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the path back is the path forward

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we are two chickadees. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

last year a black-capped chickadee returned over and over to this old barnwood birdhouse on our tree. each time it balanced on the the hole and pecked at the edges all around the entrance to the house. we wondered if – perhaps – it was not quite big enough for this bird and its intentions to build a nest. it worked at it – diligently – finessing the birdhouse as it could, enlarging the entrance and pecking off the sharp edges. but it did not end up nesting there.

this year two black-capped chickadees return over and over to this birdhouse on our tree. this year they carry in supplies – long strands of ornamental grasses, bits of branches and leaves. we believe that – this year – there is a nest inside this birdhouse. we hope we are right, for the idea of baby birds just off the patio – in this sweet birdhouse – makes us a little bit giddy. together these chickadees have made a home, taking turns with the chores of preparation and standing vigil, keeping it all safe from harm. we stay hopeful that there will be babies and that this sweet bird-family will endure all the hardships of nature and the passing of time.

yesterday was the 43rd anniversary of my (first) wedding.

i think back to the preparations and nesting through the years, as we worked together – successfully and not – as a couple and then as parents of two beloved children. like the chickadees, we had no guarantees – we just worked at it, best we could.

i look back – as we all might do – and see the moments in time we might have done better, might have made different choices, might have pecked at the edges of the entrance to our house instead of other things we did – things that would have finessed our home in lieu of harming it in some way or another. but we are human and our failings are as numerous as our triumphs. it is easier now – years later – to offer generous grace to our best attempts, despite how it all turned out. our two children are good people in the world – making their way in work, in their own passions, in love.

i am grateful for those years. i am grateful to have married a man back then who also tried his best to build a life together. as in any relationship, we brought different baggage with us – some of which was surmountable, some of which made life challenging. we started out pretty young. time has smoothed out the edges – pecking off the sharp parts – and what remains is softer, gentler, accepting. it is with deep affection that i now tell the tales of our thirty years together.

d and i met twelve years ago now – after six months of being daily email penpals. this year will celebrate the 10th anniversary of our wedding on a warm and sunny october day.

we have done our share of edge-pecking. we have finessed our home and stood vigil for each other. we have shared in the hardships of nature and the passing of time – for that – the passing of time – seems exponentially fast starting later in life. we have been fortunate and we work at it, best we can.

i am grateful for these years. i am grateful to have married a man who is also trying his best to build a life together. as in any relationship, we brought different baggage with us – some of which has been surmountable, some of which made or makes life challenging. we started out later in middle age. but time smooths out the edges – pecking off the sharp parts – and what remains is softer, gentler, accepting. it is with deep affection that i tell the tales of our life together. it is with humble and immense gratitude that i look into the future with him.

there is no telling what chickadees may do in life. but they seem to realize the very preciousness of it as they zealously prepare and tend their life together with another chickadee. sometimes they stay with the same mate all their lives. and sometimes they don’t. either way, chickadees have strong pair bonds – which is the very best we can all do for each other.

*****

GRATEFUL © 2004 kerri sherwood

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my mom. still. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

every time i turn a shampoo bottle over and empty the remains into a new shampoo bottle – each upside-down tap of the bottle, drawing the last vestiges of shampoo to the top, makes me think of her.

every bird in the backyard, every endcrust of bread, every leftover dinner, every time i do laundry or make lists, merry morning sunshine.

every time we use the wire cheese slicer, every time i pass by the snake plant, every time i tend our houseplants, every time i thank someone who has generously served us in some way.

every time i see a dachshund or a hosta, every time i think of Long Island, every time i write in my calendar, every area rug on a wood floor, sweet potatoes, math.

every time i make do, every time i save something for ‘special’, every time i turn a few specific phrases or use a coupon, collect rocks or driftwood, every time i make – or have – french fries or iced tea.

every time i see liverwurst or have rye toast, catch the aroma of roast beef in an oven or see a jar of ragu sauce.

