

it is in that very spirit of things that we have signed up for classes or taken on new software or attempted new gardens. It is in that very spirit that we have books about writing poetry or youtube how-to-fix-stuff or google new recipes and the best way to store fresh herbs or stream our son’s EDM music.

so when we walked outside and found a few gorgeous sunflowers growing next to our old garage – in the spot where we have unintentional composting – we got excited. the birds frequenting the birdfeeder several feet away clearly planted these beauties and their very tall successes got us dreaming a bit.

“wouldn’t it be just perfect to have sunflowers growing all along that garage wall in between the garage and the fence?” we pondered. it got us to thinking and googling and a little bit of research.

and there is nothing like a deep dive into sunflowers – or sweet potatoes or wellness or newly-found poets and recording artists or emissions or old appliances or yep-roofing fixes and options or hiking boots or thru-trails or history or fact-checking or antiques – to take your mind off the obvious.

albert einstein said, “once you stop learning, you start dying.”

henry ford’s “anyone who keeps learning stays young” resonates with me as well.

we saw it on the wall: “tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” (mary oliver, of course)

keep going. keep learning. keep loving. keep living.

*****

RIVERSTONE © 2004 kerri sherwood

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sweet potato sprouts. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

we are sweet potato fans. and it was in recent research we realized we had been storing our sweet potatoes incorrectly – in the fridge. no wonder they were going bad sooner than we expected. so we moved them (and the russets and the gold yukons and the vidalia onions and the garlic) to a hanging basket in the stairwell which seemed to exponentially lengthen the life of this store-bought produce.

and then there was this day.

david – laughing – said, “ya gotta go look at the sweet potato in the stairwell!”

to say that i was surprised was understating. hot pink shoots were growing out of our sweet potato…sweet raspberry-colored, tiny-leafed shoots of a plant…right there in the basket hanging over the stairs, over the bin with dogga treats, next to the angle-broom and the swiffer, adjacent to the bag-o-bags hook.

and a science experiment was born as, suddenly, we were farming sweet potato.

we put some good potting soil in a planter and – just guessing, with no research – we planted the entire sprouted sweet potato tuber in the dirt. we watered it and stood back.

now, we had no idea what to expect. we truly did feel like we were in junior high – with a science fair project report due in a few weeks.

instantly, i was back in ninth grade, typing my lab reports on thin erasable typing paper. i loved typing and used any excuse to type. my earth science teacher – everyone’s favorite – charlie – graded our lab reports on a check system. check, check-plus, check-plus-plus, check-minus. i pretty much always got a check-plus-plus because, well, that was the kind of diligent student i was. he never wrote any comments on my lab reports, which was disappointing, so i began to wonder if he was really reading them. i decided to experiment a bit. i started to include the words of nursery rhymes – randomly – in my lab reports. i kept getting check-plus or check-plus-plus and he never said a word, convincing me that any genius lab report i might have written had gone undetected. years later we crossed paths on some social media and i reached out, asking him if, perchance, he remembered me. his response was classic: “of course! you typed nursery rhymes in the middle of your lab reports. how could i forget you?” but i digress.

in just days our little sweet potato’s tiny leaves leafed out and it has begun a growth cycle that will force us to reckon with what to do next. we are considering a metal trough planter, but also recognize that there isn’t long enough for the sweet potatoes to develop into sweet potatoes. it is a conundrum. but a truly sweet (no pun intended) reminder of the amazing turns of life and growth and actualization.

in a time during which so much is grabbing at our attention, a country and people disappointing us beyond belief, more corruption than we can wrap our heads around, we are grateful for this hot pink attention-grabbing sweet potato slip.

“live life, my sweet potato,” my momma always told me. i think i feel some sprouts comin’ on.

