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this land. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

right between the best fried-rice-restaurant and the grocery store is a farmer’s field. i wonder how long it will be there. there is something very wisconsin about this field and it’s somehow reassuring to see it planted instead of cleared and flagged and waiting for some random building to be built.

on our drive out to one of our woodsy trails we used to pass many farmers’ fields. not so much anymore.

instead, there are massive warehouses – like a crop of giant metal and cement buildings, all trying to disguise their existence with berms created between the gigantic loading-dock-loaded warehouses and the road. as if that negates their impact on what was out-in-the-county, what was farmland, what was natural resource, what was picturesque, what was wisconsin.

i’m not sure how many national parks i have been to – there are many – i’d have to make a comprehensive list. add to that state parks and county parks and city parks and there are many places i have cherished, full of nature, beauty, legacy. i do know that there are so many more i would like to visit, to engage with, places to be in wonder. if you have ever had even a moment of stillness outside – reverent in the middle of the middle of vast beauty – you likely understand.

but in the middle of the middle of all of the chaos in this country right now, among other atrocities there is lurking an attempted takeover of our national parks. there is an administrative desire to deforest, to mine, to drill – all in the name of the almighty dollar. it is unconscionable to think of these national treasures stripped of their gloriousness. i cannot imagine the kind of shortsightedness that overrides good sense, the kind of greed that overrides the protection of these lands and the wildlife that depends on them. i cannot imagine the embrace of climate-change denialism, of the irresponsibility of environmental ruin. i cannot imagine the cavalier attitudes of people who just don’t care about anything but making more and more and even-more money.

but – even right here – right in southeastern wisconsin on backroads that used to be charming – companies riding on the oligarch-wagon have bought up land and changed the landscape. and it will never be the same.

it is incumbent upon us – as heirs of this land – to protect our national parks, to speak up, to speak out, to resist the decimation – before we lose it all.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

EARTH INTERRUPTED VI – 50.25″ x 41″ – david robinson

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better for it. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

we were exhausted after we arrived home. chicago is a lot of stimulus all at once. we had taken the train down to avoid commuter hours on the highway; we took our dear friend to a pre-op appointment.

zooming down and taxiing over to the medical center, taxiing back and zooming back up wasn’t hard. but you can definitely feel the frenetic energy in the city – an energy that is pulsing and alive. as the taxi driver chose the underground roads i marveled at the intensity of traffic – everywhere.

even before our son settled in the city, we made a point to get down there. but we do know there are people who choose to stay away, who don’t necessarily find joy in the pace or textures of a big city. we personally cannot imagine not taking the opportunity to immerse in something different, some place that is different. i don’t see us living in a big city at this point in our lives, but we’re grateful to have cities close by to remind us of the beautiful diversity of people.

there was a volunteer at the entrance to the surgeon’s suite. she was helpful in directing traffic as people arrived. she seemed a bit rote, though welcoming, not warm. until someone sat near and started having a conversation with her – about flowers. she came alive and spirited and it was a reminder of how easy it is for us to close off from others – other people, other customs, other lives, other places. until.

when we had walked in, she asked if we had an appointment. our friend said he did and she turned to look at the two of us – to which i stated, “fan club”.

“everyone needs support,” she replied.

it does one good to leave. staying put makes you complacent. staying put makes everything that is normal just ordinary. it doesn’t give you any sense of awe about how others live, any in-another’s-shoes insight into the complications and complexities of day-to-day life. it doesn’t help you remember – or even try to imagine – the entire population of this nation – how vast, how freckled with differences, the gift of ‘other’.

we sat by the window and gazed outside from our vantage point on the 15th floor. traffic below, the sounds of the city, a building directly opposite us. i imagined the life going on in that building, yet another medical complex. i watched the newcomers as they arrived, brows furrowed with worry or weariness. i imagined the lives of people i would never see again. i watched the suite-greeter, multiplying that one lovely person who i did not know by the 2.7 million others in the city.

and i knew that soon we would board a train and head back up to wisconsin. we’d sit in the kitchen on a cold, rainy late afternoon. we’d eat leftovers. we’d talk about conversations with our taxi drivers and the smooth travel experience of the day. we’d be both grateful for even the briefest of times in the city and grateful for the quiet of our old house. we’d pet on dogga and go to bed early.

and we would be better for it. because we would remember that we are not alone in this world. we are connected to others in the same quest for breathing and thriving. we are enriched, choosing to – even briefly – go somewhere unknown, do something we have to figure out, learn something new, take in the energy of so many, many people – living.