when i see beets, when i have onion dip, when I devour crumb cake or chips ahoy, when i coffee-sit, when i repurpose things, when i think about baked ziti or darning socks.

when i defend how to pronounce “sauna”, when i see the “sisu” sign in my studio, spiral notebooks and scrap copies, when i hear “wowee!”, when i stood at the edge of the grand canyon.

every time. i think of my sweet momma. and I wonder how it is possible that she left this world ten years ago today. ten. ten years without her. ten years of not being able to pick up the phone and call her. ten years without mom hugs. ten years without a mom who would listen to any story i told her – any number of times i told it – knowing that my biggest fan was this woman, who was ahead of her time in so many ways.

i wonder how she is feeling now about the turn of all she left behind. i wonder if she has that certain stink eye she’d get, wishing to admonish this country’s current leaders and those following in lock-step. i wonder if the public deflection and distraction of some – avoiding the truth of their choice, avoiding taking responsibility for that choice, literally cheerleading this horror, loudly or silently – i wonder if seeing all that makes her crazy. knowing my momma – and her humanitarian and political leanings – i’m fairly certain she is pretty “irked” – as she would say. she is likely fired up and giving someone a piece of her mind somewhere on the other side. as high-road as she was (and, probably, is) she is not one to put up with the destruction of the country for which she and my dad sacrificed.

and so, every time i speak up or speak out i think of her. every time i voice absolute protection of the rights of members of my family. every time i express horror for the dismantling of this democracy and the cruel disenfranchising of people of the populace. every time i see another nail skewering women. every time i read about the dumbing-down, the elimination of history, the blunting of truth, the big-time grift. every time i stand up for what she taught me about kindness to people. every time. i think of her.

and every time i see the print “live life, my sweet potato” i think of her. and i miss her. yet again.

i think it will always be this way.

after all, she’s my mom.

still.

*****

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just a tiny bit. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

we thought we were tired before. we thought we were exhausted. what an absolute understatement now.

and isn’t that the point. to exhaust us, overwhelm us, inundate us, gish gallop-muzzle-velocity us, to put us all in such a state that we are paralyzed with fear under our woke quilts, unable to rise up.

and – to top it all off – to be intensely aware of all the people we know and love who are supporting this hideousness. to have our hearts broken by people breaking our family values, undermining the freedoms of the very people in our very family.

exhausting indeed. IS there a bigger word for that? bone-weary. shattered. fried.

we each need to rest here. to take a few moments and just not talk about IT. to zero into the very center of our own lives. to find things that sustain us, people who sustain us.

because – even in the midst of all the unconscionable – we are still alive. and we need even just the tiniest bit of joy in our breathing – so that we might rise up, stretch our limbs, clear our throats and speak up.

*****

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the most important thing. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

it IS easy.

my favorite thing is definitely the time we spent with others.

that’s the most important thing.

ever.

*****

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the infinite infinite. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

somewhere – in the infinite infinite – i suppose that my sweet momma and poppo might be with my big brother, nibbling on crumbcake and coffee ice cream. maybe they are having a chat about christmas eve norwegian fish pudding and rum cake. or maybe about burning your fingertips making krumkake. maybe they are reminiscing about singing carols in the living room – gathered around the organ or the piano, my brother with his guitar, my uncle with his beautiful tenor.

i suppose that the party might be bigger…with their baby daughter i never met, with my grandparents, with their siblings, with friends they treasured. they may pop open the martini & rossi asti or blend some eggnog, assuming there is electricity. maybe they are swinging on stars and peering through the clouds at us here; maybe they are missing us.

in the way that things are in this place right now, i am glad that my sweetest mom and dad are not physical witnesses to what is happening, for their hearts would be broken by the ugliness of these times. i am grateful – in an odd way – that they do not have to experience what will be in the next for this country, for our world. even with everything they saw and endured in their lives – which is plenty considering they were born in 1921 and 1920 – i know that what’s happening and what’s coming would challenge and disappoint their beliefs and values to the core.

