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stars-on-a-blue-field. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

we ordered small plate tapas. later, they brought birthday churros to our table. there was a candle – lit – and though the server was a bit shy – he seemed really happy to sing to me. it was totally delightful. we dipped our churros into the melted chocolate and sweet powdered sugar, sipped our homemade sangria.

there was just one thing.

i found myself grimacing at the blue candle with the stars. it felt a bit too reminiscent of the stars and stripes of this country’s flag. right now i, like many others, have a complicated relationship with that flag and what it supposedly stands for.

because birthdays are like that, my mind zoomed backwards to standing in elementary school classrooms reciting the pledge of allegiance.

“i pledge allegiance to the flag of the united states of america. and to the republic for which it stands, one nation, under god, with liberty and justice for all.”

and here we were. in the walker point neighborhood of milwaukee – a wonderfully diverse community – diverse in race, in gender identification, in economics. i was welcomed and, just as every other time we have spent in this community, we felt at home. one nation, under god.

sometimes, in our elementary music class, we would sing the patriotic ballad:

“my country ’tis of thee / sweet land of liberty / of thee i sing/ land where my fathers died / land of the pilgrims’ pride / from every mountainside / let freedom ring.” (samuel francis smith)

sweet land of liberty. with lyrics written 195 years ago, a children’s choir first performed this song. what would those children be thinking now?

trying to slough away any negativity, i tried to think of the stars on the candle like stars-as-in-stardust. but the blue of the candle got in my way and as much as i loved having a birthday candle with my churros, i couldn’t help not being able to push back against the other realities right now – the realities that this country – at this time – is not a sweet land of liberty and freedom is not ringing from every mountainside.

as i am writing this – ahead of when you are reading it – i just now read that the supreme court has ruled against a ban on conversion therapy aimed at lgbtq youth in colorado. read that again: against a ban on conversion therapy.

and as i am writing this – ahead of when you are reading it – the “god squad” panel of the cabinet has voted to disregard decades-old laws about endangered species in the gulf in order to make.more.money drilling, the GOD squad?! ewww.

and as i am writing this – ahead of when you are reading it – the administration has decided to dismantle the united states forest service.

and as i am writing this – ahead of when you are reading it – the epstein files continue to languish in secrecy and the administration is doing everything in its power to keep it that way – including even more blatantly personalizing the efforts of the justice department.

and as i am writing this – ahead of when you are reading it – the supreme court has taken up considering the continuance of the 14th amendment of birthright citizenship. “…granting citizenship to all persons born or naturalized in the United States…” ” no state shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any state deprive any person of life, liberty or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.”

and as i am writing this – ahead of when you are reading it – this country – without permission of the congress or support of the populace – is destroying another – using bracing descriptor words like “decimating” and “decapitating” and “lethality” and “back to the stone ages“.

but, well, i guess when you are cavalier and righteous – and corrupt – you do what you want to whomever and whatever you wish. no questions asked. no answers given.

that doesn’t seem to be the right answer for a republic with liberty and justice for all.

i sometimes save birthday candles. to remember. but i need – and wish for – a new relationship with the flag – a revival of the celebration of diversity and majesty of this place on the globe – so this particular stars-on-a-blue-field candle i chose to remember with a couple photographs.

one lit – with light.

one after i made a wish and blew it out.

we ate several churros and our server gave us a box for the rest.

we brought them home and – having our leftover tapas the next day – celebrated this little bistro in our very big land, longing for its healing.

“light of the world / shine on me / love is the answer / shine on us all / set us free / love is the answer…” (john wilcox/roger powell/kasim sulton/todd rundgren)

*****

LONGING © 2004 kerri sherwood

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my jeans’ genes. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

these aren’t my favorite. i don’t regularly wear my favorite jeans, wanting to keep them “for good”.

but this pair is the runner-up. pretty distressed, these ripped jeans aren’t just a bit frayed. they are downright holey.

ai says that “ripped jeans are best for people with slim or skinny body types”. goodness gracious! i mean, who asked you? i would venture to say that if one wants to wear ripped jeans, one should just wear ripped jeans – without a pretty-little-head thought to whether ai thinks it’s appropriate or not.

i’ve been wearing these for years. decades, actually. some of the time it has been by accident. my jeans just got old and worn. some of the time it has been by design. i’ll never forget – and always cherish – the days at abercrombie with my then-teenage daughter, ferreting out the best ripped jeans on the sale rack.

i have worn ripped jeans to unimportant events and important events, to beautiful places and grocery stores. i have worn ripped jeans on high mountain tops, in midwest meadows, in paris, in the canyonlands. i have worn ripped jeans in recording studios and i wore ripped jeans at my wedding. i have performed on the smallest and biggest of stages wearing ripped jeans.

so, here we are, on my 67th birthday and it is likely i will be wearing my fave ripped jeans to go and do whatever it is we will go and do – unless it is hiking – because, as you know, i have to save my fave jeans “for good”. some other destructed denim will have to do.

there have been moments when i have looked in the mirror and pondered my jeans. (and yes, also, my genes, particularly as they are aging.)

i’ve wondered if mid-sixties was ‘getting there’ – there being a place where ripped, distressed, fraying, holey jeans might be better retired.

and – after some wondering, some pondering and a little bit of googling with downright obnoxious results – like this video narrated by a twenty-something guy – guy! – informing me that “women after 40 should not emphasize imperfections” – i have decided.

just like the amish leave a slipped stitch here and there in their quilts – to allow spirit in – and maybe for the same reason – i will continue to subscribe to the jeans i love to wear. perfection doesn’t exist and each quilt is an expression of beauty-in-that-moment, of artistry, of someone’s very soul, of the chutzpah of spirit. ditto my jeans.

so…if you don’t like my ripped jeans, don’t look at them. they are me and i’m just out here trying to emphasize my imperfections – especially now.

*****

IN A SPLIT SECOND © 2002 kerri sherwood

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pieces of driftwood. pieces of my life. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

i’m having a chance to renew my relationship with the harbor town. a tiny spurt of time here, a tiny spurt of time there. one of my favorite places on earth – the dock, at night, clanking masts, the sound of small fishing boats and soft troll motors – it is a good thing for me to revisit all this at a new time.

i didn’t know how much i needed to re-create this tie, to heal it. i didn’t know how much i needed to walk the pebbled beach, to scout for rocks and shells and driftwood, to sit and stare at the waves coming in.

when we left the last time we brought home this driftwood garland. we hung it in the place in our sunroom that seemed to be waiting for it. we sit next to it every day. and in the night that was draped in darkness from the storm, we sat next to it in candlelight.

we’ll go back. we’ll maybe pick up some more rocks for our rock garden. we may find a shell or two. we may bring home a piece of driftwood or other sea treasure. we’ll see.

the thing i do know is that each of these times i find another piece of me there. i rejuvenate another memory, process another bit of it all, feel affirmation.

somewhere on that beach, on that dock, in that town are pieces of my 19 year old self. the girl with the dog who climbed on the jetties and danced on the sand, who ran on the boardwalks and soaked in the sun on big old beach towels. there are pieces of me to reclaim, to go pick up in the corners of my memories, to re-empower. there are truths to release into the air of the world – finally. there are notes poised, floating in the air to compose, words in peripheral vision biding time to be written. i can feel the vibration of it all – that flutter in my chest.

and, though it is now a fancier bistro, the next time we’ll go – this place that was a pub where i’d fill up on baked clams and salty air. we didn’t go the last time because we knew it would be expensive and we are careful about our budget.

but the next time – yes – we will go.

because there is no price that you can put on the restoration of power, the retrieving of juju, the butterfly-net-capture-and-healing-release of muse that had been muted, stalled from trauma. to sit on those stools – even if they are different stools – is to sit on the sacred ground of yesterdays ago. it is something to celebrate.

the driftwood next to me in the sunroom taps my shoulder and my heart. it tells the story of ebb and flow, of survival and resilience, of transformative renewal and of a metamorphosis into something that has ridden the waves of the sound and – ultimately – emerged stronger.

*****

HOLDING ON, LETTING GO © 2010 kerri sherwood

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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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light. hope. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

“anne frank became a symbol of hope – a light in the dark – by maintaining her optimism and belief in human goodness despite enduring extreme fear, confinement and the horrors of the holocaust.” (AI)

it is certainly difficult to imagine anne frank maintaining her optimism and belief in human goodness. such darkness that she experienced in her short life is unparalleled.

the woods – away from any candlelit trail – were dark. but it was a starlit night and so the shadowy figures of trees and underbrush were more clearly trees and underbrush, rather than the dark figures of scary stuff we might have imagined. in this one spot, artificial light from lightposts lit the pines, illuminating the bow of the branches up close. beyond those lit boughs, a darker woods.

this was a night – as i wrote about – much-needed. a reminder of beauty, of presence, of quiet. it gave us both hope – and gratitude for the rejuvenation of being outside. for in these times – right now – in this country – there is so much about which to be horrified.

“darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that.” (martin luther king, jr.)

there is no way for us all to beat back the dark except to beat back the dark. for light to prevail, we must shine light on all that is dark…with no exceptions. as we learn more and more of the plan of this administration’s agenda – the absolute corruption sans impunity – it becomes harder to not shrink back, to recoil from such dark. but we cannot pass this dark on to the next generations, we can’t bequeath them with this kind of depravity. and so there is no choice but to shine light.

