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watermelon time. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

dogga adores watermelon. he also adores blueberries and carrots. he’s a big fan of any kind of chip, cracker or cheese. really, any dog-safe morsel of people food – except bananas – are in his taste-treat wheelhouse. he finds us easy to convince – those eyes of his – complete amber eye-to-eye contact.

back in the day, when i lived in florida, you could find watermelon at many rural corners, much like boiled peanut stands – a pick-up truck with a bed filled with watermelons fresh off the vine for buyers to choose from. i remember breaking open melons, sticky sweet, a tiny bit cooler than the air temperature. these last few days here in wisconsin remind me of those hot summer days down south, with nights that don’t cool down and humidity lingering so much in the air you can see it. chilled watermelon helps.

in the olden days (as my poppo used to refer back) watermelons had seeds. lots of them. you’d stand out back on the patio or on the deck spitting pits over the railing – contests of whose would gain the most ground. now, we are lucky – seedless watermelons have changed life, like seedless mandarins. no more contests over the deck rail, but so much easier to eat. ahh, the end of the folksy tradition of the watermelon-seed-spit. probably not a big loss.

dogga will accept any treat he is offered. he clearly trusts that we will keep his well-being and his people-food tastes in mind, so when i cut up the watermelon the other day into bite-sized pieces, he was right there, by my side, waiting. it’s his summer too.

but time doesn’t stand still. we simply cannot believe that it is labor day weekend already. the summer flew by. and soon, a bit later on, we will be barreling through fall. it’ll be time for apple-picking and pumpkins, jeans and boots and vests. part of me yearns for that – autumn – my favorite time of year.

but watermelon is plentiful right now, and, so, our moments will include dabbing our napkins on our watermelon-slice-sticky faces in the middle of these hot summer days, these days of intense heat.

dogga doesn’t seem to have yearnings for later-on. somehow he knows that any time at all is too precious to waste. his wisdom is in his absolute presence. whether it is watermelon time or apple time or cranberry time or blueberry time…it doesn’t matter. he is just there – appreciating all the wanna-bites of the season.

so in the middle of winter – when it’s frigid outside and we humans are wishing for a little warmth while dogga is relishing the piles of snow – we may summon up these days in the sun. hopefully, even in our baselayers, wool socks and down coats, we might taste the summer we – hopefully – memorized. we might close our eyes and remember the sweetness of cold watermelon.

or, because this world is what it is and we are fortunate beyond belief to be able to purchase produce from nations and places far and wide, we may buy a watermelon – in the cold of winter – from the grocery store. we’ll take out the big carving knife and the cutting board and slice it into triangles, with great anticipation. and we’ll take a bite of the top of the triangle, easily the best bite of all melon bites.

and we’ll be back – standing in the hot sun, with sticky hands. because watermelon has that power. even without seeds.

*****

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(copyright 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood)

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all of it. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

it never fails to amaze me. even the familiar turn in the trail. even the familiar trees. even the angle of the sun which has shone on us so many, many times here. even the sky, this midwest sky, sometimes ornery, sometimes brilliant. still. still, i love this curve of path. still, i love these tall pines. still, i love the tease of sun through the highest branches of needles. still, all of it.

in a world that presents unexpecteds every day – some of which are more difficult than others of which are tiny or enormous gifts – there is this. there is the still-all-of-it.

and so we go here. and we process life here. we are silent and we talk-talk-talk. this woods has kept us company through it all. this path has led us when our feet didn’t know where to go. these trees have wrapped us in scent and held us in strength, towering over us. this sky has graced us with all weather.

and we have always arrived back at the trailhead, safe. we have been freezing and sweltering. we have been covered with snow and sopping wet. we have been exhilarated and bone-achy tired. but we have always been safe.

so it shouldn’t really surprise me. this place is a haven, a sanctuary, shelter for our hearts and minds. i imagine one day – if we might live elsewhere and no longer hike in this place – we will look back, remembering and reminiscing. and we will nod our heads and agree – yes…it was all of it, all of that place. every single time.