“life is not a spectator sport.” (attributed to jackie robinson)

*****

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

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the real essence. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

and the wisp became real.

and, today, thirty-five years have flown by.

one of my favorite mother’s day cards came from david last year. we make all our cards for each other and on his he drew me, looking at a starry sky. there are two arrows pointing at individual stars and inside he wrote, “for the two times you wished upon a star.”

the wisps of miracles-of-all-kinds floating about the galaxy – the ones that became my children – have my everlasting gratitude.

for i have learned of the infinite spectrum that is motherhood. the triumphs and the failings, the angst and the bliss, the hugs and the pushaways, the unconditional love that somehow birthed an extra heart when each child was born – gracing me with whole hearts for each of them and with a heart to do the rest of the work, the heavy lifting of living.

in a world that is full of galactic nonsense, the real essence becomes more and more clear to me: each wisp of intense beauty, tiny nuances of time passing, the dust that is me – in a river full of stardust.

*****

happy birthday my beloved girl.

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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at home. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

a few years ago we watched a show about housing in the bay area of california. the housing crunch was producing outlandishly high rents, making it impossible for workers – particularly younger people at the outset of their careers – to live anywhere near where they worked. an answer – it seemed – was to offer sleeping pods – bunk bed pods stacked upon each other or next to each other – in a communal living space. with very mixed reviews to these confined space morsels, people moved in and made tiny personal space within communal living their home.

in the many years that our girl was working in the snow industry of the high elevation mountains, she – like every other professional snowboard or ski coach or instructor, every other industry worker from restaurants, boutiques, ski shops, etc – was faced with the impossible task of finding a place to live. costs far outweighed earnings and, so, either these dedicated employees shared spaces (often questionably-worthy of passing basic health standards) renting the rights to a bedroom and a shelf in the refrigerator or they drove extended commutes in all kinds of treacherous weather. it was nerve-wracking, to say the least, as a mom – ever concerned with the daily living conditions of her child (who was far more tolerant of the living conditions than i might have been). post-pandemic exacerbated these circumstances and rentals are scarce or aggressively priced.

for the longest time we have watched house hunters on hgtv. though there are many fix-up kinds of shows, our favorite is the basic house hunters where you watch people select a home to purchase from three homes you virtually-visit with them. you are aware that there have been many other homes considered before this ultimate decision, but you are steeped in the choice between three – with the information of their purchasing budget, their desired amenities and location and a walking tour through the house. it is astounding to us – over and over again – how much a basic house costs these days. we watch – totally immersed – and try to decide which house will be chosen, always blown away by what that choice will cost the buyers.

and each day – for a multitude of reasons – we thank our own home. its old house juju suits us. it is our sanctuary. it looks like us, feels like us, buffets us from the world and renews us. every one of its quirks – that we love – reminds us to love our own quirks. every one of its tiny beauties reminds us of our own tiny beauties. we find peace there and we find a jumping-off place for challenges and self-exploration.

and as i write this, i am aware that – if we are lucky enough to have any physical place we call home – we each make it into what we need. we embrace whatever its circumstance, its location, its imperfection or perfection. we find the space where we feel comfort and reassurance and the ability to be exactly who we are.

some day we would love to travel in an old vw minibus (or one of those amazing converted vans our son-in-law creates), carrying with us all we need for extended periods of time, seeking home in high mountains and canyonlands, deserts or meadowlands, atlantic or pacific beaches, northern forests.

some day we would love to thru-hike one of the national trails, carrying all we need in backpacks on our backs.

either way, i’m pretty certain – even now, even before we have tried either dream – we will feel at home, at peace, in our skin.

