reverse threading

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April 19, 2024
by kerrisherwood11 3 Comments

there is love. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

it is a ritual. the dandy dandelions show up and i instantly become the mother of toddlers. oh, those very, very precious times.

it is wondrous to me that i still receive notes about this song – fistful of dandelions.

my children are both in their thirties now. life as a mom has changed dramatically…but only from a practical day-to-day point of view. the heart stuff is the same. it never changes.

a friend wrote to me, wondering if she could turn her mother-emotions down a bit now that her child was an adult.

i wrote back it doesn’t get any easier. motherhood is both the joy and grief. it is the fierce loving, protecting, worrying, cheering on…forever and ever. it is the backing up. it is the letting go. it is trusting that – in both the bliss and the pain – the connection exists, there is love.

“all the riches i will need today…”

*****

FISTFUL OF DANDELIONS ©️ 1999 kerri sherwood

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April 12, 2024
by kerrisherwood11 1 Comment

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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April 5, 2024
by kerrisherwood11 1 Comment

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

and in her waking-up, in the tease of spring, in the liminal space between seasons, mother earth offers up her flowers. it’s a tiny posy of possibility, an olive branch extended to stave off impatience as we pine for warmer days, for everything to green up. and, in this waiting zone, these dried flowers spur our imagination, carry us forward.

it’s the interim times – the periods in-between – the time spent in the hallway before the next door opens – these are the reluctant times. we are reluctant to sit in the hall. we are reluctant to wait and see. we are reluctant to accept a zone of time sans shape. we think it all – the minutes and seconds, hours and years – needs definition. we are reluctant to be still. we don’t understand what feels like a screeching halt. we yearn to move, yet we are frozen in fallow.

but we are morphing. we are beautiful winter nosegays tucked into mason jars. we are march and april. we are stoking up. we are no less beautiful than verdant june and july. we are just different.

and for this time – we are somewhat rustic, somewhat fragile. we are color-muted now to be opulent later. we are the quiet before the fortissimo, meek before rackety. we are simply waiting.

we read the same paragraph over and over again, listen to the same strains of music time and again, sit and pace and sit and pace. we are the dried wildflowers, the straining buds, the transitional space, the interlude. we are the hallway.

and then.

*****

UNTITLED INTERLUDE from RELEASED FROM THE HEART ©️ 1995 kerri sherwood

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March 29, 2024
by kerrisherwood11 1 Comment

bricks and boundaries. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

the snow fell in a not-so-unexpected twist of march. it was heavy and wet and, in its stickiness, made the world around us beautiful. we were both glad for it. now, a few days later, we are ready for tulips and daffodils. but for those days that it stuck around, it was perfect.

the old wall out front is one of my favorite things about our yard. it is far from perfect; its mortar is shedding. but it is gorgeous old brick and divides the upper yard from the lower yard. when the water company did their thing out front, i was worried it would topple. my fears were alleviated when they dug next to the wall and i could see that there was a four-foot footing deep into the ground, at least holding up the structure in a basic way. not that some of the bricks would not individually separate from the wall, but the wall itself would remain stable.

boundaries are kind of like that. weather – or things – or people – can try to undermine them, but a good solid foundation – and some sisu – will ultimately keep them standing.

this is something i have needed to remind myself.

in a time when finessed narrative and the non-telling of truth has been rampant, i need remember to stand firm, to hold fast, to grit my teeth and trust what i know to be true. i need remember that people are all fallible and that gossip is a more powerful force than truth and that anyone who doesn’t ask questions – seeking truth – should be paid no heed.

i have discovered – painfully – that people will attempt to knock all your bricks down for their own purposes, whatever those may be. i have discovered – shockingly – that people will declare their own righteousness and – yet – will fabricate whatever it takes to be right, to be more powerful, to be better. i have discovered – disappointingly – that people will betray others for agenda.

i haven’t really understood completely why i love that old brick wall so much. we could have our yard smoothed out – level the higher and lower portions – or smooth out the difference in a gentle slope. but i truly do love the wall. the old bricks – which have endured decades of time and the changes and challenges that weather brings. the old bricks – with a patina that no tumbler would be able to attain. the old bricks – worn in just the right way – bits and pieces broken off, yet still standing.

mostly, i have discovered that old brick walls have a real purpose in life.

as do boundaries.