*****

GOOD MOMENTS from THIS PART OF THE JOURNEY ©️ 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood

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glimmer energy. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

it was like magic dust.

we were sitting on our infamous adirondack chairs on the patio. the sky was brilliant blue – much like in this photograph. so much was going on. we were taking a few-minutes-breather.

and suddenly, it was like tiny sparkles were landing on us – the tiniest raindrops we’d ever seen. one by one we’d sense them landing on bare arms. you could barely see them, barely feel them. but as they floated down they glittered like the eensiest dew drops in a sunrise ray, iridescent shimmers falling from the sky. it is hard to wrap words around this. but it was like being blessed by the universe, like minute stars touching us. grace. light. magic dust.

it’s not like we aren’t surrounded by these. glimmers. moments that radiate. moments that make you feel amazed to be alive. moments of joy or peace. they are – truly – everywhere. gentle touches of reassurance or comfort, reminders of bliss – out there. not magnificently large summits but micro moments in real living, real time, lingering in the air waiting for us to notice.

and when you notice…as a deliberate practice or an unanticipated surprise…the energy of your stardust quivers in goodness.

*****

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peonies in perpetuity. [d.r. thursday]

the time for our peonies has passed. they have been momentary, ephemeral. yet, even in their briefest of moments, their impact has been profound. their sweet fragrance wafted through the backyard, their stunning pink punctuated the green of the garden, their blossoms – from bud to full bloom – have been enchanting. and now, the green remains. i understand the plant is in full working mode – storing up energy for the next season of blooms. i already can’t wait to see them.

we planted a small herb garden on our potting stand this past weekend. basil, rosemary, mint, parsley. we added one dwarf indeterminate cherry tomato plant. and we placed a potted citronella on the deck. there is something infinitely satisfying about going outside with kitchen scissors to snip off the herb i need for a recipe. caprese salads or skewers, mint tea, parsley because heidi’s mom said everything is lifted with a little parsley, and rosemary – it reminds me of the brunch we had one day a couple years ago on the porch of the gingerbread house bistro up west of milwaukee. we split a steak seasoned with rosemary – i can still taste this delight. i’ll be using the rosemary today with roasted baby potatoes. all from steps away, an extension off our patio.

i wrote the album this part of the journey in 1997. piano-based instrumentals, a few of the pieces on that album had their moment on adult contemporary radio. and then, like all good peonies, they faded a bit, stoking up energy in the plant for next. but as i pull up the album and listen – last i saw you, the way home, good moments – i can still hear the pink, can still feel the peaceful wafting, can grasp its relevance. i still hear about this album from people out-there listening. it’s steps away from now, but it’s on an extension of the patio of my discography.

instrumental music – like peonies – has no half-life. both evoke emotional reactions – visceral reactions – both are steadfast in their passive zeal to just be. both wrap one in the right now. both go on.

i suppose, in a rare moment, i might one day put this album – or as it is – or any of my instrumental albums – on the cd player. i might sit down in an adirondack chair next to the peony within the concentric scent-circle of mint and basil, and simply listen.

i might be reminded of the moments in composition, the moments in practice, the moments in recording, the moments in concert.

and i might be able to see the peonies that will surely arrive next season.

*****

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no time to waste. [k.s. friday]

“…in singing skies and dancing waters…” (john denver)

we sometimes forget.

we forget to look up. to see the blue – singing – sky. we forget, in all the drudgery that can be the world around us, to study the night sky, trillions of stars, our tiny selves. we forget to watch the sun rise over the horizon and the sun set behind us. we forget vast as we are immersed in the up-close-and-personal telephoto lens of our lives.

we forget to see the – dancing – waters. we forget to allow it to wash over us, soothing, soothing. we forget to notice tiny droplets of dew on leaves and the surf’s leaving and returning. we forget to break into song in the shower and float in rivers under canopies of trees. we forget to listen to the stream and we forget to catch the rain on our tongues and we forget to allow ourselves to stand in it. we forget to revel in fountains and even celebrate impermanence, as it is not just all good things that come to an end…

and so the sky sings and the waters dance. they remind us, whether in the cool forest of high elevation mountains or the rockfront edges of a great lake or the sandy beaches of the shore.

for a moment we look up and the purity of water dancing in a singing sky fills us…suspended stunning beauty…humbling…and every good moment we have ever had comes rushing forward.

there’s really no time to waste.

