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the path back is the path forward

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harvest the love. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

in a very, very long-ago life i wrote a song for a youth choir called “harvest the love“. i recently found the arrangement i composed. it is a bubblegum kind of song – full of rhyming idealism. “…we are all one fam’ly under the sun, we are brothers, we are sisters, we are one...”. wowza.

one of my closest friends in high school – marc – used to make fun of me (in the kindest way possible). he’d poke at my embrace of rainbows and sunrises and bubbles and sunsets. i was all-in on that stuff, believing it was absolutely possible to be “all one fam’ly under the sun”. “…for aren’t we really crops in the sun and aren’t we ready for work and for fun, as all one fam’ly under the sun…”. (it’s ok to laugh.)

we had a quiet thanksgiving. it felt good to store away the deck furniture and rugs, to complete prepping the backyard for winter – for (as i write this) we’re due for 6-10 inches of snow over the weekend (which, incidentally, we did get about 10). we wrapped happy lights around the giant tree branch that used to be in our living room, now fastened to our deck. on a timer, we look forward to this tree greeting us as we arrive home in the dark. we neatly tucked everything else away and the snow shovel is in its at-the-ready place by the back door.

we had the good fortune of visiting frank over the holidays. in a rehab facility, exhausted and challenged from a serious health event, he roused to tell us stories accumulated over the nine plus decades of his life. he – most definitely – lived a life ready for both work and for fun, just like my giddy song lyrics.

and then – back home – between sending out thanksgiving greetings and receiving them – we prepared a big stockpot of irish stew for our meal. with george winston playing in the sunroom, we chopped and sautéed and, ultimately, simmered our way to dinner. it was just us, but as we gathered, we talked about the people in our lives who have meant so much to us, about memories of thanksgivings, about our gratitude for our home and each other. two weeks ago our children and their partners gathered around our dining room table and i am still holding fast to how it all felt that day, stretching it out like good taffy.

most of the lyrics of this old song are really indicative of my age (late teens) and where i had come from – you can tell i spent a lot of time sitting in my tree outside my window writing poetry. “…isn’t it time now to harvest the love in your roots and splash in the puddles around you. from dawn of the day and its dew, we bask in the sunshine surrounds us...” yikes.

then there’s: “…dig our holes in fertile soil of living and hope that it will yield us as giving...” that would seem an innocently metaphoric way – full of autumnal reference – of saying we reap what we sow. and…i still agree with that.

and then, after the song – predictably – in late 70s fashion – modulates up a full step to a new key, it ends: “harvest the love within your heart, harvest the love. harvest the love within your heart, harvest the love…(with repeat signs)...”

which is – really – i think – still what i believe. love. harvest the LOVE. gather with those you love. LOVE one another. we ARE all one fam’ly under the sun. we ARE brothers, we ARE sisters.

now if only we could all act like it.

*****

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

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patina. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

i just can’t keep everything. and right now, i’ve been more valiant about going-through-giving-away-selling-getting-rid-of.

and so, despite the really beautiful wood handle on this vintage cast iron meat grinder – passed down to me by my mom and dad – a manual kitchen gadget – a peck, stow & wilcox – from the late 1800s or early 1900s – i have decided to move it on.

we aren’t big meat eaters and we are definitely not meat grinders. as a matter of fact, i am hard-pressed to remember my mom grinding meat. and, as antiques go, our old kitchen isn’t big enough to add the meat grinder as a displayed collectible, even with its patina of worn-smooth wood, the curve of its handle, the working vice clamp – really, the whole curiosity factor. no, it is time to let it go.

in our economic blackout protest, we won’t be shopping today – or the next few days – and we didn’t the last few days – anywhere but smaller retail. over this weekend we may go to our favorite antique shoppe or we may stay in, continuing the big-clearing-out, maybe hiking as a respite from the going-through.

