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this is that day. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

what is it they say? a blessing and a curse.

yes. remembering dates can be both. on one hand, you can suddenly recall that something absolutely splendid happened on this very date – that it was life-altering, that it was the beginning of a new journey, a divergent path in the woods. on the other hand, you can suddenly recall that something absolutely dreadful happened on this very date – and it slams into you and holds you down for a moment or two while you catch your breath, gulping air, grasping at remembering you are no longer in that very moment on that very day.

today is one of those remembering dates.

but today is the first kind.

eleven years ago today – in baggage claim of o’hare airport – in a pair of jeans, a black sweater and some boots (an outfit pondered over for days) – i stood, holding a single daisy, waiting to finally meet this person i had been communicating with for about six months every single day.

and that moment – on that day – in that place – with that outfit on – was about to change my life.

you can’t always pinpoint those moments, exactlyyy. you know that something – some set of circumstances or events combined to change you – but you don’t always know the moment when something in-real-life enters your life and nothing will ever be the same.

it wasn’t like stars exploding or fireworks. no bells rang in my head. i didn’t faint or have palpitations. i was not weak-kneed. i wasn’t wowed or wooed or walloped. i did not whoop in overwhelming wonder.

i laughed. we hugged. and we skipped. and i felt like i had come home.

the universe had somehow – in some kismet-ish sort of way – sorted through the billions of people on this good earth – and had connected me to a person who would give me equal shares of blissful moments and infuriating moments, the person who would be my favorite person, the person who would be my favorite pain-in-the-ass, the person who would make me think and feel and cry and snort, the person who would be my rock in a never-ending river complete with gentle pools of lazy and boulder-laden whitewater rapids, the person whose kiss on the top of my head nearly breaks my heart open.

this is that day. i remember it.

❤️

*****

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

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my monogram. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

i saw the letter k immediately. one always sees ones initials, i suppose.

it immediately made me think of the way i used to sign everything – back in the day. (note: “the day” means the 70s – which is now – shockingly – half a century ago – which makes me laugh aloud!!)

i used a combination of my initials K, E, A – joined together – nothing extraordinary, it looked like this:

i used it everywhere. i signed my poetry with it. turned in lab reports with it. i autographed my lyrics in black-and-white-speckled composition books. i signed all my greeting cards with it and left notes on crunch’s windshield adorned with it. my monogram traveled with me everywhere.

and soon, recipients of my dedication to this began to use it back to me. i even have a beautiful gold necklace that was gifted to me with my cherished self-designed monogram.

and then, the guitar strap.

it was a present.

it was during the time that tooled leather had more than a minute. like everyone, i already had tooled leather keyfobs, bracelets, belts, change purses and full-sized handbags.

but the guitar strap stood out.

i used this guitar strap for five decades on my guitar. i had compartmentalized what it represented, the person who had given it to me, the time of which it reminded me.

until one day, a few years ago.

when you join together with a partner much later in life, you are full of the stories of the rest of the time you were not together. it’s rich history, narrative begging to be shared. and so, these stories start to tell themselves a little at a time as you get to know each other. and so one day i told him the story.

in horror he listened. he held me as i wept. he gently asked questions. he was quiet with me.

the bungie cord tightly lashed around the compartment of the sexual abuse flung free, snapping back, narrowly missing us. and the box was opened.

i removed the guitar strap from my guitar, unweaving the leather cord that held it onto the neck just under the tuning pegs. i stared at it for a few minutes, my monogram tooled into stiff leather that had somewhat softened through all the years.

and i took it outside and placed it in the garbage can.

*****

THE BOX from BLUEPRINT FOR MY SOUL ©️ 1996 kerri sherwood

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not normal. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

“starlight. starbright. first star i see tonight. i wish i may, i wish i might, have this wish i wish tonight.”

he said, “you’re not normal. you two are not normal.”

he didn’t mean it in a mean way. in fact, he quickly explained it was a compliment. he elaborated that it was his way of saying that we lead with creativity and artistry and that just isn’t a normal thing, that we don’t necessarily give credence to how naturally that is a part of who we are, how we move in the world, what we do with our time.

because our success is not measured like the success of others, it’s a little hard to take in this compliment. the success of our imperative is measured in resonance with others, in touching hearts, in poking thoughts, in giving space. the success of others is measured in salaries and annuities and perks and material goods. there is a vast disparity between the payroll of the artist and the payroll of the white-collar-ed.