*****

GOOD MOMENTS from THIS PART OF THE JOURNEY ©️ 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood

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good moments waiting. [k.s. friday]

“we’re out of practice,” writes elizabeth bernstein. her article in the wall street journal is about reconnecting with others as we move slowly and cautiously out of pandemic-mode and back into the world. since this past year-plus has levied many and varied challenges upon all of us, her words seem prudent, reminding us to realize that we are each in different emotional places and honoring those will be absolutely necessary.

as we hike on trails we are alternately silent and chatting-up-a-storm. we find ourselves reminiscing, going over the last year-plus, reviewing. we are both awed and aghast at the things that have happened through this time. simple moments of bliss and moments of raw hurt. surprise at the time flying by and impatience at the time dragging. gratitude for the generosity of others and anger and anxiety at agenda we don’t understand. much time spent as just the two of us…the two of us plus dogga and babycat. we stop – mid-river-trail – and stare at each other, remembering the time, the losses, the learnings. this moment in time – all the circumstances that have brought us to this moment in time – and we look forward, wondering.

“we’ve all been through so much. we’re all so raw. and there is a strong sense of longing,” says sociologist and yale professor marissa king. though we long to be together with family and dear friends, communities of people we have been missing, we have come to realize that we have made it through, continue to make it through, the storm of this time. we have established rituals of our own, personal reassurances, moments of goodness that have arced us into next each and every time. we have failed from time to time and we have succeeded from time to time. mostly, we have made it from Time to Time, each then to each now.

reconnecting, we understand, will be complicated, perhaps intense, perhaps exhausting, perhaps selective. but those moments will, too, be worth it, whatever concentrated effort it takes. we all have a story to tell, narratives to share, things we have gained and lost and learned and forgotten, things we haven’t shared. “reconnection is not a one-and-done undertaking,” writes ms. bernstein. like the time that has gone by and the hard work it has taken to grok the necessity of being apart, it will require some practice to be together. we haven’t walked in the shoes of others and we haven’t experienced what they have experienced. the vice-versa is also true. we all have a story to tell, narratives to share, things we have gained and lost and learned and forgotten, things we haven’t divulged, things we haven’t mutually endured. there is much ahead, likely to be profoundly emotional.

we stand on the river trail and think about belly-laughing in a circle of friends, crying in the arms of family, dancing on the patio, snacktime on the pontoon boat, ukuleles in the park, happy hour in the backyard, floating in florida pools, rooftop and mountaintop times. and we know that, though there have been many good moments and though there are many good moments right here, there are many good moments…waiting.

*****

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good moments. [k.s. friday]

goodmoments song box copy

i keep a calendar.  my sweet momma kept a calendar.  the written kind.  she had the old-school kind that you buy the yearly refills for, with two holes in them to line up with the two curved rings of metal on the holder.  she wrote on it every day:  appointments, important things, birthdays and anniversaries, dates of import, big events, the smallest fragment of time memory she wanted to keep.  i guess that’s where i get it from.  i love my old-fashioned calendar.  i look forward to getting it at the dollar store every year and i keep a mechanical pencil with a good eraser in it.  i write in it every day.  and at the end of the year, i have always sat down and read through the year, re-living each day, sometimes a good thing, sometimes hard.

if i went through my calendar, even for this year so far, i would find moments i didn’t want to forget.  days that were tough, days that were pretty amazing.  i would read about My Girl calling out “mom!” and running over as i walked into where she was working and i could recall -way deep in my heart- exactly what it felt like when she introduced me to a friend and said, “this is my mom!”  i would read about the manifest destiny of cucumbers and pickles, a funny-made-me-laugh-aloud debate over wine with My Boy.  i would read about the gluten-free-dairy-free-egg-free chocolate cake my husband made me and the day we stayed in bed to read a book all day.  i would read about lots and lots and lots of walking, hikes near and far.  i would read about potlucks with our dear friends and laughter and wine and conversation lasting well into the wee hours of the evening.   i would read about late late nights with each of my nieces and laughing till we were snorting.  i would read about spending sweet time with my sister and ashes floating on the breeze over the lake.  i would read about the quiet peace of the canoe and the sunshine and endless conversation on the pontoon boat.  i would read about antiquing and the vintage typewriter i had fallen for that 20 sought out for my birthday.  i would read about gatherings in our home and at friends’ houses, sharing time with our community of people.  i would read about difficult days of worry or times of sadness.  i would read about the hours of working together with d:  writing all these posts for our MELANGE and designing all the products.  i would see that it’s been much much more than 208 days in a year.  it’s been 208 days in my life and every moment has counted. whether or not they are all joyous, all successful, all funny, all productive, they are all good.

