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Tag Archives: live life my sweet potato


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every ounce. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

we have a relationship with mason jars. ball, kerr, various other brands, it doesn’t matter. we even have a relationship with faux mason jars – the smuckers jelly jars that we used to use for wine, the bonne maman jam jars we currently use as water glasses.

at our wedding we had dozens of mason jars, daisies tucked into all of them. some were ours and we borrowed some (does that work as something borrowed, something blue…?) because way back when – when i first moved to wisconsin – i got hooked on these jars.

my dear friend linda and i would attend the late 80s/early 90s craft fairs, peruse antique shoppes. her home was a celebration of all-things-vintage and i fell in love with it. there were textures and stories – a distinct warmth – everywhere and buying-vintage became a viable – and smart – option for me. we have several metal flour sifters as a result of that and a collection of old wooden textile mill spools and bobbins (from the 19th and earlier 20th centuries). when other people were buying cutesy painted tchotchkes, i was lusting over old wooden boxes, lidded crates and blue mason jars.

we stopped at a couple antique shoppes recently, looking for a small wooden garden table for a plant or two on our deck. we had purchased one last spring but then d loved it so much outside he brought it inside in the fall to serve as his bedside table. now he is a devotee to this little peeling-paint garden table and we are on the hunt for another.

i don’t suppose many people would have brought this table inside – or the old glider – or the chunks of concrete – or the birdhouse – or the chiminea. but in an effort-that-is-no-effort to have a home that doesn’t look like it’s staged-and-ready-for-sale or is a furniture-outlet showroom or magazine piece, we dive into our intuitive to use the things that really speak to us, that are organic, that have stories. i maintain that everyone should be required to purchase mostly used things – there is just too much stuff in the world and i can’t imagine why we need even more manufactured stuff. but i digress.

in that same vein, though, we have started regularly using the things that we have found in our going-through the basement, the attic, the closets. we are eliminating plastic here and there and choosing the cut-glass vessels for our carrot sticks and salty snacks. we are soon going to reconfigure the stuff in the cabinets under the counter in the kitchen – to make access easier to the old pyrex, the fenton hobnail, the cut-glass.

we have found we have no real need to purchase many things. i’m not sure if that comes with age or if that comes with a bit of wisdom – or if those are one and the same. our inclination is to use what we have, to not save things for “good” (which is particularly difficult for me), to minimize as much as we can.

every now and then we find something that just pokes at us, prodding us to bring it home. there is a raw rough-hewn clay pot from northport, a couple linen napkins from the same boutique. there is a new peace sign button hanging in littlebabyscion. but way more has gone out than come in – donated, sold on marketplace or poshmark. less is most definitely more. especially in these times.

the blue ball jars all lined up at this shoppe made me smile. the proprietor clearly loves organization; everything there was in categories, lined up or gathered for ease of perusing through. we had no impulse to buy anything, but loved our walk through.

because each time we walk an antique shoppe, we have stories to tell – about the stuff of growing-up, about things we have previously owned, about stuff we never had or never wanted, about – well – life.

if you have never taken a walk through any vintage shop, you might consider it.

it’s generative in a way you might not expect, with sudden glimpses into the decades that have past, with moments when your heart surges – focused on a memory, with a wistfulness that reminds you of how fleeting it all is and how very much we need to “wring out every ounce of life, breath by breath, [all] that this world has to offer.” (words from a text from dear friend lisa.)

*****

CHASING BUBBLES mixed media 33.25″ x 48″

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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zig choices. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

“because of some strange little voice inside, i zigged where i was expected to zag…”(anna quindlen)

aging is a funny thing. you come screeching to a halt at this place – a kind of dr. seuss waiting place – and you have the chance to make some decisions. which way do you go now? what route do you take? where are you headed?

or maybe you come screeching to a halt – having been on this one solid path – to a place – a kind of dr. seuss waiting place – and you linger there, looking around, out of breath and a little bit tired. in front of you, choices fan out, beckoning you. you sit down, in the lazy boy of havinggottenthere and you ponder, panting, exhausted.