at the queen tribute band concert we attended there was a woman in the next row who held an intense conversation during intermission. she spoke about their son who had chosen a different route – not to go to college – and who was succeeding mightily nonetheless. she spoke about how others looked disparagingly upon him, but how she supported his choices. the most telling thing she said was, “at least in life he isn’t doing a job he hates.” i did a double-take. the tone of her voice, the look on her face showed she was underplaying her own feelings. she is clearly doing a job she hates. for the long haul.

we’ve all had jobs we hated. it’s a fact of life. bills need to be paid, obligations need to be met and we are responsible people.

we talked about this on the way home from the concert. eh…who am i kidding? we talk about this all the time.

our life is different than most anyone else’s we know. our dreams are maybe a little different too.

we immerse in moments that remind us of the good fortune of merely breathing. we flail in moments that remind us we are not “that kind” of normal. but seeing stars in dried flowers and hearts in verdant underbrush and angel wings in clouds and appreciating the sunshine on the quilt, the old birdhouse on the mantel, the tiny cairns on our shelves, the harmonic overtones in the air all remind us.

i wish i may, i wish i might, have the wish i wish tonight…

to not worry. to know that this work that we do in the world is valued. to feel some of the same ‘normal’ as most of the people around us.

but if i have to worry and wonder and feel ‘not normal’ to be the artist i am, to maybe have something i do resonate with someone else, touch them, make them think, change them a tiny bit, give them a little space of peace, then i’ll take it. because i don’t hate what i do.

because i love doing what i do.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

SEE AN OWL mixed media 24″x48″

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for all time. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

we co-wrote an absolutely brilliant song when we were on washington island in the summer of 2019.

[i’m thinking i already posted about this. 1900 + blogs and redundancy is a thing, i guess. my apologies – i know some people really detest redundancy. i, on the other hand, don’t really mind it at all. you can tell me the same delicious story over and over and i will still be a happy listener. (these rules don’t apply to david, of course)]

anyway…now, every-single-time i see a butterfly (and even yes-yes, technically, a moth as well, yup-yup) i cannot help myself. i immediately think of this song and sometimes – ok, most times – i start singing it. “butterfly, butterfly, spread your wings. butterfly, butterfly, fly. butterfly, butterfly, flutter by, to the big blue sky.” (see audio file waaaay below if you are dying to hear this brilliance!)

we cannot help laughing.

really laughing.

like the kind of laughing when your cheeks hurt and your ribs begin to ache, tears start streaming from your eyes and you might even snort. THAT kind of laughing.

we were so inspired back then by our butterfly song, we decided – while still on island – to write another song – fun in the sun – and we tried to record it (see below)…ridiculously harsh sunlight, anything-but-flattering-up-angle, very-very-insanely-close-up…but the moments are recorded no less. for all time.

the red admiral butterfly – that fluttered by and landed right next to us on the adirondack chair on our patio – according to the great google – symbolizes spiritual awakening, transformation, and renewal. all beautifully restorative. truly a gift.

but there is nothing like a good laugh to put things in perspective. for all time.

*****

the butterfly song – by kerri & david

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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hundreds of them. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

sometimes something comes out of the blue. and it just makes you feel oh-so-good.

a wisconsin high school contacted us about a month ago – they wanted to order a few hundred of our “be kind” buttons for their kindness week. with my sweet momma smiling over my shoulder, i tended to all the extra paperwork and steps that a district purchase entails, happily thinking about hundreds of people wearing our buttons.

i originally designed them when we had a showing of the movie wonder at the performing arts center we co-managed on washington island. i wanted everyone to have a “be kind” button as they left the theatre. i’ve ordered and re-ordered these for various reasons and various organizations since. every single time i think about my mom – thrilled that this gentle reminder would be on someone’s lapel, someone’s backpack, someone’s jacket or maybe hanging from their rearview mirror. i personally have them pinned on a few purses – because – well – too many people need to be reminded.

it’s a simplicity. “be kind”…a choice. it echoes out and out in concentric circles and douses people with the magic dust of generosity. i wish that every school, every business, every service or religious organization, every politician, every single person might wear one – to remember.

i am ecstatic each time these buttons are ordered. and i was inordinately proud of the personnel in this high school student services department. so very happy to know that spreading kindness throughout their school mattered. grateful they went the extra mile. that though this district’s per capita spending may have gone up by just the teeniest-tiniest smidge with the purchase of these buttons, the payoff must have been brilliant.

reminders to be kind. to choose kindness. to experience kindness. to live kindness.

and my momma smiled broadly, knowing she inspired these buttons. hundreds of them.