every now and then, as i touch something that’s been packed away, i pause for a few minutes. in the flash of memories that flies through my heart in those minutes, i do my best to detach from the item and simply attach to the feeling. some things are easy – the meat grinder is sort of one of those, despite its collectible value. some things are a bit more difficult or downright hard – an old felt hat of my dad’s, a mid-century modern black and blue ceramic ashtray i remember from forever, a cypress clock, my momma’s wedding dress, hobnail milk glass pieces – these all run wide that spectrum. my tinier-than-i-remembered horse collection, multiple plastic seagulls on wire stuck into driftwood, the metal yellow and white smile face wastebasket, an old bread box – these are also mixed and the ruthless-matter-of-fact-er in me takes a backseat to the flood of memories. but boxed is boxed and i am wondering what the point is if something that could be used by someone is simply boxed or binned away in the storage room in the basement, never to be appreciated, never to be purposed.

the hands that held this grinder handle, that cranked this, that churned out sausage or whatever it is the grinder is capable of, were hands related to mine. holding this handle is holding time-passed-by. it is holding people passed. and so i do a photo shoot of this cast iron piece, clamping it onto our kitchen table, appreciating its age, its handprints, its history – though i don’t specifically know it.

and someone will eventually purchase this – or we will give it away – and they will also wonder about where it came from, whose it was, how it was used and when. they won’t know, but they will have honored it nonetheless, just by taking it home.

and the meat grinder will start its next phase – maybe displayed – maybe put into use. and the story will continue – about a hundred years of story.

and we will stand firm in our blackout of the kind of purchasing that enables the most privileged wealthy, the oligarchs. we will stand firm in our pushback of the economic inequality, the DEI rollbacks, the administration’s corruption and bow to special interests, to bigotry. we’ll do the best we can.

as always we will scale back, be frugal, lighten the load we have, repurpose, minimalize our needs, support others who have less, hold onto what is truly valuable – memories, feelings, connections….the heart of it all.

because a hundred years from now – from the time of this very story – i would hope the patina of that future time would show the well-worn bruises and scars and hard work of the people who pushed back, the people who – successfully – held onto democracy.

*****

LEGACY © 1995 kerri sherwood

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

spent. the at-least-ten-foot-tall sunflower by the library looks spent. but oh, no, it is not spent. the transience of its time – of time itself – is just the beginning of a new phase, a new purpose, a new cycle. its seeds perpetuate its enduring soul. it keeps on.

“i’ve spent the past fifteen hundred days working tirelessly toward a single goal – survival. and now that i’ve survived, i’m realizing i don’t know how to live.” (suleika jaouad)

and so, here in the little garden just outside our favored library in town, this sunflower is still in its glory. tall, stately, i still catch my breath to see it. alone, it towers above all else there.

today we will have irish stew and mashed potatoes for dinner. it is not a traditional big turkey extravaganza nor is it a gathering of many at our table on this day. but we two will sit – with candles and cloth napkins and steaming bowls and bread – and we will give thanks for each person in each of our phases who have helped us work toward survival, helped us with endurance, with purpose.

we will be grateful for the full table in our dining room just two weeks ago, our beloved children, with us. we will offer up thanks for the food we will eat, for each other, for cherished ones, for being together. we’ll likely chat about thanksgivings of our growing-up, tales of earlier grown-up thanksgivings, thanksgivings when – to their delight – our childrens’ dad did an early-morning turkey-dance with the turkey, thanksgivings when our parents did the traditional end-of-the-table carving.

and we’ll dream about thanksgivings to come when – hopefully – this nation will have come back to its senses, when it will lead with gratitude and appreciation for all its people and its wildly fantastic diversity. we’ll ponder when extended families might return to the holiday table together, in love and generosity, with compassion for each other and all the others, all schisms laid out forever to rest. we’ll wonder about the seeds of the soul of this day – thanksgiving – and the true honesty and heart behind the honest and heartfelt wish – “happy thanksgiving” – we’ve heard so many times this week before today.

we are reminded every day – by something or other – that we all don’t really know how to live. it goes beyond survival, beyond the giant yellow bloom on the ten foot tall stalk. it stands the transience of time and its soul of goodness endures, cycle after cycle.

it is not spent.

and we are grateful for another chance to keep on.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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

