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protect the value. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

my sweet momma had some quirks.

instead of taking a shopping bag with us when we shopped, she did the opposite. it seemed to work – we’d find the things we were looking for when we did not have the shopping bag.

instead of taking an umbrella for the impending rain, she’d take an umbrella to quell the rain. that also worked much of the time.

it was sort of like the opposite of preparedness. manifesting what she wished for, staving off the rain, inviting the bargains – all seemingly achieved by opposite actions. even though my sweet momma was a staunch girl scout supporter and volunteer – with the motto “be prepared” – she also exercised her own juju as she went about life.

though i laugh when i think about it – and have told d about these itsy-bitsy quirks of my mom (unlike me – with no quirks at all – teehee) – i tend to take the polar opposite action. i put the umbrella in my backpack. i take the fold-up shopping bag. i put snacks in my purse. i tuck duct tape and tools, extra oil and blankets into our old vehicles. and i bring the phone charger when we leave home for any destination, event or activity over an hour away.

so when we saw the weather report that issued wind warnings – which we and our new electric mast can now certainly attest to – we brought in the windchimes. they are really beautiful and their soulful, resonant sound is of reassurance to us from the backyard, so we did not want them harmed by the coming winds. we often take off the clapper if the weather is too gusty, but this time d brought the whole kit-n-kaboodle inside. we both felt better seeing them safely on the rug in the sunroom. just a small action, but a nod to being prepared for what was on its way, to protecting their value to us.

it’s hard – extremely hard – not to take these little lessons we have all learned along the way and apply them to the present-day in our country. it feels like utter chaos, with no real preparation, no real plan, nothing but self-serving agenda reeling around and running the show. it is utterly exhausting.

we are in the very tiny lull in the middle of the blizzard that started last evening. radar shows that we are in this small white blob in the middle of a gigantic blue blizzard field. soon the snow and the winds will start howling again; it is to go on for several more hours. the gusty sleet pummeled the windows last night as i worried about trees and power lines and electric poles and new electric masts. we take a deep breath, getting ready for the rest.

it temporarily took my mind off of war and mass deportation, healthcare and social safety net programs and exponentially rising costs, extremism and voter disenfranchisement, a justice system and leadership sycophants hiding blatant sex-trafficking, abject cruelty and an absolute lack of regard for fellow humans complete with disdain for any social differentiation.

i don’t know what that all says about preparedness. it certainly raises some outraged emotions. i do feel like “they” have been preparing for years – stoking up hatred and bigotry to the gills – conniving and in cahoots with the richest – and clearly most cavalier – people in the world – with the dedication and commitment to take over everything. they have prepared. and they have not prepared. they have plans and they shoot from the hip. they are the wind blasts and they are surprised by the pushback and the guards against the battering wind.

the wind last night kept me awake. because i know what can happen. and i want to protect us from all that harm.

why is it that so many in this country’s leadership seem to care so little about how battered this country is becoming? where are the checks and balances on this administration? how is complicity so rampant? how is it that there are so many citizens who seem to care less about being in the middle of this storm – the unbelievable corruption, the outrageous grift, the isolation, taunting the rest of the world, the clear attempt of authoritarian takeover? is there no natural tendency within them to protect the country – our cherished country – from all that harm?

what is the value of this country, its democracy, its people, and its laws to all of us?

i glance over at the treasured pipes on the rug. knowing that soon we’ll hang them back in the tree and the chimes will once again float in the air, i’m grateful we took precautions to keep them from being destroyed.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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zig choices. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

“because of some strange little voice inside, i zigged where i was expected to zag…”(anna quindlen)

aging is a funny thing. you come screeching to a halt at this place – a kind of dr. seuss waiting place – and you have the chance to make some decisions. which way do you go now? what route do you take? where are you headed?

or maybe you come screeching to a halt – having been on this one solid path – to a place – a kind of dr. seuss waiting place – and you linger there, looking around, out of breath and a little bit tired. in front of you, choices fan out, beckoning you. you sit down, in the lazy boy of havinggottenthere and you ponder, panting, exhausted.

for, all of a sudden, you don’t feel compelled to drive forward on one straight line. you are suddenly empowered by the realization that none of it – and all of it – counts. you have begun to realize that the dust you will leave behind will not be measured by accomplishment. it, likely, won’t even be remembered by accomplishment. for those things dim and boxes of those remain in the basement, ready for some thrift store or antique shoppe. mementos have gathered dust and certificates have faded on office walls. the hills you climbed, the battles you waged, they have evanesced. the trophies, the medals, the awards, the stock options – all so greatly valued at one time – have lost their lustre.

so you take stock. your havinggottenthere lazy boy slowly rocks while you stare ahead and think about what path might “align with your purpose, peace and trust in the future” (the “best path” as defined by google).