*****

GRATEFUL © 2004 kerri sherwood

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teasels and old cars. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

the teasels in the meadow kept getting my attention: “look at me!! i’m a layer-cake!!” they called out.

these seussical thistles are everywhere right now, lining the roads we take to our trails, lining the trails, populating the meadows, running alongside the river…simply everywhere. and they have personality!

this summer has been extraordinarily hot and humid. the tropical conditions have made everything-that-loves-sun explode. we feel as if we can literally stand and watch the growth of several of our plants outside – a time-lapse would prove amazing and almost other-worldly.

on one of our trails the other day – before we both melted away – i kept pulling out my camera to take one after another photograph of yet another teasel. i also kept thinking that my dear friend susan – gifted with ridiculously artistic culinary skills – could easily create a teasel cake – and it would look exactly like these.

friday night we stood at the end of our street to watch a parade. the town was hosting an amc (american motors company) celebration. not knowing what to expect out of the parade, but confident that the number of people lining the curb indicated some level of ‘cool’, we waited on the corner for it to start.

and ‘cool’ it was. an utterly charming old-timey parade of cars made its way past us: ramblers, pacers, amx, matadors, ambassadors, gremlins, jeeps, javelins, and my personal favorite, the metropolitan.

we cheered for every vehicle that drove past us, the occupants of the cars with windows down waving and laughing and thumbs-upping. it was a joy to see so many people in their bliss as they drove their vintage cars down our neighborhood roads. those metropolitans, though, they really got my attention. to see all those people – ranging a wide spectrum of ages – coming together in community – all for the love of these old cars – was something we were really glad we witnessed.

it made me think about the 1971 vw beetle in our garage. justin and i plan on reinvigorating that bug. we know it needs some restoration work now but between the two of us and youtube (with helpful hints from our brilliant mechanic) we just might be able to do it. thinking it would be a hoot for us to maybe end up at one of those vintage car shows one day or a beetle-meet. we likely won’t get a ribbon for fanciest but we will probably be eligible for “zealous” or “good effort”.

the whole thing brought me back to a time long ago when i used to be in parades with my dad and my big brother. my dad had a 1930 model A ford that he and my brother restored and we, with old-timey straw hats, would drive in parades just like this one. onlookers would line the sidewalks and cheer and we’d wave and call out to people to get their attention as we passed by. not unlike the drivers and passengers in the parade in our ‘hood. and, come to think about it, not unlike the teasels in the meadow.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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this old door. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

i’m not sure which old door it is, which doorway it graced. it was white when we carried it up from the basement storage room and placed it outside in the garden, over by the ferns, under the big pine, leaning against the old garage by the window. that this door began to peel back, revealing its rich green history, seems a meditation.

this very day – july 29 – has been a day of days through the years. the history peels back in my heart as i remember, back and back. i stand on the deck this morning, gazing at the old door that frames the beginnings of a rock garden, and nod to myself – in deference to the opening and closing of chapters.

the book of my story with this old house began on this day thirty-six years ago as we moved in, a hot midwest summer day filled with a u-haul and boxes and many hands of people helping. it has – as all stories – taken many turns, followed a windy – and sometimes broken – road, running parallel with the rest of life in all its iterations, all its paths and branches. but as i stand on the deck, admiring the door that is vulnerable to the weather and the sun, i know how far i, too, have come, how exposed my heart – to life.

it is no wonder i feel a certain attachment to old doors and windows. it is no wonder i am fond of peeling paint and the not-quite-perfect. it is no wonder i feel an affinity to this door in the garden over by the ferns, under the big pine, leaning against the old garage by the window.

there is so much more to yet reveal. layers back, layers forward. i can only hope be as beautiful as this old door.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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what else is real. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

i read one too many articles yesterday. and then i cried.

we can either pay attention to every single bit of madness – live inside the depraved minds and soulless hearts of what is happening right here and right now – or we can zero in – as well – on what else is real.

when my big brother died he was merely 41. i was 33 and expecting my second child. in my grief i could not – as much as i tried – grok how the world could go on if he could not feel it. i thought that was a new existential question for me – at that time – until this week when i read in an old notebook of reflections these words i had written at 18: “it’s strange – you die and the world goes on living and you’re not there.“

were i to write about mortality now – to dive into that unending mystery – i would likely echo these same thoughts, this same wrangling of the visceral, of evanescence.