“i once believed that silence was strength.” (anonymous)

and then i didn’t.

because “silence isn’t strength. it’s complicity.” (barbra streisand)

and so i – in my noisy – will stand firm and tall.

and i will wonder how others have not yet gotten there – to noisy. how others have not yet realized inside themselves that their silence – in these very days – is complicity. how others have not spoken up, spoken for, spoken against. how others have not been openly horrified at what this country’s administration is allowing, how this country’s administration is grifting, what this country’s administration is hiding, what this country’s administration is intending.

and i will wonder how others protect the wrongdoers. how others cavalierly wield the power differential around, like a discus before its release, spinning, spinning. how others thwart the rights of people they consider beneath them, lesser, somehow, than them. how others avoid accountability, culpability, the simple act of being responsible. how others stay quiet – seemingly a mute cheering squad for these, both voiceless and gleeful.

and i will wonder how it is that sexual assault survivors are expected to internalize their abuse, desperately seeking anything to normalize that which is not normal. how it is that sexual assault survivors are not lifted from their pain with the steady voices of everyone around them, instead of shushed or doubted or ignored. how it is that this question – “why we doubt accusers and protect abusers” – has any turf on which to stand.

but these are not my wonders to solve. these are mine to get noisy about. for it is my own heart i must answer to.

because, for me, silence is not strength. it is capitulating to wrong, quietly suggesting that i agree.

and i don’t.

“it happened. it was wrong. it matters.” (tarana burke)

it’s happening. it is wrong. it matters.

all of it.

*****

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

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my dandelion face. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

it is tuesday. we just watched the press conference during which the sexual abuse survivors of the notorious epstein case spoke in support of releasing all the files – yet again. these women showed photographs of what they looked like at the age they were first groomed, molested, sexually abused and trafficked. on this cold november morning in the capitol city of our country, they once again pled for justice. because abuse is abuse and wrong is wrong. and this country should be sick to death of protecting the vile people who have taken part in this what-seems-eternal coverup of heinous crimes.

“they [epstein and maxwell] changed the trajectory of my life,” said one survivor as she described herself as a young woman, ready to step into her life, full of possibility – ‘before’.

yes. because grooming and sexual abuse and power and control and manipulation and the resulting devastation are suffocating. yes. because the trauma is all-encompassing – overarching – and is like glue stuck inside your body. yes. because this kind of devastation has tentacles that reach around and into survivors in all ways – emotionally, physically, relationally, professionally, spiritually, financially. yes. because when no one takes responsibility, when all who are culpable for this torturous takeover of your freedom of choice are not held accountable, it is spirit-crushing. yes. because it truly does change the trajectory of your life. yes. because ‘after’ is never the same as ‘before’.

but, these victim-survivors have courageously chosen to tell their truth and we are watching them rise to the beacon of light, look to the beacon of hope.

the hold of the past is slipping – even a smidge – and a tiny bit of healing is seeping in.

let’s hope that there is finally a moment when the rest of the power differential is broken, when morality and conscience and equality under the law take the lead, when survivors everywhere might find that justice is possible.

in the meanwhile – this interim period when we wait and watch and hold fast to the integrity of the truth – i – also a survivor of sexual abuse – will stand in the sun with them, my dandelion face rising above the darkness of predation and coverup.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

66 and 19.

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snowed under. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

so it feels a bit like a continuation from tuesday’s post that i wrote on sunday, but here we are – on monday morning – waking up to a winter wonderland. it all feels kind of early, if you ask me. i mean, it’s only november 10th. but, somehow, in the middle of the night – in those wee hours when i laid awake – in the middle of a great dark hush outside – the kind of hush in which you would never have guessed what was happening – it was snowing. clearly, non-stop.

the sun is coming out now and the sky has that blue that only follows a big snow. crisp, unexpected, inches and inches of snow. since we live by the lake, we were pretty slammed by lake effect and a ruler shows that there are – truly – about 15 inches out there.

we are cozy in here, though. under a comforter and a quilt, sipping coffee, we feel beyond fortunate. we have had our simple breakfast and, even if we can’t get out later, we have leftover food for lunch and dinner. lucky.