*****

BOUNDARIES from RIGHT NOW ©️ 2010 kerri sherwood

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March 22, 2024
by kerrisherwood11 1 Comment

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

i felt it as we pulled in our driveway.

most of the time i can feel this. though sometimes, i am too busy or rushed. and though sometimes, i am frazzled with thoughts. and though sometimes, i am worried or distracted. and though sometimes, i have forgotten the simplicities in the midst of complexities.

i felt it though. and it was palpable.

the driveway greeted us as we pulled in – familiar cracks along its way. the wires overhead tugged and dipped in the wind. the leaves leftover from fall and winter blew in front of us. the house whispered, “welcome home.”

and this time – this time – i heard it. clear as day, as they say.

the whisper of a home – this place i have gone to for rest and nourishment, for creative work and rejuvenation, for the growing of beloveds and the gathering of friends, for belly-laughter and sob-filled tears, for refuge and solitude. this sanctuary. this place.

as we drove – on our way home – i could think of nothing better than to enter our home, hug on dogga, throw on my sweats and comfy boots, prepare a small meal. in this place.

my nest.

“this morning, in the fresh field,

i came upon a hidden nest.

it held four warm, speckled eggs.

i touched them.

then went away softly,

having felt something more wonderful

than all the electricity of new york city.” (mary oliver)

*****

THE WAY HOME from THIS PART OF THE JOURNEY ©️ 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood

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March 8, 2024
by kerrisherwood11 3 Comments

a front is a front. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

the front was obvious. the edge was unmistakable. i know there have been other days when it was so, but for some reason – this very week, this very day – it was profound. clear-cut demarcation. dense clouds meeting blue-blue sky – a distinct line.

though often – most days, really – the clouds co-exist with the blue sky, this made the front system – windy, cold, raw, a bit nasty – inordinately clear. there was no doubt where it was and where it wasn’t. this front did not hide in tall cumulonimbus plumes. this front did not pose as puffy cumulus clouds, lurking in wait for opportunity to tower and turn into thunderstorms. this front was what it was. it was not duplicitous.

i must say i appreciated that about this front. it was just so clear, so transparent, honest, if you can attach such an adjective to a weather system. i stopped at a light and grabbed my camera to try and capture the line in the sky. it was a good day to remind myself that lines like this really do exist. nature is straight-forward about its intention. it’s not pretending to be something else.

a front is a front. blue sky is blue sky. a storm is a storm. nothing two-faced about it.

as usual, humans could learn a lot from nature.

“compared with the intense purity and cordiality and beauty of nature, the most delicate refinements and cultures of civilization are gross barbarisms.” (john muir)

*****

HOLDING STEADFAST from BLUEPRINT FOR MY SOUL ©️ 1996 kerri sherwood

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February 23, 2024
by kerrisherwood11 1 Comment

and ohhh, these overalls. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

though i know it won’t really matter to either of them, i’ll hang a pair of tiny overalls and a pair of tiny first-walking-shoes on a peg in each of their rooms.

i was deep in memories going through and washing all of their infant and toddler clothing. touching each and every piece, i kept thinking, “surely he/she would want me to save this!!”. i seriously pondered making them quilts out of their childhood clothing, sure that they would treasure these. until i realized something.