so – what becomes the relevant? it is notwithstanding everything else that is happening. it is not ignoring the chaos, the insanity, the cruelty. we absolutely need pay mind to what is happening around us. we absolutely need be proponents of peace and democracy, humanitarianism, equality, accountability, critical thinking, the environment, integrity, morality – all of it.

we also absolutely need pay mind to the angst that is showing up as vibrations in our chest, exhaustion, depression, hopelessness. we absolutely need not sacrifice the all of us, the all of our precious and limited time. also relevant? a recognition that the world will go on, whether you are there or not.

and sometimes – because you have the same existential questions at 18 and 33 and 66 – sometimes you just need to say it’s all enough and refocus on what else is real.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

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not to be underestimated. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

this year – because i guess we are somewhat behind the gardener-curve – we fell in love with sweet potato vine. we planted a small lime green starter-plant in a pot on our deck, placing it on top a vintage stepladder. every single day we stand in awe out there, marveling at its growth, drinking in the color, peacock-proud of “our” accomplishment – which, as you know, only entailed transplanting it into a pot with some good dirt. mother nature did the rest. we were merely barely-consequential conduits in the process. we vow that next year – and i’ll put this on the calendar – we will get more lime-vines, for lime-joy is not to be underestimated.

because we – silly us – thought that there may be more of these – still – at the gorgeous they-grow-it-all-there nursery we go to, we had a little adventure there the other day.

we could – and do – spend hours wandering in and amongst the aisles and winding paths of this nursery. we are sponges – trying to learn a bit more and a bit more as we go. we ask the attendants there questions. we get answers rich in information and planting advice; it is a lesson in the gift of receiving lessons, of still learning.

we found a dark purple vine to put on the tall upright ladder on our deck and a licorice plant to go on a garden table, both on sale. we took note of what we might like to plant next year.

our front gardens are filled with switchgrasses and hydrangea, day lilies and sedum. our back gardens of ferns, grasses, daylilies, hosta, clematis are stalwart hosts of our herb potting garden. it’s really our deck and our patio that have room for a bit of creativity, annuals that captivate us.

we sat on the deck in the waning heat and light of day and talked about maybe adding a small raised bed next year – one of those galvanized metal planters. we deliberately veered away from current events. we rolled our eyes and vehemently shook our heads, not willing to ‘go there’. we are both aghast at the state of things – so many things under so many umbrellas. so, in our best wander-women-how-many-summers-do-we-truly-have-left-and-how-do-we-wish-to-spend-them mindset, we planned and dreamed and lived – for those minutes – in the small space taken up on earth by our deck, our house, our front yard and backyard. we bragged aloud – to each other – about the explosive growth of everything out back (including weeds). we know that this year we know a bit more than we did last year. i vow to write it all down so that we might draw from our new this-year knowledge next year.

we sigh and settle back in our old gravity chairs and watch the squirrels sip water at the birdbath. a breeze picks up off the lake and i close my eyes to memorize it all.

*****

we are trying to regroup, rethink and refocus our melange blogpost writing a bit. we – like you – know what is really happening in our world and do not need one more person – including ourselves – telling us the details of this saddest of descents destroying democracy and humanity. though we know our effort will not be 100% successful – for there is sooo much to bemoan in these everydays – we have decided to try and lean into another way – to instead write about WHAT ELSE IS REAL. this will not negate negativity, but we hope that it will help prescribe presence as antidote and balm for our collective weariness.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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DANCING IN THE FRONT YARD 24″x24″

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in the times i remember. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

in my mind’s eye i am sitting cross-legged on my growing-up front lawn. i am laying in a big field in the park. i am perched on the curb.

i am making clover chains.