for, all of a sudden, you don’t feel compelled to drive forward on one straight line. you are suddenly empowered by the realization that none of it – and all of it – counts. you have begun to realize that the dust you will leave behind will not be measured by accomplishment. it, likely, won’t even be remembered by accomplishment. for those things dim and boxes of those remain in the basement, ready for some thrift store or antique shoppe. mementos have gathered dust and certificates have faded on office walls. the hills you climbed, the battles you waged, they have evanesced. the trophies, the medals, the awards, the stock options – all so greatly valued at one time – have lost their lustre.

so you take stock. your havinggottenthere lazy boy slowly rocks while you stare ahead and think about what path might “align with your purpose, peace and trust in the future” (the “best path” as defined by google).

and something is itching inside you to go rogue, to take a path no one expects, to zig where they expect you to zag.

and, as it appears on the twiggy hogweed map, you can always backtrack back to the waiting place – to re-evaluate, to rest, to try something else on for size.

there is a freedom to this aging thing. (granted, there would be more of a freedom if there was not chaos.)

this freedom to explore without expectation, to try without any measure of succeeding, to grab onto more experiences – but without preconceived notions, to discard the safe path and embrace a bit of fear, to muse-work and branch-out or sit-and-stare with abandon.

there is a freedom knowing that as much as one matters, our tiny existence is yet tiny. and what we feel at dawn as we breathe in early spring-like air or listen to birds collecting at the feeder or pull up the covers for just a little longer – all that matters.

there are moments i am stunned by the ability to feel. physically. emotionally. the ability to FEEL. it’s shocking. i recognize that there have been days – maybe even weeks or months or years – when i paid little to no heed to being able to feel. lost in the mayhem of everylittlethingthatmustgetdone i missed it. we have all been racing to finish.

and yet, here we are – in this time of utter chaos – where everything seems upside down, corruption is rampant, the country is flailing while its leaders violently push it backwards, isolate it, make it a pariah – and THIS happens to be our time.

we feel bits of wisdom pop up evvvvvery now and again, evvvvvvery here and there, through fallowed earth like snowdrops or crocuses desperate to emerge. we stand up. we speak up. we speak out. we cuss. we bellylaugh. we rail. we inhale, another deep breath.

we are feeling. we are making time to feel.

we are considering our zigs.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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

“still, what i want in my life is to be willing to be dazzled – to cast aside the weight of facts and maybe even to float a little above this difficult world.” (mary oliver)

we check on the world right before sleep these days. we feel like it is a citizen’s duty to know what is happening in our own country, what is happening because of our own country, to be aware of the chaos, to be somewhat versed in the goings-on, to try – without success – to understand where it’s all headed and to – somehow – grok why. it’s all nearly impossible. and it is overwhelming.

we check on the world when we wake these days. we feel like it is a citizen’s duty to know what is happening in our own country, what is happening because of our own country, to be aware of the chaos, to be somewhat versed in the goings-on, to try – without success – to understand where it’s all headed and to – somehow – grok why. it’s all nearly impossible. and it is overwhelming.

and we know that there is less and less probability of it all making sense. for this must be intended-chaos and the world is ever more difficult because of it.

we sat at the bistro table in our sunroom with a glass of wine. dusk had fallen, the happy lights were on, dogga was on the rug at our feet.

we talked about the unsteadiness of these days.

and we talked about our own steadiness. we talked about the sweet phase.

we talked about sitting on the rocks in the middle of the stream way up in the mountains on a cool, quiet afternoon.

we talked about the change in our own chase of success – what that word even now means to us.

in spite of the world outside our sitting room – even with all that in mind – we could feel a sense of amazement.

we listed little things – the happy lights, the chiminea in the corner, the muddy hike, the score of finding an eight dollar glass candlestick lamp, the celebration of homemade pizza.

we listed bigger things – things more personal, more close-in, adulting things, things of quiet but profound accomplishment.

we acknowledged that – despite the broken road meander of our lives – even in the weight of all the cruel, mind-bogglingly destructive actions of this planet – we can see the dazzle around us.

and that’s the thing. the dazzle.

we need to recognize its presence. we need to keep seeking it. we need to keep reaching for it. we need to wrap our freaking arms around it – for dear life.

