reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: kerri sherwood pandora artist


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discern reality. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

in the same way that the bamboo along the lakeshore is suggestive of a tropical clime, so is this red banana tree. it sort of creates a different reality, for this is wisconsin and – though this summer here might be leaning in a tropical (temperature and humidity) sort of way – it is still wisconsin, after all. we are not known for our beach tiki huts or crowded sandy beaches at spring break. this is the north. and, truth be told, i – in the midst of whatever this thermostat-malfunction-post-menopausal-too-hot thing is – am grateful. but a walk in the very beautiful downtown eichelman park gardens and you will be transported, surrounded by huge tropical leaves, plants dwarfing you. really stunning. they have created a different reality, at least temporarily.

it is the same way that entrepreneurs initiate and grow buzz around a new product or service. one must convince buyers that the offered product is far better than another, that it is superior in value, that it creates a different reality for the consumer. but it’s all made up. it’s just marketing.

when you own a recording label, you are tasked with developing the trajectory of an artist. in my case, that was me. so, with the help of a small amazing staff of dear ones, it was our job to create the bubble – to buzz the albums, to work retail accounts, to attend to radio play, to book concerts and events and stages, to grow, grow, grow. the one thing i refused to do was exaggerate – to get in over my head – to represent myself as something i wasn’t. i didn’t pretend to be part of a giant label or a different genre, for i was proud of my grassroot roots, of the music i created. i was content to take the turtle’s pace and to be sure to actually get where i was going and not be waylaid by fast rabbits offering shortcuts (always exacting a price, never wholesome).

so i find it particularly offensive – no, repugnant – to look at the bombastic campaigning – marketing – that is a part of the maga party. their desire to create an alternate reality in which america is great again is an unfathomable falsehood of gigantic proportion. they are not waylaid by any conscience to the underpinnings of democracy nor do they feel bound by the parameters of truth-telling. the future plans of project 2025 and agenda 47 are parallel and real – dangerous – and we can all read their intentions, though i would point out that there is this as well: we don’t know what we don’t know, what we can’t easily read or find – or even imagine – about their suffocating plans to take america to the place they call great.

what we do know is that america is not great going backwards. america is not great thwarting freedoms of all. america is not great divisive, a place where peace does not exist. america is not great full of rage. it is extraordinarily repulsive to watch the bigoted, bullying, incoherent, rage-filled ramblings of this maga candidate, yet they are wrapping believers – everyday people – in a bubbles-and-rainbows-reality they tout…a reality that will implode on them – the everyday people – should he be elected.

in september we will walk at the gardens by the lake. because it will likely still be warm – temperature-wise – the red banana tree leaves will still likely be towering over us.

in october we will walk at the gardens by the lake. it may be a bit chillier by then. and, depending on the parks department and scheduling of available staff, the red banana trees may still be there, standing tall.

in november we will walk at the gardens by the lake. all the flowers and banana leaves will be gone. the soil will be turned over and ready for whatever is next – in the spring of 2025.

when the alternate reality is gone and the dust settles, what really remains? is it rich soil or is it just filthy dirt?

we walk in democracy in september, in october and a few days in november. as we vote on november 5 we need to choose what we wish to remain in the garden. what reality truly is. what reality we truly want.

eichelman park is not meant to be the tropics.

the united states of america is not meant to be a fascist autocracy.

please figure it out.

choose carefully what and who you align with.

discern what is real.

choose what is real.

*****

FIGURE IT OUT ©️ 2010 kerri sherwood

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salty daisies. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

in the rare moments d texts me, my phone ringtone is john denver’s annie’s song.

“you fill up my senses like a night in the forest, like a mountain in springtime, like a walk in the rain, like a storm in the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean, you fill up my senses, come fill me again.

come let me love you, let me give my life to you. let me drown in your laughter, let me die in your arms. let me lay down beside you, let me always be with you. come let me love you, come love me again…”

and in those moments – daisy moments – i am reminded, once again, of the improbability of two tiny starflecks in the universe noticing each other, of the utter impossibility of our meeting, the sheer unlikeliness of our marrying, the astounding unimaginable gift of our time together.

even in the moments when my senses are overburdened, impatient, saturated, senseless.

daisies in any form, every stage – this wildflower fleabane – are just like hearing annie’s song. because i am me, they bring tears to my eyes.

“remember,” they whisper from the meadow on the side of the trail, “just remember.”

a long, long time ago my big brother penned a calligraphy print. it says, “may there be such a oneness between you that when one weeps the other will taste salt.”

we are beyond fortunate.

and salty and grateful.