back then – in simpler times – times with less awareness – times of innocence – i don’t think i noticed the complexity. i didn’t notice just how many tiny white flowers made up this one clover flower. i didn’t pay attention to the spectacular joining together of all these, the softest pale pink dusting, the clustering of beautiful rolled petals with green sheaths and raspberry-colored stems. I didn’t notice the clover flowers that were not spherical, for those were not conducive to chaining a necklace.

but now – now, i am smitten with the one sweet white clover flower. i am taken by the complicated and amazing make-up of this tiny blossom. i am overwhelmed by the exquisiteness of this singular beauty – in the midst of so, so, so many others – everywhere – in fields and fields of green clover.

i feel reminded…to be like the sweet grandson of our dear friends – who, with a large magnifying glass, studies the world to which he has access, aiming down at the ground to see leaves and bugs and flowers.

in the times i remember, i am holding a magnifying glass and i am looking at all the world to which i have access.

in the times i remember, i am seeing the tiniest things – the black swallowtail butterfly that dips over our yard – the caterpillar that consumed our dill swinging by to express a gratitude. or the bee on the wilting coneflower. or the hues of all the flowers in the meadow.

in the times i remember, i am immersing in the simplest things – the moments in the kitchen next to each other sous-chef-ing the ingredients for our tabouli: basil, parsley, mint, cucumbers, tomatoes, scallions, garlic – each rich in fragrance and texture. or washing and drying the dishes – by hand – together, ritual we sometimes practice at the end of the day.

in the times i remember, i am amazed by the sweet potato that grew pink shoots while in the stairwell basket. or the two tall cactus growing in the tiniest clay pot; neither suffering from so little dirt.

in the times i remember, the swell of the strings, the yearning of the low brass, the plaintive cello, the space between the notes, the sound of dogga clicking-clacking down the hall to us – all bring me to the right now, all-consume me.

in the times i remember, the white clover evokes visceral memories of flower necklaces, grassy conversations, few expectations.

in the times i remember, i feel just the moment at hand.

*****

we are trying to regroup, rethink and refocus our melange blogpost writing a bit. we – like you – know what is really happening in our world and do not need one more person – including ourselves – telling us the details of this saddest of descents destroying democracy and humanity. though we know our effort will not be 100% successful – for there is sooo much to bemoan in these everydays – we have decided to try and lean into another way – to instead write about WHAT ELSE IS REAL. this will not negate negativity, but we hope that it will help prescribe presence as antidote and balm for our collective weariness. xoxo, kerri & david.

*****

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

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carry it with. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

dear you.

we are trying to regroup, rethink and refocus our melange blogpost writing a bit. we – like you – know what is really happening in our world and do not need one more person – including ourselves – telling us the details of this saddest of descents destroying democracy and humanity. though we know our effort will not be 100% – for there is sooo much to bemoan in these everydays – we have decided to try and lean into another way – to instead write about WHAT ELSE IS REAL. this will not negate negativity, but we hope that it will help prescribe presence as antidote and balm for our collective weariness.

xoxo, kerri & david

***

in the tiniest liminal space while the river rivers, a frozen second of film captures a painting of swirling green. with no frame of reference – no smidge of bridge over the waterway, no shoreline of rock or underbrush, no logs or boulders or turtles or fish or heron, no sky, no horizon – this tiniest second – the moment it takes to snap the photograph – becomes etched in time and space and the mystery of the image is born.

what else is real…there is beauty in the pollen-filled river, beauty as it flows slowly – slogging its way downstream, a palette filled with the pollen of nearby trees, algae exploding from the heatwave. and as we stand above it – we gaze down at it – and i am astonished at the color, the swirls, the ever-changing etch-a-sketch, like a jackson pollack painting has come alive right before us.

and the liminal space – this very tiny liminal space that the river has identified and snap-immortalized in our camera – evokes for me – once again – how momentous this very moment – that we can see this. and it, gratefully, untriggers – if there is such a thing – even for the briefest of time – the amorphous and not-so-amorphous anxiety-about-these-very-days i have been feeling.

and so i pick up the chartreuse-and-black river and carry it with me.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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margin iris. margin girl. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

it took me by surprise – the iris in the middle of the cattails. we’ve hiked along these trails and through these wetlands so many times. yet we have never seen an iris here – bravely growing in the margin of the marsh.

we stopped and had a moment with the grace of the iris.

decades ago i was on a rare weekend trip with three girlfriends that ultimately changed the arc of things. our trip re-opened a door that had been slammed shut long ago. suddenly, recording my music rose from deep inside; it had seemed buried forever.

it wasn’t that I wasn’t a musician. i was. i was actively a minister of music at a church. i was teaching private piano lessons. i had been a public school choral director. i was a professional. but I wasn’t the one thing i wanted to be, the thing that felt like me, like my skin, doing what i was supposed to be doing – a recording and performing artist. that had been dashed early on – stolen by the insatiable appetite of a serial predator.

we four wandered around a small town in the corner near where wisconsin meets illinois meets iowa. they picked out an Italian restaurant for lunch – because as we wandered we talked about meatball bombers and good sauce.

but i was a margin girl – because the arts are not held – financial-reward-wise – as other professions and we had a tighter budget than most. so i didn’t feel comfortable with what i anticipated would be the cost of such a lunch at a restaurant high on a bluff in town. being a margin girl my budget was meager. i, instead, insisted on grabbing a meatball bomber at the local subway sandwich shop, encouraging them to stay with their plan to dine out. it has always been my stance that it’s not really about the food; it’s about the company.

i was the only one to buy a sub sandwich and quickly eat it out of its paper wrap at a formica-laminate table in the fast food place. but they kept me company. and then we all went to the restaurant where we were seated outside at a table with cloth napkins on a tree-lined patio. they dined on scrumptious-looking meatballs on crusty italian bread overflowing with sauce and melted fresh mozzarella with lovely stemmed glasses of wine. and i kept them company. i felt silly and out of sync with my friends, who teased me about the quality of their lunch versus mine. there was a $6 difference in the cost of the sandwich and i can’t remember the expense of a glass of wine plus tip for the meal.

i never forgot that day. it was a profound experience for me – a defining margin-moment.

years later, on our way out west, d and i stopped in this town. we did a little walking and shopping and then – very deliberately – we went to the restaurant on the hill and ordered giant meatball subs and a glass of wine. still marginpeople – particularly as artists in our mid-50s – but embracing it, proud of it, working with it instead of against it.

so the small beautiful iris tucked within the cattails in the marsh really captured my attention. a margin-dweller.

we admired her for several minutes and then we hiked on. and i quietly cheered for her. just like i cheer every time we get into our 282,000 mile littlebabyscion.

“you go,” i cheered, “you go, baby!’

*****

GALENA © 1995 kerri sherwood

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

because most of us in this country have deep ancestral roots in other parts of the world, most of us have actual relatives in other parts of the world.

in the social media free-for-all that is the current environment, we are privy to what these folks are doing just as they are – at least superficially – aware of what we all are up to. i shudder every time i think of this.

i wonder what on earth they are thinking – as they watch the pathetic taking place here in these un-united states. i wonder if they are careful to discern what each of their american-soil relatives believe in – individually – rather than generalizing and lumping us all together in one universal stance, distilling us onto one political bandwagon and its associated numbness of morality. i wonder if they notice who is speaking up, who is tacitly – complicitly – silent. i wonder if they are shaking their heads, grateful to not be here, not to be gathered around the “family” table, not to be sitting and visiting in a lazy boy in the middle of the great divide. i wonder if they wonder about what happened to the heart of it all.

no national moral compass. fatal wounds to people’s most basic needs – physiological, safety, love and belonging, esteem. nary a nod to the constitution, to the law of the land, to staunch protection of democratic principles and freedoms, to respect of the people…of all the populace.

the depravity is pathetic.

it is all pathetic.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

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