what about those people without? there is nothing i can say that would be – in any way – polite language about an administration fighting to continue the cruelty of withholding monies for food. i cannot grok that kind of evil.

i’ve looked – a couple times – at d’s aca healthcare policy to see what his new premium will be. i am well aware that it – a premium already ridiculously expensive – will probably be triple. we also noted that his actual policy will no longer exist and the “comparable” policy that was suggested is one with – no surprise here! – higher deductibles, higher co-pays, a higher maximum out-of-pocket combined with less coverage and – the icing on the cake – zero out-of-network coverage at all.

and who is it that is against universal healthcare??

of course that doesn’t begin to address the violent removal of people that a bigoted administration has decided are not worthy of being here.

one nation, under god, with liberty and justice for all. uh-huh.

so many people – the populace of this country – struggling, desperately trying to stay healthy, to stay fed, to stay safe, to stay alive.

i would never have guessed – in the dark hush of this administration’s years and years of strategizing, scheming, conniving – what was happening, all of what they had planned for this country.

somehow, the siri of the universe seemed to think that we meant “snowed under” literally.

siri was right. both ways.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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in an emergency. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

i would not think twice about using this emergency life ring were someone to be thrashing about in the cold water of the harbor below the dock. i’d quickly read the instructions and throw out the rope to anyone – ANY one – who might be drowning or even flailing, trying to survive. i have no doubt that most of the people i know would do the same; they would not ignore the seriousness of a person in extreme need of help.

which is why i absolutely cannot understand why this country is ignoring the imminent crises imperiling millions of people. when i read historian heather cox richardson’s words “what are we doing here?” i couldn’t agree more. truly…what are we doing here?

between the withholding of snap benefits, the gross reduction of medicaid, the exponentially escalating cost of impossible healthcare policies, the grabbing of people off the street, out of businesses, cars, daycares, this country – as you know – is placing its people at great risk.

so what are we doing here?

it would seem that normal human beings – those with a conscience, with compassion and with integrity – would never hesitate to help others in an emergency or in dire straits.

the words on the emergency life ring stanchion read “TO SAVE A LIFE”.

how is it that we – every single one of us – is not concerned with just that?

*****

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

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what we are. [kerri’s blog on flawed wednesday]

“life is only a reflection of what we allow ourselves to see.” (trudy symeonakis vesotsky)

when i started my first teaching job – at a K-2 primary school in the poorest part of a county in florida – i found out quickly that the previous teacher had a favorite record album that she played over and over and over. i’m not sure how much music teaching she did, but i know that she played this record for every class, every day. it was a female artist’s album, one of her earliest. in those days her albums were all contemporary christian fixtures, full of praise songs, lyrics based on biblical messages and worship.

even back then – in this very first teaching job in the very first school – i knew that it was not appropriate to play this album ad nauseam like the students described their previous teacher doing. i was not teaching at a religious-based school; this was a public school and i had a different obligation to these children. it was most definitely not to foist christian music upon them.

in perusing social media i just saw rumors that there will be an “alternate” half-time show for the super bowl game, featuring two country artists who i thought knew better. in these times – in a world that draws strength from its diversity – it is unbelievably tone-deaf to think that we need an alternate quote-unquote “all-american” show and just the mere suggestion of what that definition likely means makes my stomach hurt. if we are to believe what we are reading in social media about this show, it is steeped in an incredibly narrow definition of faith and family and freedom – and what “all-american” actually is. it is painful to think of the people i know who will watch this – cheering – steeped in audacious narrowville.

i grew up going to church with my family. i spent 35 years as a minister of music in various christian churches across the country. never would i ever presume to foist christian music or philosophy – as a whole – upon this nation. never would i ever resort to the hateful rhetoric that is pieced – cherry-picked – from religious writings to justify disrespect of others, even ill-intended evil. never would i ever even begin to suggest that god – or any name you might choose to call a divine presence – would sort people into colors or ethnicities or genders or economic castes.