and so, in the meanwhile – between now and the infinite infinite – i will miss them. the axis has never returned to balance since they’ve been gone and this time of year brings that home even more.

i do believe, though, that if my momma – ever the letterwriter – could write in the sky – out there by the moon – she would. she’d likely draw words with the help of clouds and contrails. and she’d spell out something like, “daddy says ‘hello brat!‘” and “don’t forget to live life, my sweet potato!”.

when i look up – or inside – i can hear them both.

merry christmas mom and dad.

*****

bonus track (god be with you till we meet again) © 1996 kerri sherwood

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one caesura after another. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

the big chalkboard wall was in the basement for decades. and for decades it was signed and scribbled on by my children and their friends-through-the-years. there have been moments – in more recent years – the empty nest years – when i would hit the cement floor at the bottom of the steps, flip on the spotlights and stare at the colored-chalk names scrawled on the wall. lots of history there.

before i took the eraser to this wall, before i washed it off, before i realized the colored chalk didn’t really erase or wash off nomatterwhat, before i prepped it for paint, i took many photographs. once again, my thready heart is challenged – but photographs help.

my girl chalked this design in one of the corners – during the skateboard/dickies/vans era. the memory flood is fast and furious and i stood – touching the chalkboard and its names and illustrations – for some time before wiping it and readying it for a fresh coat. in the end, we put together new shelving for that spot adjacent to david’s studio and now it houses inspiring books of artists and musings…easy access for him, for both of us.

as i’ve written, there are many more of these woven threads in our home to unravel, to gently place aside, to memorize. but – inasmuch as it is a challenge, it is also a gift. because so many things are things we no longer notice, things to which we pay little attention. and right now…right now, we are paying rapt attention to each detail.

we are each telling stories of thethingsinthebox or ontheshelf or tuckedaway or rightthereinfrontofus. some of it makes me a little bit sad – no, i guess it’s more wistful than sad. some of it makes me try to think backbackback to the days backbackback. some of it makes me wish i could revisit those days, live them again, relish them in real time, or maybe live them a little slower or a little differently. and some of it just gives me a little standstill, like a tiny caesura – all part of the diapause, i suppose – one caesura after another.

we keep going. my curiosity is piqued as we open closets and bins, page through children’s books finding scraps of crayoned notes or pictures. i store it all inside, knowing that – even though i will likely forget some of it – it is all there – layers of memories and moments.

and the chalked diamonds will forever remain on the wall of the basement. because they were there, they are there. and they are part of it.

*****

IT’S A LONG STORY © 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood

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

i told him the other day I wasn’t sure if i had anything left to say. in the lostness following this horrific election, i still feel all the things i have already written about – truly gutted.

i would imagine that there are many of ‘me’ out there. heart-broken, infuriated, exhausted, confused, feeling betrayed.

and in that wanderland of grief sit the questions of “what is real?” and “who is real?”. they nag at me – wherever i am. we escaped to the trail and they followed me – sitting heavy on my heart, ponderous.

real (adjective): 1. actually existing as a thing or occurring in fact: not imagined or supposed. 2. (of a substance or thing) not imitation or artificial; genuine.

and

real: behaving or presented in a way that feels true, honest, or familiar and without pretension or affectation.

and so i look at life now and think about what is real and who is real.

the “real” i knew would have stood by me, by my family, by values i assumed we shared, by the lifting up of humanity.

the “real” i knew would have been morally aghast by the cruel, devastating intentions of the new maga-regime.

the “real” i knew would have pushed back against all of it – leading with goodness and kindness.

but i guess the “real” you wanted me – and everyone else – to see wasn’t really real. and i will now admit, you fooled me.

i suppose – like many others will – that i could pretend it doesn’t matter. i could act like it doesn’t matter. i could interact like it doesn’t matter. i could just go on as if it doesn’t matter. but it does. it matters. it’s real.

mary oliver wrote, “you can fool a lot of yourself, but you can’t fool the soul.”

so even as i fight the internal fight – trying – irrationally – to hold onto what or who is really not real – my soul knows.

and, like many of you trying to process this soul-knowing, i am deeply sad.