“i don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.” (mary oliver)

*****

MEANDER © 2004 kerri sherwood

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the merit of munchos. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

so we are in the habit of celebrating. not just the big stuff.

particularly in this time – when all the world is in chaos, when we all have no idea what horrific thing will happen next, when there is so much trepidation about losing this country’s very democracy, we – now – celebrate the little stuff as well. and, as you can tell by this photograph, we -big-time – know what we’re doing when it comes to celebrations.

we know that most people choose to, well, maybe go out to dinner as a celebration, or maybe go away on a trip or to an event of some sort, maybe go shopping and splurge on a purchase of something long-awaited for.

we tend to be a little lower-key than all that. but even our most modest celebrations are still celebrations.

it doesn’t take much. in our zeal, we hiked two loops of our river trail. though suddenly exhausted from the toll that anticipation takes on adrenaline, happy kept us going, step by step. breathing the fresh air and feeling the sun – warm enough to take off our jackets – was its own cause for joy.

yes…on this particular day – last week, i might point out – we were beyond excited. our celebration was actually quite thrilling and filled our hearts.

and so we splurged on a $2.79 bag of munchos (on sale at woodman’s) and poured two glasses of wine. we pulled two adirondack chairs from the garage and sat in the 50-plus-degree-sun out on the patio and clinked. when the clouds covered the sun and the wind picked up we went inside, to sit at the bistro table by the window in our sunroom. with dogga on the rug at our feet, we lit a new gift, a soy candle in beautiful cut glass.

and we settled into festivity.

“enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things.” (robert brault)

*****

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

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freaking chase it. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

i tore out the page from the stio catalog because the words spoke to me: “chase bliss”.

a few days ago we spent some significant time in the emergency room. i told the youngish doctor there that i could count the number of times in my entire life that i had been to the emergency room, likely on two hands. i do not take going there lightly and i trust that the brilliant minds gathered there – in that tiny ecosystem – will help me…not only in my pain and confusion, but in my fear as well.

i told him this because he kept cutting me off mid-sentence as i was trying to explain my symptoms and as i was trying to ask him questions. he acted as if i was undermining his authority. i was simply being a patient. the more he stopped me from talking, the more i knew i needed to advocate for myself. i told him that the first step in empathy is listening, to which he defended himself by telling me he had spent more time with me than anyone else, including “the guy in the next room who died and came back.” wow. we are not talking equivalencies here. we are simply talking good bedside/doctor-patient communication.

the moments when i felt inordinate and unexplained constant pain that i hadn’t ever experienced before were frightening. all i wanted to do on that gurney was try to understand it, treat it, feel normal and go home.

it’s now the next day, friday, a bit before this blog posts. i am sipping coffee. i can hear the birds outside near the feeder, black-capped chickadees, cardinals. i am grateful for the quilt, the dogga at my feet, d next to me. i am cautiously checking in on how i am feeling and giving thanks for much less pain, and – hopefully – an end to the crisis.

though not ready to spring out from under the covers, i am ready to chase bliss.

no joke.

it doesn’t have to be grandiose. it doesn’t have to cost money or require dedication beyond what i am capable of giving right now.

but bliss nonetheless.

i just downloaded a new book for us to read together. this is bliss.

we will fill the bird feeder again today and put seed on barney and the potting stand. this is bliss.

we will watch the flurries fall. this is bliss.

we are making dinner tonight for 20, a day late. this is bliss.

i’ll have a phone call with a beloved old friend this weekend. this is bliss.

next week we will gather with our dear friends to start watching the entirety of the seinfeld show together. this is bliss.

we plan to make irish guinness stew for the up-north-gang in our stew-agogo early in the week. this is bliss.

we will wander about in our old house, cleaning and cleaning out. this is bliss.

we will bundle up and traipse out onto our favorite trail. this is bliss.

have a little text exchange with the girl and the boy. this is bliss.

lay on the floor and hug dogga. this is bliss.

listen to george, mike oldfield, john denver, james taylor, arvo. bliss.

watch the olympics. bliss.

dance in the kitchen with d. bliss.

dream aloud plans for a little bit later. bliss.

breathe. bliss.

it’s not decadent. it’s not complicated. it’s different for everyone, everywhere, i know.

but in a world that is fraught, a world that seems to be listing toward the ruthless, the uncaring, the oppressive, the tyrannical – a harsh world – it doesn’t seem to be overstating that bliss becomes even more imperative than it already was.

to recognize it, to seek it, to freaking – and whole-heartedly – chase it.

yes.