“remember, the entrance door to the sanctuary is inside you.” (rumi)

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this DR THURSDAY

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light-blue and blonde. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

somewhere around 1984 or 1986 or so i totally splurged on a dress. it had a background of light blue with puffed-up shoulders that narrowed along my forearm to my wrist, like a juliet sleeve. the bodice was fitted and the dress was knee-ish length. it was a pricey $35 and i wore it only “for good”.

i’m pretty amazed thinking about that treasured dress because i am not really a light-blue person. now, i love light-blue sky and light-blue robin’s eggs and light-blue forget-me-nots and the lightish-blue denim jacket that was my poppo’s, but light-blue in general is not a color i wear.

were i to wear it, however, i would have the tones of this photograph…reeds and sky on an early spring day.

i could have stood and stared at the reeds for a long time. as it was, i did stand and stare at them for quite a while, lost in the ballet that was driven by the wind.

and in those moments, i never once thought about what is happening in the world right now, the chaos and destruction. instead, i was dancing with the reeds, immersed in light blue sky and blonde plumes.

at this point, we are finding it necessary to try and escape our thinking minds. overwrought with angst is not a good way to spend time. so we step out of time and hike or cook or write or give belly-bellies to our dogga. we dream of places to go and trips to take and projects to embark upon. we continue to sort and clean out, donate and toss. we don’t – we can’t – spend every single waking moment trying to solve something that we – alone – cannot solve.

somewhere along the line i gave away that light-blue-puffy-shouldered dress. i wonder if someone cut it up for a quilt, much like i will do with a little-house-on-the-prairie type dress i remember absolutely loving in 1982 and which i found in the dress-up-and-pretend bin downstairs. that dress had big layered ruffles – which apparently are back in style. as a person who is now somehow always peripheral to trending fashion, it’s surprising to see flouncy ruffles out and about.

the dirt trail, dancing reeds and unlimited sky don’t seem to care what i wear. their light-blue and blonde gift is not simply lack of apparel-judgment or vogue-couture-wincing.

their gift is what they offer to us in presence. engaged in the ballet, the dress-memories, the air around me, i learn – once again – to stand still in the center of the moment.

and for that i am grateful.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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in an insane world. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

in an insane world, barney is sane.

barney has been stalwart, steadfast, unwaveringly standing in the garden through every infamous weather challenge – the rain, the sleet, the snow, the ice and the wind, the extreme heat, the drought.

it is one of the most gorgeous things in our backyard. we have watched it age, its wrinkles, its furrows, its jowls. we have watched it struggle to stay young, fresh, shellacked. we have watched it give in – to time and the elements. and, in that giving-in-ness, we have watched grace in real life.

in this insane world, i have thanked our old house and its painted-wood countertops, its old floors, its cracked plaster, its doorknob-less six panel doors. i have admired the tile floor in the bathroom and the way light streams in through the double-hungs. i have relished the paintings on our walls and the fabulous chunks of concrete that serve our living room. i have whispered to our house and i have thanked its familiarity and its comfort. i have taken refuge in its security. i have reveled in our comforter, our dogga at our feet, coffee by our side, happy lights. i have simplified need and put want to the side.

in this insane world, i have patted littlebabyscion as i get in and out, stroked big red as i have walked past it in the driveway. i have noted with great appreciation the wild geranium and the day lilies pushing up through cold dirt, the buds on breck. i have sat on adirondack chairs on the deck – still a bit bundled up – watching birds and squirrels, sipping wine and eating maybe too many chips. i have been grateful.

and i have gazed at barney-the-piano, over there, in the garden. i have felt it steadying me.

in this insane world, i have thanked barney.

“pardon my sanity in a world insane.” (emily dickinson – and barney)

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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riding wild horses. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

david, mark and i stood by the dyed harbor in the wind. mark commented that he did not have a painting of st patrick’s day green, rusty brown, cement beige. we told him that he did now. because we had made it so – as we stood there – “totally looks like a mark rothko,” we opined as we viewed the photograph i had just taken. mark laughed – in that other-dimension way we imagined. i reminded him of green and maroon – and my dedication to this painting at the milwaukee art museum. he was amused and agreed that emerald, rust and cement was – maybe – a worthy addition.

david just finished a piece he painted for me. it is stunning, both visually and emotionally. a really large canvas, it will find a home in my studio, where i can be reminded of the freedom – of space, of life, of voice, of love – it represents.

i have always wanted a horse and so he gave me one. this painting. and you can see – by the repose of my face – how undeniably happy it makes me, the peace it bestows, breathing the very air of all the universe.

it is said that mark rothko sought to make paintings that would bring people to tears. “i’m interested only in expressing basic human emotions – tragedy, ecstasy, doom and so on.” as an artist, i cannot imagine any other reason to create other than to tap in, to elicit, evoke, to acknowledge human emotions.

when i stepped onto the floor of the basement – off the last wooden step – i stared at the painting in progress. it was potent for me. it was a painting of an arrival, of sorts. though David’s title is in dreams she rides wild horses, the reality for me is the wild horse of voice. it is the gallop of speech, the beginning of the release of silence, the horse i never yet had. i wept as i told him.

mark appeared suddenly, standing on the basement floor with me. he stepped under one of the studio spotlights and called over to d, “good work, robinson. way to make her cry.”

d looked surprised and glanced at me calling back, “thanks, rothko!” before i wrapped my grateful arms around him, “yeah, good work, robinson.”

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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

there is something deeply rewarding about hiking on a snow-covered trail.

at any moment, you can turn around and see evidence of your having been there, evidence of your passing-through. there is no question. you have been there.

for us, the imprint of our hiking shoes meshed with a couple other boots, hoof prints of deer, tiny handprints of raccoons, the triangular prints of bunnies, the familiar prints of squirrels with a few dog paw prints and horseshoes. we had all passed by. separately. together. in community.

in the quietude of the snowscape, we pushed on a bit further. it had been a bit since we had been hiking outside – the weather was frigid and there were other things on our plate. but the peacefulness of the woods, the partially-frozen river, the familiar wind of the trail kept us going on this day.

though there is less variation in color on this winter’s day, there are innumerable textures and the fine differences in muted tones are peaceful, surrounding us in hushed comfort – like an old quilt – despite the cold wind.

this particular trail is an out-and-back. and so, we encountered our own footprints in every turn of the path on our way back. anyone hiking after us would wonder who had walked before, just as we wondered the same.

arriving at the trailhead and then littlebabyscion we were tired. but ever reminded that we each choose our path. we choose what to leave behind – our prints on the world – our existing – from the boots we wear to the care we have for all else on our path. we are cohabitants on this good earth. it is up to each of us us to sustain mutual respect in the all-too-finite.

there will be some evidence of our passing-through. it is my hope that what we leave – in the snow, in the dirt, in any wake we leave from our time here – will be as peaceful as this muted winter day on our trail.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

INSTRUMENT OF PEACE – mixed media 48″ x 91″

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in the seats of america. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

i would rather drive than be driven. relatively easily solvable. i would rather fly than be flown. there is one teensy problem with that one though. i do not have the qualifications to fly a jet airplane. and so, if i wish to travel via jet from one place to another, i have to give it up – control, that is.

for me, it is not so much about control as it is about motion sickness. if my brain – sans bonine/dramamine/large quantities of ginger chews – can see what my intention is as i drive/fly, than i am able to go with the flow, so to speak, and my equilibrium seems to adjust. i never did get a pair of those funky anti-motion-sick glasses, so that is one thing i haven’t tried. but wearing a pair of those – in addition to a mask – onboard an airplane is sure to get me some looks.

i was nervous when my children were little and i had to fly places – away from them – for concerts or shows. giving over control to someone i did not know at the helm required more than a bit of trust for me. i had to consciously work at it once i was a mom, with much prayer and self-talk throughout the flights. ultimately, as time went by and i safely arrived at venues and back home, i learned – slowly – to give over, to trust that the person in the pilot’s seat had all of our best interests at heart. i learned – slowly – to utter a prayer for her or his clearheadedness and expertise, sit back and relax a little.

but now times are different. we just recently flew – pretty much right after a couple aircraft disasters had taken place and many FAA personnel had been fired – introducing more risk – and i found myself wishing we had had the option to drive. trust me, i do know that driving is more dangerous than flying, but – remember – i get to be behind the wheel so it all feels a little different. i managed to keep my calm and fly – several legs – out west and back.

but the idea of control has stuck with me.

because here we are – in the seats of america – with madmen at the helm. here we are – sitting in a democracy being taken apart, being dismantled piece by piece. here we are – citizens of a country in which every check and balance is going unchecked, where oversight is being eliminated, where the core of our republic is being shredded.

this is most definitely a time to be absolutely worried about control. the risk is monumental, the potential loss world and life-changing. this is not a time to trust nor to give over. this is a time to be wary, to not sit back, to not relax. they do not have our best interests at heart.

“there are times when fear is good. it must keep its watchful place at the heart’s controls.” (aeschylus)

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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the doormat. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

it’s pretty much a ritual – at the end of fall – to store the front and back rubber doormats away into the garage. both make it more difficult to shovel snow, so, rather than ramming the shovel into the mat while moving snow on the deck – having forgotten it was there – which hurts one’s shoulder – it’s best to put it away. it can also cause problems when there is ice – making it nearly impossible to open the back screen door, which is level with the deck with only a thin rubber mat’s thickness to spare. so, we are usually pretty diligent. there are several things, i’m sure, we all agree on – in preparing for winter. the yard furniture, the clay and ceramic pots, deck decor – it all needs to be stored.

i’m not sure, then, why the back doormat didn’t end up in the garage. somehow in the midst of this fall – miserable in all that fun lighthearted time after the election and such – we forgot. or maybe we just didn’t have the energy to pick up the mats and bring them to the garage. later in november – we were holding out hope for one more beautiful day – we put away the deck rugs, the table and chairs, the decor, the adirondack chairs. but we forgot the mats – at both doors.

so when i opened the back door the other day and stepped out to admire the snow i was surprised to look back at the mat. the snow peeeeeeeled back. it didn’t smush back or get lodged under the screen door – which ceases all door movement and is just slightly annoying when it happens – but it peeled back over itself. in one piece. pretty much unbroken. like peeling back the chocolate icing layer on a hostess cupcake.

we were lucky. there have been times that the snow and ice – because ice damming is a thing – have accumulated over the mat to such a point where the door will not open and you have to exit out the front door. that doesn’t sound like much of a problem until you hear that – for years – there was no way to unlock the front door from the outside as something had gone wrong with the barrel of the old door handle and lock. now that that has been repaired, we are not faced with the can’t-get-in-the-house crisis we had before if the back door is blocked and unable to open.

nevertheless, it was somewhat astounding (remember we are easily amused) to see the snow folded back on itself. and i gave myself a little talking-to about preparation and the perils of the winter.

a few days ago i spent several hours taking screenshots of every single thing on our student loan accounts. because – well – preparation and all. i had come across a recommendation to read a forbes business article about how prudent it would be to capture all this information just in case the department of education was dissolved or imploded or blown up or whatever, which would take out all its websites. it was the practical thing to do – even in the midst of my growling about the predatory nature of d’s student loans which have been nothing shy of criminal. i just couldn’t believe what i was doing and the reason i was doing it. preparation not for winter, not for snow or ice, but for the destruction of the department of education along with every other thing in the constitution.

i don’t honestly know what else we should do to prepare against what’s coming. i am horrified by every single thing we are seeing from this administration. i read a few comments on a meme that was posted by someone in alliance with this destruction of our country. it was – frankly – shocking. the stuff that people have been fed to believe goes beyond any adjective i can think of. it makes me wonder if they have prepared, for the malfeasance of overtaking our government – the one supposed to be of-the-people-by-the-people-for-the-people – and the shattering of our constitution will affect them as well. they too will be caught in the icy snowstorm with their mat out.

the back doormat was a good reminder. in two ways – one, that we might vigilantly stay in one piece – unbroken – and bend with the time (or the back door, whatever, just go with the metaphor) and two, that there are things we might need do in order to avoid being locked out of our own home – this country and its freedoms and rights.

this will be a long winter.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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