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don’t wait! [chicken marsala monday]

don'twait WITH EYES jpeg copy 2.jpg

my sweet momma had this thing.  and she passed it down to me.  genetics are brutal!  when she would get something new, she would saaaaaave it.  for later.  for good.  for something special.  no matter what.  we would give her gifts (like a beautiful scarf or blouse) and she would wait to wear it.   she would purchase a new pair of shoes and they would stay in the box, only for “good” wear.  and…i have the gene.  d jokes that every time i ever get anything new, he knows he must wait about six months (an exaggeration…well, maybe an exaggeration only sometimes) to see me wearing it.  now, i don’t purchase things too often, so i understand my momma’s “thing”…you want to keep the item in tip-top shape, you want to treat it like it is ‘special’.  but it’s a curse.  my sister did not inherit this trait.  she will buy something and wear it later the same day.  i envy her nonchalance, that cavalier attitude of well-i-bought-it-and-i’m-gonna-wear-it-ness.  oh, how i wish i could do that.

recently, though, i got this new tunic…up north at a little boutique in a little town.  it was on sale – 50% off – and i pondered it for quite some time (ask ANY of my girlfriends about my fine purchasing-decision-making-skills.)  d convinced me to get it…i mean it was $24.  a total bargain.  i….wait for it…wore it the next day!  the very next day!!  and many times since.  it has already made it to the pack-it-for-an-evening-in-the-mountains-with-a-pair-of-skinny-jeans-and-boots list.  i am wondering if, somehow, i have overcome my waiting-thing.

eh.  i doubt it.  i still haven’t worn the pair of heels in the box in the closet that i got on sale about six years ago.  they are waiting for later.  for something good.  for something special.

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“hygge”

img_0576in today’s paper there was a brief article about “hygge” (pronounced “hoo-ga”) a danish word that means “the concept of coziness, the absence of worry.” it referred to sitting under blankets, gazing at a fire, watching the snow fall outside, lighting a candle, reading a book…all seem to embrace the moment, not obsessing or feeling guilty about the options we didn’t choose for those moments, but making a deliberate effort to self-care.

we are reading a book together. it is about the quaker way of life. we are only a few chapters in and i am stunned at how it resonates with me…living in the tenets of simplicity, peace, integrity, community, equality…quite frankly, the bottom line of the very takeaways i feel in any religious organization with which i have participated. i’ve been a minister of music for churches for about 27 years now, on and off through the years.   and the bottom line for me in each of those places, the faith in my heart, is summed up best by the words i just listed. the love of each other in a community joined together by joy and common basic tenets for living.

coziness in the way it was described in the newspaper article speaks to that simplicity. coziness doesn’t come from too much stuff gathered around us…that would seem to beget confusion…instead the quilt, the fire, a simple candle, mother nature…the things that are right there waiting for us…are the things that bring me the most joy.

there is a quilt that came out of my hope chest (how’s that for an old-fashioned term?) that is now gracing our bedcovers. there is something magical about this quilt. we have other quilts as well and have used them, but for some reason, this quilt has brought us sound sleep, deep rest, a warmth that is unparalleled. i believe it came from my sweet momma’s mom – my mama dear, as we used to call her – and it is a combination of

handsewn work and machine seaming. it was created in a simpler time and maybe it’s that history that makes it magical. it is like sleeping at linda and bill’s house…in a quiet room, in an antique bed, under gorgeous old quilts…true indulgence. this old quilt on our bed is one of the joys in my life.  simple stuff.

now, don’t get me wrong. i am one to definitely appreciate the things that this modern world offers us. the posting of this post is evidence of that. last night i was totally reliant on my cellphone as the girl traveled many hours through mountain roads in the cold night. when your (stubborn and fiercely independent) daughter is driving over mountain passes and there is snow and ice, the ability to have her check in with you is priceless – sending a text from points along the way, reassuring me that all was going well. and, like any mom, i would have fought to the carpet had someone taken away my cellphone during that. the moments that i can facetime with the boy or the girl are gifts beyond needing explanation. modern is good.

but i appreciate the balance and i feel, as i am getting older, more a desire for time spent in the simplicities.

i am finnish and norwegian (as well as irish and a little tiny bit of english) in ancestral background. as much as scandinavians sometimes draw lines of distinction, i am wondering if somewhere in there…is some danish….because i have to tell you, HYGGE really makes sense to me.

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