*****

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

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that which to hold close. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

“life is strange. you arrive with nothing, spend your whole life chasing everything, and still leave with nothing. make sure your soul gains more than your hands.” (no attribution)

it’s happening.

we can feel it.

i stood in his shop’s driveway talking to our beloved mechanic. “a simple life,” we agreed. we just want to live a simple life. not a life lived for or gauged on the stuff we have.

because that stuff – the stuff of life – inundates us. everywhere we look people are chasing it – a materialism that just never culminates in any moment where it is “enough”.

and in these unbelievably fraught times, stuff seems even less important than it ever did.

one of my best friends from high school sent me a bunch of texts early this past week. we were out on a trail, trying to soak up sun and hold at bay the yucky cold symptoms we were experiencing. suddenly, there were multiple notifications. he had become a first-time grandpa.

i stopped short on the trail and looked at the photographs of the baby girl just born into this world. i was overwhelmed by the sheer miracle of that and the miracle that this man and i had been friends for over fifty years (despite seeing each other only once in all that time since high school) and – back then – it would have been hard to imagine the moment i was experiencing: standing on a trail in a completely different state five decades later while he shared the moment of his entry into grandparenthood. truly a remarkable gift.

there were other moments this week, moments when i felt more connected to the world: talking with the woman with the jeep in the parking lot at the market when we went to pick up more advil, the frog that suddenly showed up in our pond, the jalapeños we grew that were ready for picking, a note from a dear friend to “stay strong”. we virtual-tracked our daughter running an incredible half-marathon in the mountains and we listened to our son’s music online. friends checked in to ask if we needed anything. the other side of the spectrum from feeling appalled by the world.

soon it will be time to resume the cleaning out. i told our mechanic about the sentimental person’s guide to decluttering book i had purchased (hoping for osmosis to make it stick) and another title i had seen: “nobody wants your sh*t“, which we both found infinitely funny. and true. because it is. true, that is.

i remember when my sweet momma – in acts of generosity and kindness – began to give away possessions. she knew. she knew how little all that stuff really mattered. and, in these quieter moments of getting a bit older, i – we – can see that, even more than before. especially in these times.

it would seem that dropping the shopping bags and the trappings of the ladder are thresholds into the gains of one’s soul, into the real stuff of life – because, as my poppo used to say about the other stuff, “you can’t take it with you.“

and it would seem that – instead of the receipts of chasing and chasing – the buddhist prayer is that which to hold close:

“may you be happy. may you be at peace. may you be free of danger. may you be loved.”

*****

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

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

there are plenty of trees where we hike. oaks, sycamores, birch, maples, pine, hickory, black walnut…there is quite a list. so it is no surprise that, as we are hiking, there are browned acorns, drying acorn shells and big black walnuts dropped on the trail, scattered everywhere, even dropping on us as we walk.

when i came across this branch, it was the brilliant green of the acorn that got my attention, the too-soon-ness of its place on our trail. i wondered – for a few moments – about what broke this branch that fell. it occurred to me that its natural aging, its natural place in the ecosystem of wildlife and forest had changed; this tree had somehow stress-shed this branch, this acorn.

there’s a lot of too-soon-ness…especially now, i think to myself.

and – a few moments later – i was back pondering the lists in my head…the to-dos, the worries, the problems to sort, the existential questions.

“lists engulf us – creating the illusion that our lives are full.” (plain and simple journal – sue bender)

the lists swirled and i organized them in the spaces of my brain as we walked in the early part of our hike.

but – in the way that being out in the forest, along the river, skirting meadows on a trail does – it all slowed down. and the joy of the trail took over. and, instead of the noise – internally or externally – the quiet serenity held my attention.

and this morning i find myself – once again – grateful for the sheer moment. even in this moment of the throes of a miserable cold, i am grateful for the simplicity of our givens.