*****

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the unthinkable black and white. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

if we had looked only at the sky, it would have reinforced the black-and-white-photograph world we felt we were in. the sky was so november. but the photo was in color and, despite feeling differently to our core, the world was in technicolor.

the trail was mostly empty, which was a good thing. we needed to be there – our lack of hiking through interminable covid was taking a toll. exhausted from covid, exhausted from doing nothing, exhausted after doing anything.

and so the sky heightened our feeling – of walking in the black and white of this past week.

by now you know i am horrified by the election, by its results, by the actual people voting for these results. it cannot be clearer to me that there is a dividing line between me and those people who voted against my own family. it is black and white…that clear.

i’d like to go all maya/mlk jr./gandhi, heck, i’d like to go all jesus christ (“love one another; as i have loved you.” john 13:34). i suspect they would be just as horrified. quoting any of them as any kind of justification in or support of this horror story is hypocrisy.

because you have knowingly undermined the safety, security, the rights of my family, of people dear to me – and that’s pretty black and white to me. and i realize i can maybe love you, but not respect you, not want to be around you, not trust you or feel safe with you. your heart is different than i thought i knew. and i can’t pretend i don’t know or that it doesn’t matter. this – this – is becoming black and white to me.

love is a two-way street. turning your back on humanity is not love. the cruelty and immense intentional hardship you intentionally voted in for other people – yes PEOPLE – no better or lesser than you – is not love. hate, misogyny, racism, xenophobia, homophobia, transphobia are not love. fascism is not based on love – you have fallen prey to cultish, narrow, extreme, bullying, propaganda-laden thinking that is not – despite the whipped-up and warped misinformed disdain you express at the price of eggs, individual gender identification, compassionate social programs – definitely not – based on love.

i’m pretty sure that many are struggling with this right now. we are all out here, internally trying to figure out the unthinkable – how our families or friends have betrayed basic rights – values – upon which we thought we agreed. it’s unimaginably brutal and painful and hard to wrap our heads around. it is so very, very sad. but it is pretty black and white.

it’s november. i drag my eyes from the november sky – where i was beseeching the universe for answers. and i look beside the trail, where leaves are still turning and the deer wait as we approach.

*****

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who you are. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

“you are who you elect.” (michael ramirez – the washington post )

dismay doesn’t begin to describe it. devastated doesn’t begin to describe it.

the betrayal of any goodness is rampant. over half of this country voted for it. whatever your flagship policy issue was – when you stepped up to that voting booth – it should have absolutely paled in comparison to the potential of the cruelty that is now coming, the cruelty you chose.

in your vote you have eliminated all options for meeting in the aisle, for affording change that would have addressed your concerns as well as mine. in your vote you have forever undermined the constitution of this country, undermined democracy, paving the way for authoritarianism, people gleeful to have absolute power and control. in your vote you have done away with – trampled – the rights of women, of minorities, of the LGBTQ community. in your vote you have decimated healthcare, social security, medicare, education. in your vote you, who have descended from immigrants, gallingly voted to remigrate the country into whiteness, into extreme nationalism. in your vote you have opted to give your complicit nod to the alignment of this country with dictators and tyrants around the world. in your vote you have doomed any hope for our physical planet. in your vote you have thrust this country backwards.

but silly me. why would i spell out what your vote meant? you already knew. and you didn’t care.

i did not know your heart was quite this cold. i am horrified. i fear i no longer know you.

i am grieving. and crying doesn’t touch it.

a dear friend texted me late last night.

“i still can’t believe hate won!” she wrote.

exactly.

but it did.

“you are who you elect.”

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY