reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: pianist


by 1 Comment

galaxy-size snowflakes. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

“you keep worrying you’re taking up too much space. i wish you’d let yourself be the milky way.” (andrea gibson)

i don’t believe that snowflakes worry as they fall from the sky. i don’t believe that they have any concern for whether they will fit or whether they will fit in.i don’t believe that they are self-conscious or self-doubting or – even – self-aware. they just are.

they form, they float, they land where they may. and then, they just are.

it is clear to me that we do not occupy such a singularly thin space of reality or consciousness. but were we to, it would simplify matters. we would form and float and land and be.

and perhaps that would mean that we would each bring all of us to the space into which we landed. we wouldn’t bring limited or limiting notions of mattering. we wouldn’t bring devices or attitudes measuring importance or gauging hierarchal places of belonging. we wouldn’t bring open hatred or cruelty. we would just land…into a community of other snowflakes, gathered and scattered, all beautiful, and unique.

maybe it would mean that no one of us would feel compelled to rule the space, to take over the place where the snowflakes gathered. maybe it would mean that no one of us would feel like they were more a snowflake than the next snowflake. maybe it would mean that each of us would feel that we count. maybe it would mean that each of us would feel like we are important – galaxy-size-important – even in the middle of all the other snowflakes. each one of us. maybe that kind of valuing could save the world.

every snowflake. they accumulated on the adirondack chairs we left outside in the just-in-case there might be another warm enough day to sit outside or to be by the firepit. i didn’t brush them off. there was something compelling about seeing them – this tiny community of snowflakes – something that drove me to study it, really look at how they scattered onto the surface.

it would seem that – indeed – these snowflakes let themselves fly. unconcerned, undeterred by anything else, i imagine they each – in all their glory – made like they were as big as the milky way and – in all their grand single-snowflake-power – floated and twirled their way down to the very important space that would be theirs. and no one stopped them.

and then, there they were.

tiny individual flakes. taking up all the space.

and they stayed there. waiting for the next snowfall – when they would hear the laughter and joy of the next batch of flakes as they fell, glistening and swirling like diamonds from clouds.

perhaps we are too noisy to hear such glee, to believe in such magic.

*****

BLUEPRINT FOR MY SOUL © 1996 kerri sherwood

download music from my little corner of iTUNES

stream on PANDORA

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.


by 1 Comment

cloaked. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

“know then that the body is merely a garment. go seek the wearer, not the cloak.” (rumi)

and the babycat chair – cloaked in snow – shielded all from the view of its real soul. its new trapping hides its decrepit wickered weave. one would not know not to sit – certainly not to sit back – with snow covering this seat, this chairback. the babycat chair’s garment of white belies what is truly there.

and yet, this chair – the other day – seated a squirrel or two. as i watched out the window, they took turns sitting, munching on something i could not identify, comfortable squatting on this handy seat.

i – like you – have known plenty of people who have cloaked themselves in all the trends, who have kept up in fashion, who dress for the time and continually refresh their wardrobe. indeed, they look fabulous and, like just wearing the right couture, their vehicles and homes and sundries are all cloaked in that same shiny wrap. with some, it might be hard to gauge what is truly inside, what soul is silent, what soul is loud. we may not know but we are entranced by the packaging, the masking, the shell – that which is superficial, evanescent, transient.

the spirit of the babycat chair carries on, with or without snow. its aging – like the aging of barney-the-old-piano in our backyard – lifts up the unchanging truth that aging is not negotiable.

we – inside our cloaks – whatever they might be – transcend the broken wicker of what we put on to cover who we are. like the babycat chair – but exponentially – the spirit of what we mean, what we have meant, remains.

what do we each choose that to be, individually, in community, in this world?

*****

download music from my little corner of iTUNES

stream on PANDORA

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.

 


by Leave a comment

bubblepokers. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

from our perch in the sunroom we can watch it snowing. surrounded by glass, we have a good windowseat to the weather as it changes. it looked really beautiful ‘out there’ we agreed, also agreeing to throw on some warm jackets and boots and go ‘out there’ for a walk a bit later, as the snow accumulated.

we lasted sixteen minutes.

the wind was whipping off the lake and the snow was stinging our faces. brutal. it was not fun and it was definitely not comfortable. we pretended to be in the sierras on the pct, trudging our way to camp, to pitch our tent in the snow and rest. sheesh. just the thought of that made us consider a flipflop instead of a thru-hike. same miles, same terrain, different seasons.

“my comfort zone is like a little bubble around me, and i’ve pushed it in different directions and made it bigger and bigger until these objectives that seemed totally crazy eventually fall within the realm of the possible.” (alex honnold)

we both really respect alex honnold. he is an incredible athlete with downright top-of-the-heap courage. he constantly pushes himself, way, way past comfortable, every time expanding where his boundaries of comfort are.

in these years we have found that pushing the boundaries of comfort are necessary. we have found that immense amounts of courage are necessary. we have found that poking that safety membrane around us – as if inside a big luminescent bubble – is necessary. poking from the inside out, not the outside in. no bubble-bursting here.

we’ve made big steps in that poking.

it’s not like we haven’t poked-the-bubble before in our lives, individually or together, as artists, as humans. but – and i’m betting this is a common truth – poking-the-bubble is harder the older you get. and so, as we step out of our c-zones and into things more unknown, hard things, complicated things, scary things, we have a tad more trepidation, a bit of reticence, some good old-fashioned fear. we keep on.

so we are not intrepid snowwalkers, we see today.

no worries. there are workarounds. (not to mention a mostly-warm sunroom where we can sit at a bistro table and watch out the window.)

besides, our pokes are saved for other bubbles.

“the one thing you learn is when you can step out of your comfort zone and be uncomfortable, you see what you’re made of and who you are.” (sue bird)

*****

WATERSHED © 2004 kerri sherwood

download music from my little corner of iTUNES

stream on PANDORA

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.


by 1 Comment

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

download music from my little corner of iTUNES

stream on PANDORA

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.


by Leave a comment

every falling leaf. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

in my son’s first year at lawrence university, i had the joy of visiting the campus fairly often. one of those times there was a comedian on campus and, along with a group of his friends, i went to her show.

it was fall 2011. tig notaro was about 40 then – though she looked way younger. i was 52 or so, not a heck of a lot older. following her bright career for a bit, it was difficult to see her deal with complicated and dangerous medical issues, the abrupt death of her mother, breast cancer, a double mastectomy, relationship breakup.

hundreds – maybe thousands – of shows in the growth of her success later, we watched her on anderson cooper’s – stunning – grief podcast “all there is”.

we stumbled upon this just a few nights ago – after you-tube-ing the news until we could no longer take any more in. anderson was visiting with ken burns and the show was titled, “the half-life of grief is endless“. there is nothing like an honest, open conversation about mortality and loss to draw you in. i repeated the words aloud: “the half-life of grief is endless” before realizing that quote had been – aptly – chosen as the title of that episode.

it feels true – in my opinion. the half-life of grief IS endless. and in that space we inhabit – that space that loss always shields with an impermeable membrane – we find so much meaning, so much life, so much right-now.

though well-acquainted with loss of dear people around her, tig spoke specifically of the loss of her friend, poet andrea gibson. she described the feeling of andrea nearby her. she read bits of her poetry. anderson cried. i cried. i think d cried too.

i never could understand how – when my big brother died – the world could just go on. i wasn’t a child. i was 33 and pregnant with my second child. but i still couldn’t grok it, even as i had lost others in my life, even as I could cognitively understand it. it was a gut-punch, yet i could feel him – wayne – nearby. i could sense his humor, his brilliant mind.

in the love letter that andrea wrote to their fiancée, they wrote “dying is the opposite of leaving…” and in the same, their words, “ask me the altitude of heaven and i will answer ‘how tall are you?'”

i cannot hike in the woods without stopping. there is so much to take in, so much for which to gently hold space, so much to be grateful for. just to see it all…washes over all the grief and enlivens all the grief. both.

and then there is this: “every falling leaf is a tiny kite with a string too small to see, held by the part of me in charge of making beauty out of grief.” (andrea gibson)

*****

LAST I SAW YOU © 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood

download music from my little corner of iTUNES

stream on PANDORA

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.


by Leave a comment

golden moment. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

they were luminescent as the noon sun caught them in its grasp. magical. glowing. each individual seed seemed poised for takeoff, ready to catch the breeze, twirl and fly.

it is much like how i am feeling as i painstakingly go through the house … the bedrooms, the attic, the basement …

the memories all gather on the plume, ready to catch the next breeze and twirl in front of me, bringing me back to moments a long while ago – many decades or even just a few years.

they are golden, these memories, and i give them time as i touch the relics, leftovers saved. i’m trying to go slow, even as i wish to accomplish much quickly. my thready heart relishes what i can remember, even when it sorts to sadness, even when it sorts to tears. in the timeline of life, i am bobbing around like the crazy super balls we had as kids – the ones with bouncing trajectories you couldn’t predict. the wham-o super ball would zig and zag and i am zigging and zagging through time just like that.

sometimes i have to leave a box or a bin or a pile for a bit, step away and breathe through it. i have found that touching these objects – the tactile – makes it all real and up-close, almost like it’s now. and, because i am the sensitive, emotional type, i have to step back … back into the room, straighten up, look out the window, pet the dog, sip some water. it can be overwhelming, this going back stuff.

as the bins empty and the sorting keeps going – this is merely phase one – i can feel the space opening. i can feel the air of whatever is next. i will still save many things, though i know that perhaps some will be relinquished in phase two or three. it gives me a bit more time with the artifacts of my life.

and the treasured antiquities nod as i put them in the save pile. they know it is their golden moment – their chance to twirl for me, their flight with me. they are as luminescent as the plumes, ever so countless, glowing in the noon sun.