“in that tiny space between all the givens is freedom.” (s.b.)

and it nudges me to simplify even more. the space of needing less, of making do, of knowing not a lot really matters.

the acorn is an ancient nordic symbol of life. my sweet momma kept a silver one in her purse and, now, so do i. maybe the acorn on our path was there to remind us.

“it’s time to celebrate the lives we do have.” (s.b.)

*****

peace © 2004 kerri sherwood

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read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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and so should we. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

somehow, this tiny plant is surviving.

it’s growing. maybe even thriving.

in this moment, in this time, despite all the challenges it has faced, it is facing, it will face, despite all it does not know, it persists – growing in the top rail of the fence that spans the river.

this tiny plant is grabbing on to life. and living it.

and so should we.

*****

IN A SPLIT SECOND © 2002 kerri sherwood

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read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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

104. in the moments i am writing this post – a couple days ahead of today – my sweet momma would have turned 104.

i wasn’t sure about using this photograph. it isn’t something we stumbled across when we were out and about; instead it is a photograph i took in my studio. but, it is an effort to continue an effort we are making – which, i might add, is a big effort considering the here and now – to list over to presence and gratitude for the other parts of the here and now…the real…the stuff that i simply cannot imagine that the rabid purveyors of cruelty ever notice. for, if one can see the stunning in the falling dusk or feel the heart-stopping of a simple james taylor song or taste the fresh basil in the stockpot of sauce, one cannot also relish the sheer and abject depravity of current events.

my sweet momma – always – her message to me, “live life, my sweet potato.”

and to that i would add – as i stood in the kitchen – his arms wrapped around me, with our birthday dog at our feet – “never, never, never give up.”

there is a visceral response – breathing – i have to seeing the wild horses in the documentary, the dueting voices in the music video. there is a fascination of the munching-munching caterpillars on our dill plant, the finch drinking from our birdbath, the tomato plant’s explosive growth, the jalapeños becoming peppers from tiny blooms. there is an appreciation of the eye-to-eye contact of our amber-eyed aussie, the feel of flipflops on a hot summer day, the wafting scent of basil on the air.

we didn’t go to any celebrations on the fourth. we did not feel that this very moment in time was aligned with commemorating the democracy and freedoms as written into the declaration of independence for these united states. this moment – instead – feels like the antithesis of all of that – the un-uniting of this country, the dismantling of freedoms, the fall of democracy. so we stayed home, away from the carnivals and the parties and the bands and the fireworks (though our neighbor set off fireworks right above our backyard for hours late into the night).

and this morning, while d was picking up the vestiges of those fireworks which, thankfully, did no harm to our home, i watched the caterpillars on the dill. while he brushed away the chalk marks of firecrackers landing on our patio, i watered the herbs. while he made doubly sure there was nothing pyrotechnic-like left that dogga could ingest or could cause him harm, i watched and listened as the birds returned on a refreshingly quiet morning.

we have a list. i mentioned it the other day. it’s simply a list – not far away – of places for us to go, to visit, things to immerse in. to do the best we can, right now.

to the top of the list i am going to add “never, never, never give up.”

because momma was right. live life. it is not unlimited.

sweet potato out.

*****

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

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of being alive. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

when you hike a trail a lot, it becomes a member of the family. like when you recognize something has changed – someone had a haircut, someone has new glasses, someone has lost weight, someone looks tired – it is no different. the trees have leafed, the underbrush has been knocked over, the game trail is tamped down, the may apple has flowered, the wild geranium is prolific, the river is high, the river is low, the turtles have come out, the beaver dam is bigger.

we talk about our river trail a lot because we hike it a lot. though we’d prefer it to be different, we see it more than we see any member of our family.

this particular day – when the sky was a perfect sky-blue, when the river was high enough to cover the logs where the turtles sun, when purple fleabane budded next to its white-daisy-bloom predecessor, when the great blue heron joined the cranes flying the river, when the color green had more hues than any person might imagine – this day was a reminder of how well we knew this trail, its turns, the gifts of the familiar and the magic of the unexpected.

and there is this high spot on the trail where we stand and look out over the meadow, over the marsh, over the river. and i stood – still – looking at where the trees met the sky, all glorious, listening to the sounds on the breeze, feeling the sun on my face and my feet on the ground – standing still – and felt the insanity of being alive.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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