and something is itching inside you to go rogue, to take a path no one expects, to zig where they expect you to zag.

and, as it appears on the twiggy hogweed map, you can always backtrack back to the waiting place – to re-evaluate, to rest, to try something else on for size.

there is a freedom to this aging thing. (granted, there would be more of a freedom if there was not chaos.)

this freedom to explore without expectation, to try without any measure of succeeding, to grab onto more experiences – but without preconceived notions, to discard the safe path and embrace a bit of fear, to muse-work and branch-out or sit-and-stare with abandon.

there is a freedom knowing that as much as one matters, our tiny existence is yet tiny. and what we feel at dawn as we breathe in early spring-like air or listen to birds collecting at the feeder or pull up the covers for just a little longer – all that matters.

there are moments i am stunned by the ability to feel. physically. emotionally. the ability to FEEL. it’s shocking. i recognize that there have been days – maybe even weeks or months or years – when i paid little to no heed to being able to feel. lost in the mayhem of everylittlethingthatmustgetdone i missed it. we have all been racing to finish.

and yet, here we are – in this time of utter chaos – where everything seems upside down, corruption is rampant, the country is flailing while its leaders violently push it backwards, isolate it, make it a pariah – and THIS happens to be our time.

we feel bits of wisdom pop up evvvvvery now and again, evvvvvvery here and there, through fallowed earth like snowdrops or crocuses desperate to emerge. we stand up. we speak up. we speak out. we cuss. we bellylaugh. we rail. we inhale, another deep breath.

we are feeling. we are making time to feel.

we are considering our zigs.

*****

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

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stoke up. [kerri’s blog on flawed wednesday]

the outside world got really quiet. the snow fell most of the afternoon and into early evening. we decided to go nowhere, immersed in the horrific news of the day. it was saturday, the last day of february.

i suppose we could have gone out – there were errands to be done. i suppose we could have gone somewhere to entertain ourselves or be entertained. i suppose we could have tipped a glass at some bistro or bar, shared a meal together, people-watched.

but this morning had brought us the overnight news of a new war conflict and – as we tried to process this new insanity – while others posted patriotic country songs clearly in favor of this pedo-files-distraction/this follow-the-corrupt-money-trail/this what-the-hell-is-this-anyway – we just weren’t up to leaving our home.

i suppose that (at least some) of mother nature will go on after we humans have utterly destroyed this planet, after we have made it impossible to live with each other, after every safety has been discarded and the world has become literally toxic in every single way.

i suppose that it may still snow. there may still be quiet days, when there is a hush outside. there may still be sun. there may still be stars. all that is likely. it will be our loss.

this morning – as i write this – the sun is in my eyes. it is bathing the quilt in light and i can’t look out the window – it is full of bright.

i can hear the birds outside. they are at the birdfeeder, on barney, feasting on birdseed and sunflower seeds. they are at the birdbath, cleaned and filled with water. everything else is still quiet, as it is early.

i’m thinking it doesn’t hurt to stoke up on these things – these sights, these sounds. it doesn’t hurt to hold them close or store them away.

because right now the future seems utterly uncertain.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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anything that helps. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

it helps. this tiny fake lodgepole pine helps.

it’s dark when dogga’s cold nose wakes us; it stays dark while we sip coffee. we watch out the window and talk quietly, waiting for the sky to lighten and the sun to rise. we have happy lights on the windows over our headboard and those are lit as we wait for natural light to fill our room.

but now – in the middle of all the chaos happening, the middle of this dark period of time, the middle of sadness and disappointment and fear, the middle of divisiveness and rifts and anger, the middle of uncertainty and insecurity – now, we light this lodgepole pine. every morning. it is directly in front of us – through the single french door and across the sitting room. its light is a beacon for us, not even an exaggeration to say this mustard seed is like a lighthouse.

we’ve – of course – taken down all the holiday decorations. everything looks a bit drab in comparison to the sparkle we all add to the season. but we’ve added some more happy lights, cause, dayummm, we truly need them. on the ficus tree. on the old door that stands against the wall in the living room. in the sunroom. and candles at night – wherever we are.

you may tire of hearing of our happy lights – and i understand if you’re already there. we all have to do what helps keep us centered, keep us grounded, keep us vigilant, keep us hopeful. happy lights are what do it for us.

i remember, years ago, visiting mammoth cave. we purchased tickets for the tour that takes you down, down, down underground, where you walk the walkways of the cave, where they take a moment to turn off all the lights so that you might experience the darkness of that place. it’s bracing. i have decided i am not a cave person. i cannot imagine the intense difficulty of working in the mines; i cannot imagine exploring caves for research. some people have way more moxie than i do.

the things happening in this country are beginning to feel as dark as that immense cave system. no, that’s generous. they do feel as dark as that cave, as dark as any cave beneath any towering mountain, deep into the earth, without light.