*****

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

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smirking google gods. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

oh geeeeez. i wish i could say that this was in-no-shape-or-form even a smidge of reality. but…it is all-too-true.

the google lens on my phone – and google, in general – are most definitely my oft-used applications, if you set aside the camera and texting. we are curious folks, after all. and when we are hiking and come across plants or creatures or tracks or trail options, we do have a tendency to whip out our phones and google it.

suddenly, we have access to all-there-is-to-know about mayapples, all-there-is-to-know about salamanders, all-there-is-to-know about jumping squirrel tracks, all-there-is-to-know about elevation gain and mileage, water on the trail, exposed areas with no shade. we become momentary experts on any single thing.

it’s like when you need a new stove/oven. you google stoves/ovens. you realize the proper word is actually “range”. you gasp at the cost. then you sort between gas, electric, glass-top, round-spirally elements. then you look to see what each of the options do – as opposed to what you really need or what you would really use. then you start sorting through brands. then you start reading reviews. then you ask a friend, or, maybe, many friends. you ponder and ponder, rich in language – and knowledge – versed in phrases and marketing terms like like dual fuel, conventional, convection heating, precision, programmable, vacuum, temperature probe, heating coils, sabbath mode, nearly poetic about the differences between bake, roast and broil. you proudly convey your newfound knowledge to anyone at all who wants to talk about ranges – or – really – anyone who doesn’t want to talk about ranges. you have arrived.

you decide. you purchase/choose/opt/elect/sign-on.

and then – like most any appliance decision/vehicle decision/children’s paraphernalia decision/eyewear/footwear/outerwear/new puppy/gas grill/television/cellphone/cable network/carpentry-masonry-tilesetting-plumbing-mechanic-architect/mattress/birdfeeder/menu decision – all the knowledge you have looked up and researched and gleaned and studied and pondered and perseverated over – doesn’t stick – promptly falls out of your brain – leaves the building – and you are left bereft. as if you knew nothing. all over again.

and the google gods chuckle. “did it again!” they smirk.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

SMACK-DAB. ©️ 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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makes me think of. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

amaryllis makes me think of my sweet momma. the color pink makes me think of my daughter.

on the windowsill of the bathroom there are two small bottles. one is estee lauder’s ‘pleasures’ and the other is a tiny daisy-capped bottle of marc jacob’s daisy perfume. two scents that remind me of those same two beloved people.

because i am thready (some may say overlyyy thready) i surround myself – intentionally and unintentionally – with tokens of remembrance – some actual, some merely floating in my heart – filaments that connect me to people – and make me think of people – whether they are nearby or far away or on another plane of existence entirely. threads. woven in.

this bulb – a gift – requires no attention whatsoever. you just place it anywhere and it will take care of itself. no water needed. it contains all the water and nutrients it needs to flower. it has stored carbohydrates so it is self-sustaining and can bloom without any care.

i am thinking that between the plethora of mcdonalds fries i ate in my teenage years on bike hikes, the wavy lays and cape cod chips in later years (and even recent later years!!), ever-reassuring mashed potatoes and the daily morning breakfast david makes each day that includes yummy potatoes, i have plenty – plenty!!! – of stored carbohydrates. one would then extrapolate that i would be self-sustaining and would bloom without care. but, the flora world has it all over us on this one. i do not have the advantage of the waxed amaryllis bulb. water, nutrients and care are necessary.

the pink-waxed amaryllis is just starting to get closer to blooming, a flower stalk straight and tall from the center of the bulb, the bud tightly wound. i visit with it each day, marveling at it.

and i think of dearest jen every time i look at it.

*****

CONNECTED from RELEASED FROM THE HEART, THE BEST SO FAR ©️ 1995, 1999 kerri sherwood

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read DAVID’S thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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we are all tiny ferns. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

looking like a new year’s eve party noisemaker waiting to unfurl in celebration, the fern steadily grows. in-between last year’s clipped stalks and in and among dried leaves and the last vestiges of winter’s effect on mulch, it peeks out, pushing up toward the sun. it chooses to thrive, even covered by sandy soil and bits of the past. one day soon i will walk out to the back – where the fern garden is – and this tiny fern will have stretched and straightened and fanned out into a lanky beautiful feather.