*****

HOLDING ON, LETTING GO © 2010 kerri sherwood

download music from my little corner of iTUNES

stream on PANDORA

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.


by 1 Comment

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

download music from my little corner of iTUNES

stream on PANDORA

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.


by 1 Comment

children and dreams. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

it made me cry. it was all i could do not to down-and-out messy cry. had i lost control it would have been ugly. i grieved for every single american child as i struggled and hiccuped my way back to some semblance of calm. phil vassar’s lyrics were poignant and profound and deeply troubling.

the concert was amazing. phil vassar is a prolific songwriter, a consummate performer, his voice strong, his ballads clear. i’ve seen him in concert several times and was thrilled to see him again. he is now 63 and, having had both a heart attack and a stroke, he is making his way back – to the attention of the public – for the public forgets quickly.

there are artists you hold onto, particularly when you are an artist yourself. you know when there is something absolutely special about someone – you can feel it. every song, every note, every sung lyric – this man is a master singer-songwriter. there’s nothing really fancy about him…he plays a painted acoustic yamaha piano, often standing (which i can totally relate to). his band is extraordinary and tight, the perfect backup for him.

“cause 419 lakewood had no silver spoons/just an old beat up upright that played out of tune/now i’m singing and living the life that i love/and when i count my blessings i thank god i was an american child/an american child/’cause dreams can grow wild born inside an american child.” (american child – phil vassar)

every american child.

and that’s why i cried. because it’s no longer the same. i cried for my adult children. i cried for my friends’ grandchildren. i cried for the children i don’t know. i cried for what this country has lost, the dreams that have been violently stolen, the hope that has dissolved, the democracy that hangs by tiny filaments.

at the end of the concert, phil vassar – in seemingly no hurry at all – sat on the edge of the stage and chatted with people, took selfies with his fans, signed shirts and hats and cds.

i stood at our seats and watched, both proud of him and a little bit stunned at how very gracious he was – his obvious, deep gratitude to a concert hall that should have been filled.

i knew he couldn’t hear me – and i didn’t go up to tell him – but as i stood there i whispered, “you’re relevant, phil vassar. you’re so relevant.” deep down, he already knows. he’s always been relevant.

an american child. the american dream.

“there is no trust more sacred than the one the world holds with children. there is no duty more important than ensuring that their rights are respected, that their welfare is protected, that their lives are free from fear and want and that they can grow up in peace.” (kofi annan)

“a promise once made/will it shine, will it fade/will we rise with the vision or fall?” (american child – john denver)

*****

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

like. share. subscribe. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.


by 1 Comment

waltz in the gazebo. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

we had the gazebo all to ourselves. it is likely that the tropical-storm-nor’easter had something to do with this. no one seemed inclined to be strolling about, nonetheless lingering on the gazebo.

so we danced. on the rain-soaked boards of this beautiful age-old gazebo, we waltzed to the music on my phone – the cherish the ladies instrumental if ever you were mine – the very piece we irish-waltzed at our wedding, surrounded by a circle of family and friends.

and on this dark starless night, with rain drifting in under the domed wood of the gazebo, it was not only magical. it was a little bit healing. it was sacred.

for here we were – both literally drenched – all alone on the gazebo of my youth – lifting the cellophane of the old magic slate – starting a new history.

just a couple people passed by in the park, walking the edges of the harbor. they paid no attention to our slow dancing. much is the way of new yorkers: you do you they imply.

we weren’t looking for an audience, so that was good. we were just sinking into the night – in the middle of the storm – in the middle of the storm.

and i could begin to feel the old break away a bit and new replace it as our feet got jumbled together in the waltz we hadn’t waltzed in a while.

i clicked play a second time, lifted the cellophane a second time.

just to make sure.

*****

SLOW DANCE © 2002 kerri sherwood

download music from my little corner of iTUNES

listen on PANDORA

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.


by 2 Comments

no chocolate ganache cake. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

if he were still in this plane of existence, my sweet poppo would be 105 today.

as much as i miss my dad, as much as i would love to sit with him, to talk with him, to be quiet with him, to hug him, under the circumstances that we find ourselves in this country at this time, i would have to say i am glad he is not here.

because my dad’s heart would be utterly broken.

my dad fought against all this. he fought for the freedom of this country. he fought against fascism and authoritarianism. he fought against cruelty. he fought for democracy.

my dad’s own freedom was stolen from him when he was taken prisoner of war in WWII, his army air corps b24 shot down over the ploesti oil fields, his fellow dedicated airmen parachuting out, taken into camps by bulgarian forces.

my dad persisted through all of it – his injuries, his solitary confinement, his fear.

my dad came home, back to the country he loved, the country for which he fought and sacrificed, the country with a democracy about which he was zealous, the country where he and my sweet momma would build their own family.

so if my dad were here now, he would be crushed by what is happening. he would be crushed by the evil and deliberate intentions now set in place. he would be crushed at how his country is being severed. he would be crushed that anyone – any one! – in his family would champion any of this horror. he would be crushed that his family – his very family – had broken apart because of that. he would be ravaged by utter sadness.

my dad would be unable to celebrate his big birthday.

because no chocolate ganache cake could make it all better.

*****

LEGACY © 1995 kerri sherwood

download music from my little corner of iTUNES

stream on PANDORA

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.