*****

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AND NOW ©️ 2015 kerri sherwood

GRATEFUL from AS IT IS ©️ 2004 kerri sherwood

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rigged. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

“live life as if everything is rigged in your favour.” (rumi)

it’s when you go back – look at things in retrospect – that you are able to grok it. tiny details that had to align, mistakes and successes you experienced, things you regret and things you celebrate, things that brought you huge satisfaction and things that brought you great disappointment, things you found and things you lost – all were present in the story – to bring you here.

and you look back and realize that in all the positive, the universe held you – skimming the waves, floating with elation, so sure of the moment and yourself.

and you look back and realize that in all the negative, the universe held you – treading water, shaken, downtrodden, so unsure of the moment and yourself.

and, if you are fair, you notice that you are mostly steady. any wobble you carry from back then – whenever back then was – has eased up a bit. you are more resilient than you knew. you notice your grace, your balance, your deliberate, unceasing step-by-step.

and even on days when you are under great pressure – under the weight of everything you can still see in the rearview mirror, everything that worries you ahead – there are reminders of your strength.

this wisp felt like the touch of an angel’s wing. i don’t know which angel – there are many beloveds who are now angels – they have presence in some other plane; they are just over there, just on the other side, watching.

i suppose that from that place they can see that with which we struggle, that with which i struggle. but, having experienced both life and death, they are filled with perspective. and so i imagine them tossing the dice or rock-paper-scissors-ing to see whose turn it is, whose turn to summon up a cloud.

and then, whosever-turn-it-is waves their arm through the blueness of sky gathering up tiny sparkling glittered molecules – like mica – and the wisp forms, floating off to find me – knowing that i notice such things.

and i look up in the moment it happens by. and feel reassured.

right now i am here. right now i am alive. right now i am.

everything must surely be rigged in my favour after all.

*****

ANGEL YOU ARE ©️ 2002 kerri sherwood – this piece is not jazz nor is its copyright or publishing right owned in any capacity by rumblefish.

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***PLEASE NOTE: Both David and I are having WORDPRESS issues so today’s blogposts may look a little funky. Hoping we can resolve these tech issues soon. Thanks for your patience and – mostly – thanks for reading. xoxo


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blend-inners and stand-outers. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

it’s merely nuance. just the subtlety of shades, leaves begging for us to notice.

surrounded by meadows filled with wildflowers and a splendid array of color, these leaves are blend-inners, standing out only by their presence in size. so beautiful.

it’s like people, sort of. there are blend-inners and there are stand-outers. both are necessary in the balance of the meadow or the prairie.

the stand-outers are noisier, more assertive – colorful and obviously there, attracting attention, striding.

the blend-inners camouflage into the surroundings, quietly supporting efforts of others, tenaciously pursuing their own bliss, no wish to be flamboyant or noticed.

the surprising thing, however, is when – like this prairie dock plant – there is suddenly growth that is astounding. flower stems begin to shoot up skyward.

if you only passed by in early june you would not know this. you would assume that these broad leaves were in monochromatic zen with the rest of the meadow. you would assume that they would silently simply green their way through the season, other wildflowers growing up and around them, perhaps stifling them.

you would not know that later – just a little bit of time later – these seeming blend-inners would herald tall leafless stems – even as high as eight feet tall – sporting bright yellow daisy-like flowers. it becomes a towering plant, high above the rest, hardy and pretty much invincible. not so silent anymore.

you just can’t judge a book by its cover, can you?

*****

I DIDN’T KNOW from THIS PART OF THE JOURNEY ©️ 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood

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

friends of ours asked if we had cicadas yet. they live a short distance away in illinois and their friends – in another close-by illinois town – have so many cicadas that they cannot sleep at night. we haven’t heard a one. at least not yet.

instead, our nights are quiet. we can hear the gurgle of our pond, maybe a little wind. seems about right for the sweet phase.

dogga wakes us early – this morning his first attempt was at 5 – jumping on the bed for pets and snuggles, he encourages us to get up and put the coffee on. but in those exquisite minutes between slumber and plugging in the cuisinart we can hear the birds greeting the morning, the spoon stirring in a mug through our dear west neighbors’ kitchen window, the quiet strains of symphony as the sun streams in through the window and spills onto our quilt. it’s a tender beginning to a day.

last night was warm – we sat out late after we ate dinner on the deck. sans air conditioning it was warm when we went to sleep. i woke up numerous times through the night…always trying hard not to start thinking – because once i go down that road – the thinking road – i have no real chance at going back to sleep. nevertheless, i went there.

it seems – most times – when you end up on the thinking road it is on autopilot, as if you have no ability to steer. last night, though, i tried to stay in control of the steering wheel. and each time my mind wanted to veer off and ruminate over something else, something of concern, i tried to gently bring it back to my breathing, to the sounds of quiet night, to the feeling of d laying next to me, to the gentle snores of dogga.

i’m pretty sure the cicadas will arrive. i hope so. i don’t know if they will be so loud that i cannot sleep. i’m not too worried. there are plenty of other reasons i don’t sleep. and i have actually been a cicada fan my whole life – i love the summer night sounds of crickets and cicadas and miss those when they disappear in the fall. i try to memorize the sound – until the next season of them. i find both reassuring and pointedly centering – “you are in summer,” they seem to say, “relish it.”

the sweet phase. it’s begun. every day. every night. we are fortunate, no matter what. because we are here. period. this is the time to remember that.