it makes me think about blowout noisemakers. all furled up they look relatively innocuous and not particularly capable of being noisy. a little gumption and air blown into them and they can be pretty doggone loud.

the little fern breathes deep and reaches down into where gumption is stored. against the odds, this seemingly fragile, willowy plant rises up, centimeter by centimeter. suddenly it is a powerhouse, standing tall in the rain and a part of the wind in storms.

though it may be all trembly inside as it makes its journey upward and outward, its gumption, air and the sun give it courage and strength. it is tough and resilient and – it is said – has an incredibly strong survival instinct.

how often we are all tiny ferns – over and over – through fallow and rejuvenation, covered in the patina of the past and growing it off. innocuous and silent.

and then, we rise up and unfurl.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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tough socks. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

i just heard about darn tough hiking socks. they are known for their comfort, durability and fit. they wick moisture and are anti-blister. these are all important features in a hiking sock. heck, they are important features in living life.

the river rises and falls. we have seen it spilling way across the trail, with trees looking like they are standing in a bayou, water so stretched out it looks less like a river than a lake. we have seen it pulled way back, the level low, the riverbed exposed, turtles with no place to hide. it surprises us to arrive and see it so different from the last time. and it doesn’t surprise us.

everything is in flux. everything. and i suppose i am surprised and i am not surprised.

it all rises and falls. it spills over and recedes. life gives and takes. successes are jubilant, disappointments are despairing. relationships flourish and barely hold on…connection replaced by disconnect replaced by connection. well-being is momentary. we are secure, we are imperiled. we are flush with excitement and trembling with dread. such a dichotomy, this living thing.

it reminds me – once again – of an interview i heard with an elderly woman of 95. she was asked how she managed to stay vital and engaged for so long, to stay robustly healthy and remarkably positive. she just gracefully rode the ebbs and flows, surfing the river-bayou-trickle and its continual changes. she answered, “i take nothing personally.”

they must have modeled the socks after her. comfort, durability, fit, moisture-wicking and anti-blister.

i need me some of those socks.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

IN PRAYER mixed media 67″x64″

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and poppo was smiling. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

my sweet poppo used to say, “put it in the barn out back!” only we didn’t have a barn out back.

he thought it would be wise to simply save everything – old stuff would all come around again. and, judging by the seventies clothing we are seeing in the boutiques ‘out there’ he was right. bold colors, big pattern, crocheted-granny-square sweaters and vests….i should’ve saved everything. i’d be right in fashion.

now, it goes without saying that in my closet are plenty of items that date back. no…not like six months or a year. they date back to the 2010s, the 2000s, the 90s and beyond. i always think, “save this. it’ll fit again one day/it’ll be in style again one day/i love it too much to give it away so keep it to wear again some day” etc etc. and, to my credit, some things are just classic pieces and they work no matter when you wear them. well, at least in my estimation they do. i’m guessing that’s up for grabs.

as you already know, we love antiquing. it flings us to and fro through the decades we have been on planet earth and is quite entertaining. we laugh as we see the corningware and tupperware we currently own. we stand in front of record albums reliving our teens. we roll our eyes at the inundation of tchotchkes, miscellany and bric-à-brac galore. and then we pass something that just cuts to the chase, goes right to our hearts.

these ice cube trays did it for me.

we had these ice cube trays growing up. i distinctly remember them. steadying the cold tray with one hand, i can feel the crunching thwap of pulling back the aluminum handle, releasing the ice cubes, ice shards flying out of the tray. it totally brings me back to my childhood home.

we stood in front of the ice cube trays for a bit, reminiscing aloud to each other, the only audience who wants to listen to an ice cube tray story.

when we moved on it was to discover that there were three – 3!! – viewmasters also in the booth. because you must – the visceral tugs mercilessly at you – i pulled down on the lever, looking around for the round slide thingies that go inside them. i still own a viewmaster (with a few slide thingies) and i was trying to decide who we should gift with one of these.

alas, we moved on sans purchase. we didn’t even purchase the ice cube trays, even though our kitchenaid icemaker no longer works and we either have to make ice cubes or purchase ice. we have other ice cube trays – ones that work better than the metal ones – and we still hold out hope that one day the icemaker might work again.

but, if those trays had been out in the barn it would have helped us, at least temporarily – until the icemaker revives.

and then outside – on a table in the weather – sat the birdhouse. rusted metal roof, old peeling painted barnwood, a tiny backdoor, and a nest inside, we were smitten.

$5.28 later and my poppo was smiling from the other side.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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