it seems obvious we need to choose a luminary. we need to gather and stoke this light. we need to bring everything we’ve got. if we wish this sea-to-shining-sea to remain a democracy, we need to stand in the light, light up all the dark dank corners of vitriol and authoritarianism, shine light on that which is hidden, on twisted lies and untruths that protect the most powerful. we – bravely – need to speak up and speak out. we need to expose the shadows for what they are.

and if it takes happy lights to get there, then so be it.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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

every single day. the insanity, the chaos – it is all exhausting.

there is nothing beautiful about the goings-on in this america-the-beautiful as it is led by cruelty and bigotry beyond belief. we are inside their sickness, a violent extremism that is gutting the heart of this democracy.

it makes me lean on a card i have in my studio. i received it from a dear friend in 2012, shortly after my sweet poppo died. i’ve quoted it before, but it certainly bears repeating. it reads:

“life is slippery. here, take my hand.” (h. jackson browne, jr. )

now, it seems, is a good time to take one another’s hand.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

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so much more. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

it goes by fast on the train – almost a blur, but not quite.

“you are beautiful,” painted on the side of an old building.

in the middle of all the ugly going on right now, it is a good reminder: not to lose – or forget about – our own value, our own light, our own beauty.

somehow the most basic gets distorted in the chaos. somehow we put our joy to the side, we drop our view from the kaleidoscope of exquisite, we forget that this one and only moment is ours and we are here for it.

we simply cannot allow the turpitude to rob us.

there is so much more.

we need intend to keep the glorious close.

transcendent.

“beauty will save the world.” (fyodor dostoevsky)

*****

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

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transcend the sickness. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

we pass a certain house on our way to a favorite hiking trail. it is clearly a hoarding house. there is stuff everywhere and if the garage door is open – even just a bit – you can see that the hoarding continues in the garage – piles and piles of things and things and things. it’s creepy. and you can feel it as you pass by. you feel the suffocating feeling of too-much-stuff.

i once knew someone who was a hoarder. he was unable to transcend it and so his house had tiny pathways to move from one room to another. all the rest of the space was filled with books and magazines and newspapers. there were piles on every step leading to the second floor – so much so that there was no way – anymore – to get there. the second floor was essentially blocked off forever – or, at least, until someone might clean it all out. i found it disturbing to be at his house, smothered by high piles on every side of me and no place that was even near empty or calm or welcoming a sit-down. it only took one visit to convince me that i would never return. i could not breathe. there was no space.

in both of these cases – and in a farm out in the county that we’ve visited with a variation on the same theme – we were privy to – inside – a sickness of the person whose home was emitting hoarding frequencies.

THIS is how i feel about this country now. we are walking – all of us – inside the administration’s sickness. there are few places to breathe, few ways to sit down outside of the enveloping dismal cloud of narcissism and revenge and selfish cruelty. there is little calm; instead, chaos reigns.

is this what authoritarianism feels like? is this what an autocracy feels like? is this what fascism feels like?

they are hoarding away our country, with little access to its democracy, its freedoms, its decency, its humanity.

we need the junkman to come and clean it all out – toting enough dumpsters for all their project agenda – a nation-sized mr.clean to wipe it all down, trash the filthy intentions, clear a path with space and air and possibility.

we need recognize this for what it is – truly – and we need to transcend the sickness. or breathing will become impossible.

*****

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gnarly. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

“ooh child, things are gonna get easier

ooh child, things’ll get brighter

ooh child, things are gonna get easier

ooh child, things’ll get brighter

some day, yeah, we’ll put it together and we’ll get it undone

some day when your head is much lighter

some day, yeah, we’ll walk in the rays of a beautiful sun

some day when the world is much brighter…”

(“ooh child” – stan vincent 1970 the five stairsteps)

it is hard for me to avoid. i simply cannot help it. or maybe i just can’t resist the impulse.

we play rummikub every monday and thursday with 20 after we share dinner together. and – every single time – something one of them – d or 20 – says, makes me break into song.

we were talking about the obvious – you know – the state of our country. it was in an unusual fit of optimism. it was right after we talked about bernie sanders and aoc and the pushback of intellectually woke people against authoritarianism etc etc etc (i know you hear that line now – from the king and i – uh-huh, uh-huh – etc etc etc).

it had been a week since we had seen 20 (which is also unusual) and much had happened – on both sides – so there was a lot to talk about.

in that week we had found a different trail. it wound its way through a rural landscape and we enjoyed its newness. and then there was this tree. one sturdy old gnarly oak in the forefront of a blank field. stunning. perhaps a hundred years old. perhaps more. its silhouette against the sky so intense, strikingly gnarly in a good way.

we have such an appreciation for these lands of space through which we hike. we have hiked out east, down south, out west, up north. we’ve hiked in county parks, state parks, national parks. we dream of thru-hiking one day on one of the national trails. we hold these places in high regard, grateful for the glorious beauty, the potential for peacefulness, the celebration of the wild.