in the many, many years i spent in these buildings of faith – many of which, i learned, were disparately skewed to hypocrisy – i came to understand gandhi’s quote: “i like your christ, i do not like your christians. your christians are so unlike your christ.”

my own takeaway from a lifetime of work – if we allow ourselves to see the world as a tapestry of differences, respectful compassion, tolerances, a generous embracing, then we see in technicolor, our lives are beautiful and full of the possibility of growth and learning from others. if we allow ourselves to only see a one-dimensional homogeneous world, if that is all we tolerate, that is all we believe is worthy, then we are, as well, one-dimensional and our lives are limited in mediocrity.

if life is – truly – only a reflection of what we allow ourselves to see, i would hope for all to open their eyes. i would hope for all to see what they are espousing – or proselytizing – with their words or – complicitly – with their silence. i would hope that the reflection of reality – real truth – unobscured by agenda or any form of bigotry – would be what we all see so that we might deal with the ugliness of mushrooming propaganda and contempt.

we are our reflections.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this FLAWED WEDNESDAY

same photo – upside down

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when? [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

on the same night we waltzed in the rain, we strolled up and down main street, window-shopping. we were too drenched to go in anywhere and that wasn’t the point anyway. we just wanted to etch it all – best as we could – memorize it.

the harbor had always been a refuge and i was grateful to see the post at the information booth – in several languages – declare “may peace prevail on earth”. this tiny microcosm of the world – the village park – this space that drew people and strollers and children and dogs and laughter and music – this space certainly was shining a light on the possibility of community…shared community.

but peace is not prevailing on earth these very days. the people of our country are struggling as are people around the globe. my heart sinks as i think of all the places where real-live people are fighting for their very lives, where real-live people are being dehumanized, where real-live people are starving, where real-live people are being run over by self-centered, extremist regimes.

and i wonder, if not now, when? when might compassion rise among all people? when might we all realize the immortality of our time here, living it with generosity toward each other? when might warring cease? when might evil forces slink away in humiliation – forever defeated?

when might this world come to its senses – to actually prevail in peace?

when, indeed.

*****

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

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and then. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

with what seemed a millisecond between seasons, it is – clearly – fall now.

i had a list of places to go, places to show d. but the tropical storm/nor’easter put a crimp in all that. planting fields, millneck manor, blydenburgh park, hecksher park, every beach on both shores, out east – it was all on the list.

but the reality was that both time and good weather were limited. so in tiny bits of time, we went to the most important places. the other places will have to wait.

grateful to be home, we went to our favorite loop trail and immersed in the turn of the season, appreciating all the little and big ways it had changed in the week we had been away – a week that felt infinitely longer.

i readjusted the smart lights and the old-fashioned timers. d pushed the garden lights earlier. we refreshed happy lights and, and just a few days ago, i turned on the heat for the first time this season. i love autumn, but the waning light is a bit challenging.

any store we enter now is decked out in full holiday schmalz. that – i have to say – is too much for me. though i am completely aware this works for some people, it just seems too soon and it seems a bit tone-deaf to me, considering all that is actually happening.

as i think about the holiday season – knowing our adult children will not be celebrating here with us this year – i wonder about our own celebration. i have some seriously mixed feelings about it all. though being surrounded by lights and cheerful reminders of merriment and joy would be helpful, i also know that there is a tipping point – at least for me. too much of that might be like closing my eyes to the painful changes taking place right here, right now. it will be important to balance the hope of a season of light with reality. some of the merriment, the decorations, the glitter and ribbons and wrap might have to wait. just like millneck manor and planting fields, the beaches and parks of the island. sometimes just a bit is also enough for the moment.

in the meanwhile, we touch this season. we take cuttings of our plants to propagate for next year. we miss long, lazy light as it slowly disappears. we start to wear boots.

the time of fallow is coming.

fallow.

and then?

i truly hope that soon we here in this country are able to – driven to – resume the cultivation of kindness and humanitarian goodness, to regenerate respect and care for each person here, to break the toxic infestation of these days, to recover a nation of integrity, equality, generosity and democracy for all.

*****

MILLNECK FALL © 1996 kerri sherwood

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