it’s me who remembers these tiny clothes. it’s me who remembers my little girl – tucked into her bear chair – a stack of books next to her, absorbed. it’s me who remembers my little boy – kneeling on the road rug with buildings and streets and stop signs, matchbox cars lined up or zooming with his little hand. they were tiny toddlers with no real thought about memorizing forever and ever what they had on. i’m the one who remembers what they were wearing. i’m the one who remembers the onesies, the sleepers and the footie pajamas. i’m the one who remembers the tiny jeans and turtlenecks. i’m the one who remembers the polly flinders smocked dresses and sweet rompers. i’m the one who remembers the oshkosh overalls.

so i’ll hang the oshkosh b’goshes upstairs anyway. and i’ve decided to hold out just a few items from the big ikea bags that we will deliver to the mission in chicago. and i’ll cut yoyos out of these and make a small yoyo hanging that i can place on a hook in our bedroom. that way, anytime i want to get lost in the memories of my amazing adult children as babies and toddlers, i can touch a little fabric that will bring me back.

*****

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February 16, 2024
by kerrisherwood11 7 Comments

en pointe, arms fourth position. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

en pointe, arm in fourth ordinary position, the queen lace stands in late winter. curved seed petal over her head she stands in the brilliant sun, ready to release all the rest, to grow, to start over.

way back in the day, one of my favorite times in each week’s schedule was when my little girl took ballet lessons. she had a pink leotard and tights and tiny ballet slippers. we parents sat on the wood floor in the hallway just outside the entrance to the dance studio, gazing in wonder at our little girls – dancing. tiny ballerinas. the sweetest ballet.

our play group back then gathered in our houses, with a revolving schedule. when we were anywhere near a piano, i’d play music and all the little ones would dance. it was amazing and inspiring to see all these tiny people dancing with abandon. so much joy.

we passed the queen anne’s lace and i could see these tiny dancers as we passed by – arm curved and raised overhead, on tippy-toes, swaying, twirling in the wind.

in my mind i raised my arm up – over my head – and pirouetted around. right there on the trail. what better way to greet the sun of each new day, i thought.

*****

February 9, 2024
by kerrisherwood11 Leave a comment

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damn prickly. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

there are people like this. prickly.

and, just like thistles, prickly people tend to stick together. at least that’s been my experience.

one wonders what the point of thistles are in the world. what good might they do? the nectar and pollen are of nutritional value to pollinators; the seeds are feed for songbirds. but ouch! the packaging is a bit rough.

sandspurs were a way of life in florida. any time you stood on the swale of the road you would expect to encounter them. they were present on the coast of hilton head too, sticking to the bottom of your flipflops as you walked to the water’s edge. we encounter them on the trail – particularly if you step off, into the underbrush. sandspurs, like thistles, are unwelcome hitchhikers on socks and the bottom hemline of jeans, backpacks you laid down, beachtowels. they are about as prickly as thistles – and about as nasty.

i suppose if people were to assign flora to our personalities, none of us would prefer to be “thistle” or “sandspur”. i’m thinking more along the line of peony or daisy, sunflower or orchid or even cattail or meadow grass. definitely not thistle. definitely not sandspur.

and yet, there are people – out there – who seem to relish their prickliness. maybe it’s to stave off other people. maybe it’s a protective shield of some sort. maybe it’s the result of others’ prickliness to them. or maybe it’s the truth – they are just damn prickly.

and, as we know, thistles attract thistles. nasty attracts nasty. mean attracts mean. sandspur and thistle posses can be powerful, keeping out – repelling – anything softer, anything into which they can sink those stickers.

each day – as we continually learn of the challenges of others – i think that there is not enough time to be prickly, not enough time to be nasty like that, not enough time to be unkind, not enough time to be uncaring. we barely have enough time to be loving, to be kind, to care about those around us, to have compassion for those we don’t know.

and despite the many advantages of the thistle, the many advantages of the sandspur, i’m thinking that an outer shell that may or not may belie inner goodness is kind of a waste of precious time. it may be good for the underbrush, good for the meadow, but it’s not so good for humankind.

let’s not be thistles.

*****