and so our conversation of late and of that night – of course – is also about the threat to these places (in addition to all the other gnarly-extremely-twisted corrupt threats of the administration too long to list or even grok in any conscience-based way.) we talked about our new forest preserve hike and we talked about national parks. and it feels sickening inside to think of the decimation of any of this. and all for the wealth of the wealthiest.

in the middle of our rummikub game – me…stuck with gnarly chips – a double of black 13s and a double of 1s and the grasp of the plastic trophy seeming bleak – and in the middle of the accompanying punctuations of news-chaos-of-the-day conversation – it suddenly came to mind, rose to the top.

the song ooh child was written about times of strife.

i started singing.

and hoping.

that some day we – this broken country – will put it together and get it undone. and then we’ll walk in the rays of a beautiful sun – when the world is much brighter.

they rolled their eyes, poking fun at the records spinning in my brain. and, for a few minutes, we all laughed.

and then the lyrics sank in…

…sigh.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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something else out there. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

tens of thousands of people are attending their rallies. for good reason. bernie and aoc are speaking to the heart of america. they are the shining light – that glimmer you can see through the gap in the inosculated trees. their message to hard-working middle class america is balm for people exhausted-by-the-twisted-depraved-bullshit-warp-of-oligarchy, people like us.

we sat in the adirondack chairs in waning sun and listened to bernie sanders as he spoke. his words were – to me – like the sound of birds early in the sunrise or the wind chimes out back in a gentle breeze. direct to our hearts, we found ourselves hopeful, perhaps for no other reason than they “got it”. there is another way; there is sense instead of chaos.

it was like stepping outside the sickness foisted upon this country.

we are merely two days away from the possibility of an intensely corrupt chess move from the current just-itching-to-be-dictator administration – deliberately planned, contrived and soon-to-be-executed. the number of people involved in or supporting this evil is overwhelming. up close now, it makes me simultaneously nauseous and breathless.

i stood on the trail, gazing through the space in the trees – trying to see clearly. i attempted to get my camera to focus on what was beyond instead of rough tree bark, a different depth of field. it couldn’t. i could see light and color in the slit, but it was blurry, overtaken by the trees in the forefront.

but there’s something else out there, something better, something beyond what’s on deck now.

we need to focus on that, and diligently seek out that hope, that color, that light.

*****

HOPE © 2005 kerri sherwood

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a big percentage of zero. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

because every day brings another round of chaos, we will dedicate this week’s smack-dab to the insanity of tariffs. because our country definitely needs more corruption at this point. because our country needs to be isolationist, self-serving, narcissistic, powermongering. because our country needs the rich to be richer and the poor to be much, much poorer. because this administration is extorting the hell out of anyone and everyone – and getting away with it. because this is a time of gross incompetence and evil.

because we – personally – have so many things of value – big value, big-big-value-you’d-be-amazed-at-how-much-value – it occurs to me that if everything will cost significantly more, than – following the thread of insanity – everything we already have is worth significantly more. voila!

so let’s do a little inventory. because these tariffs “aren’t supposed to affect us” mere mortals. let’s twist that a bit (because twisting things seems to be in vogue). let’s apply these taaaariffs to the stuff we already have – so we can inflate our own [perceived] value in this time of warped economic instability. the ridiculous begets more ridiculous.

take our vehicles, starting with our brand-newest.

that makes littlebabyscion’s 2006-280,000 miles value rise a dramatic 25% based on the announced auto tariff. or – it makes littlebabyscion’s value rise 24% – if you base it on the fact that it is a japanese automobile, a toyota. either way, the real news is – drumroll – that any percentage of zero is zero.

well, that should be enough examples.

because it seems like this administration wishes to poor-us-down (in addition to dumb-us-down and bigot-us-up and extort-us-all) we will just sit here and hold onto LBS. a 25% tariff on new automobiles makes a new automobile for us – mere mortals – absolutely impossible. especially when we don’t know what we don’t know – about the coming days of healthcare and medicare and social security and student loans and interest rates and banking security and the price of a can of diced tomatoes or black beans. not to mention the fallout of ignoring climate change and spreading disease and decreasing water supply and the annihilation of civil rights.

it’s exhausting. i wonder if these people stay up at night trying to think up all the cruelest things they can do to us – the populace – the mere mortals – as well as everyone else – around the world – sans those in their chaos-club. but i know better. all this was pre-written in the project playbook and those in the bully–club are just gleefully following the plays.

if thinking this is all ok is what it takes to be in that club – or on the red bandwagon – or in the unforgivable cheering squad on the sidelines – then i’m glad i’m not in the club.

it’s empty of heart, void of soul and full of sadistic insanity.

and any percentage of nothing is nothing.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

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