*****

IN THE NIGHT from THIS PART OF THE JOURNEY ©️ 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood

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daisycup abundance. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

“it’s impossible to be lonely

when you’re zesting an orange.

scrape the soft rind once

and the whole room

fills with fruit.

look around: you have

more than enough.

always have.

you just didn’t notice

until now.”

(abundance – amy schmidt)

and the daisy turned skyward – cup-full. and as i passed, it reminded me of abundance and plenty.

for the measure of both abundance and plenty is not rigid. it is variable. my plenty is different than yours. and different expectations apply to abundance. it does not serve me well to gauge mine – my plenty, my abundance – by your standards. no, that comparison is not right. there are similarities. there are dissimilarities.

instead, i’ll look at the daisycup. i’ll set my face to the sun. i’ll count the times the dogga runs around the pond. i’ll gaze at the pussywillows on the white bathroom windowsill. i’ll savor the creak of old floors under my bare feet. i’ll tighten the back screen door handle. i’ll watch the house finches dine on grape jelly. i’ll feel his hand wrapped around mine.

we’ll go look for turtles from the bridge. we’ll clink glasses on the deck. we’ll listen to the wind in the chimes. we’ll paint rocks, write words and create big pots of soup. we’ll walk in sync on the sidewalk. we’ll make leftovers and serve them with happy napkins. we’ll relish time with family, with friends. we’ll make plans; we’ll revise plans. we’ll kiss goodnight.

because – when i notice – my daisycup is full.

with plenty.

abundance.

*****

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i can see it. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

“tonight while the lights are shining
and the microphone is on, i’ll play for you…” (seals and crofts)

or no lights.

a piano perched among the boulders looking out toward the mountain range – in this very special place. a boom mic.

in my dreams, i can see it.

the bigrocks are seats and the program is not written. it all comes from the spirit in this place, from air, from healing. and – even more specifically in my dream – a yamaha disklavier pro minus the fancy-schmancy newfangled stuff – an instrument to record directly to disk…on-the-fly on-tape, in the vernacular.

in my dreams – in my regaining of feeling relevant – my fight to regain relevance – as a 65 year-old recording artist who broke both wrists snowboarding and then tore my scapholunate ligament (leaving me with a rh grand total of 45° forward rom) – i am sitting at C7 pros all over – in fields of boulders, in canyonlands, perched on mesas, in meadows of wildflowers, on a cool sand beach. i am playing the boulderfield, the canyonland, the mesa, the meadow, the beach. it is a conversation between us – even, maybe – through me. it is simply an offering to anyone – or any one – who wishes to listen. it’s a dream awash in unlikelihood but with maybe-just-maybe the smallest iota of possible. maybe we can make it happen.

i stood – again – on the most obvious rock from which to bow to my invisible audience. and i bowed low.

because sound or not, there is music. sheet music or not, there is composing. audience or not, there is listening. it is all happening – simultaneously. right there. in that place.

the boulders on the grassy knoll know it. and i can see it.

“i’ve practiced many years
and i have come a long, long way just to play for you…
my life is but a song
i have written in many ways, just to say to you…”

*****

LONGING ©️ 2004 kerri sherwood
HOPE ©️ 2005 kerri sherwood

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go away. come back home. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

by this time i am likely a little bit homesick.

no matter where i am there comes a point when this happens.

when i was little – and everyone else went to sleepaway camp – i tried it on for size. twice. the first time it was ok. we went to camp koinonia in upstate new york and i was with my best friend susan. we stayed in a screened-in cabin with bunkbeds and there’s not much else i remember, save for the lanyard-making. the second time it was another upstate sleepaway camp and, again, i was with my best friend susan. that time did not go well. it rained a lot that week and that contributed to my wistful homesickness. i remember kickball and crafts and i remember a bit of weeping. i didn’t try it again.

i guess – as much as i now love going away – traveling and adventure, immersing in new places – even my favorite places – i am also kind of a homebody. i miss our house, our routines, my feet on our old wood floors, our dogga.

paradoxically, i feel fortunate to have gotten away from home. we needed a little bitta time out of town, a little bitta time away from the usual stuff, a little bitta time near family, a little bitta time in the mountains.

i think even a short stint of time away interrupts us. it grants us fresh air. it pokes us to not take loving our home lightly. it stirs up the wish-we-were-closer proximity yearnings. it gives us fresh eyes to return to our routines and the projects and challenges on our plates. it makes coming home sweet.

i am really, really familiar with the view out the front door of our house. this tree has been there the entire three and a half decades i have now lived here. and i have seen the sky and the seasons change through the arc of its branches.

the trees next to the sidewalk on our road have been aging out. one by one we wake up or arrive home to the roar of heavy chainsaw sounds. it makes me worry about our tree. it would be tough to see that tree removed.

going away and exploring – meandering around – is good for the soul. it’s invigorating and can take you out of your comfort zone. it’s rejuvenating. it gives you space.

coming back home – after going away and exploring – is also good for the soul. it affirms the everyday, the mundane, everything you consider ordinary, the very-familiar. and it elevates appreciation of all of it.

*****

MEANDER from AS IT IS ©️ 2004 kerri sherwood

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potatoes and teamwork. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

an unusual event, we went out for dinner. we had received a gift card as a present and were excited to use it, having saved it for some time. we had great anticipation.

when we walked in, the seating hostess was slammed. there was quite a crowd, yet this young lady maintained her grace and sense of humor, eventually leading us to a table for two. another young woman brought us glasses of water and placed menus in front of us. when our server came we ordered drinks and the bartender sent over two glasses of wine. we studied the menu carefully – trying to decide which of the dinners we would share – our practice – lingering on the salmon choices. we enjoyed our wine, chatting and watching the other diners in the small bistro and the young person who was bussing and cleaning the tables. the chefs in the kitchen prepared a lovely salmon, baked potato and fresh veggies just exactly the right al dente. we finished dining and, noting the crowd yet to be seated, decided to leave and give others a chance at sitting and enjoying a meal.

though i know – because it is as it is – there were defined roles in this restaurant and most definitely a laddered order of authority, it seemed to us, merely observers, that everyone was functioning with great collegiality and camaraderie. and, as observers, we appreciated that, for it made for a lovely dining experience. if we were able to see cracks in the foundation of employee genteel collaboration, it might have undermined the feeling of our dinner. if they were there, we were unaware. if so, i suspect they were able to work it all out, trust each other, rely on loyalty. it was a smoothly operating machine, despite the challenges of crowd and small space.

the thing that stood out for us – in that dining experience – was the obvious appreciation that each employee had for each other. there was no pointed ill will or jostling of power. they just worked together even though they might have been stressed. it is the power of allies, of a good team, the respectful valuing of each member of the team. they built a good team there – dedicated to the same mission.

i thought about our eating-out making dinner a few nights later. needing some good ole comfort food, we decided to “make us some mashed potatoes”.

so i started thinking about mashed potatoes – ours, simply potatoes and a little bit of salt and pepper, mashed with a potato masher. not the fancy-schmancy add-butter-milk-sourcream-cheese variety, you can’t get much simpler than ours. yet, they are a stalwart addition to any meal. a fluff of mashed potatoes flanked by veggies and maybe a veggie burger or a chicken breast. comfort indeed. no push-pull of power there. no agenda-jostling. just mashed potatoes. they don’t need special billing, yet they know their place in dinner is important. they feel the aretha franklin r-e-s-p-e-c-t.

and, there is nothing quite like that first forkful of mashed potatoes. the yum. it’s coming home on a plate.

i felt a funny rush of appreciation for mashed potatoes. we don’t think enough about the elements of our dinner, the workers in the restaurant, the people who add value, meaning, resonance, life to organizations to which we belong. we don’t ponder the integral nature of their existence on the plate, in the bistro, in the institution, how much we count on them. we don’t realize – until the grocery store is strangely out of potatoes – how much we depended upon them, their place on our dinner plate – or, by extension of these other examples – their hard work as we celebratorily dine out or their place in the soul of our organization.

sometimes, it’s the loss of potatoes that makes us miss potatoes. and then we wonder – after-the-fact – what can we do to make sure potatoes are always preserved, always available?

we thanked each of the workers and servers in the restaurant and we tipped well. we always do, no matter what. if tipping is not within our means, we will not go out. for the reason we are having the experience at all is because of the good work of those good people.

so – after my musing about mashed potatoes and teams of people – i’ll just say this: do not minimize the importance of mashed potatoes, the value of mashed potatoes. they are often the glue in a meal, and skin-on mashed potatoes are rich in fiber, low in calories, and have nutrients like vitamin c, potassium and vitamin b6.  all building-blocks.

and we all need good building-blocks. and a little respect.

*****

COUNT ON YOU from AS SURE AS THE SUN ©️ 2002 kerri sherwood – THIS SONG IS NOT JAZZ NOR DOES RUMBLEFISH OWN ANY PUBLISHING RIGHTS TO IT. THIS SONG IS 200% OWNED BY THE COMPOSER AND PERFORMING ARTIST KERRI SHERWOOD.

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rogue potato in parking lot

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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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