“do the best you can until you know better. then when you know better, do better.” (maya angelou)

and for those who have cheered on this atrocious kakistocracy, it is my hope that you will soon see it for what it is, that you will step away – gasping, that you will take light into your own hands and shine that light with us and all the others who are shining, that you will unearth moral conscience.

“hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness.” (desmond tutu)

and i have to believe that light begets light, hope begets hope – and through all humanity has endured – there will be enough light – held by enough good people – to shine into the corners of all the most ghastly of shadows, to shake down this dark, to exponentially multiply light by light and hope by hope, to reveal renewed sense and love, to expose goodness at its best and to reclaim it.

*****

HOPE © 2005 kerri sherwood

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like a good moisturizer. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

we are not much into the glorifying of products to shape our waist, pump us up, give us clarity, thicken our hair, raise our status, change our libido, make us sexy in the first place et al. we do, however, each use one product that makes us feel like we are taking some kind of interest in how we might age. we each use moisturizer. facial moisturizer to “limit” the – ahem – aging of our faces. body moisturizer to, well, make our skin “dewy” and “resilient”. hand moisturizer to avoid the dreaded wisconsin thumbcracks. yep. we trust that these products are working and they have become a part of our careful budgeting.

barney did not subscribe to any of these products and, thus, is aging without the benefit of peptides or collagen or retinol or blue algae extract or sea parsley. i hardly think that barney cares as i truly cannot point to an aging piano more beautiful.

as each layer succumbs to the weather, we see a tiny bit more of the heartandsoul of our barney. as each layer peels back, falls off, there is evidence of yet another layer, the simple insides of an acoustic instrument whose voice box is the space within.

there is only truth in there – only pure pianovoice, only echos of the rich resonance of hammers hitting strings, only breathy harmonics.

there are few days that i don’t gaze at barney and feel grateful for its presence in our backyard. there are times i think about my growing-up-piano in our basement maybe having the same life arc. it would be difficult to get that piano up the stairs of our old house, as the enclosed staircase (enclosed since the piano was delivered downstairs) with its angles, makes two ninety degree turns, making a complete about-face…all difficult maneuvers for a hulking piano up on end. i guess we’ll see. i’m not sure that there is room for two pianos in our backyard.

in the meanwhile, barney steals the show. every little creature that makes its way into or through our yard knows this old piano. and vice-versa. this old piano knows every creature as well. including us.

just at the moment we need a smidge of something beautiful, the touch of something other-worldly, barney beckons at us from the garden and settles its serenity on our skin. like a good moisturizer.

*****

PEACE © 2004 kerri sherwood

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i-was-here. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

it is a sweet i-was-here.

i walked into my studio and there was snowman. sometime – in some moment – dogga had picked up his treasured snowman, walked into my studio and left snowman there.

he will often just walk into my studio, kind of tool about, walk under the piano in a sweeping circle of the room and then walk back out. sometimes he – clearly – brings a toy with him.

the thing is – in no uncertain terms – for neither d nor i carry snowman around nor move him to and fro – i immediately knew dogga had been there.

in this world of chaos we are now living in, it’s a pretty good question to ask ourselves – what do we wish our i-was-here evidence to be?

it’s not as simple as a plastic squeaky toy left on an old wood floor.

but whatever it is – whatever our tracks or affirmation-of-existence, whatever snowman we leave behind – it is vital to consider, something to reckon with, legacy to bear in mind.

*****

LEGACY © 1995 kerri sherwood

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now.never not.never not now. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

it’s a heavy load. to be the woke – the empathetic, voiced, visioned, courageous, big-feelinged folks – both disparaged and desperately needed.

when all else has been sloughed off, when all else has failed, when all else is dross, it is art that will remain…there will still be heart.

this quote – way too big to actually write about without a feeling of undeserved arrogance, way too big to even begin to dissect without a feeling of ineptitude – it is an urge, a plea, a last-licks, it is an imperative we artists follow anyway: to turn complex feelings into something people can touch, can hear, can see, can taste. to turn that which we cannot see in any simplicity – beliefs, faith, love, philosophy, interconnectedness, bigotry, hatred – into something we can feel, something that resonates, something that gives us bite-sized bits to try and grok.

contemporaneously, without bruce springsteen there would still be the streets of minneapolis. but his music, his lyrics – his song has given beat and melody to the excruciating pain and stalwart dedication of the people in those streets. his music has given the rest of us – those of us in other places – also in pain and with dedication – something to grab onto, something to hold and wave and hum.

contemporaneously, without bad bunny there would still be a half-time show in the super bowl. there would still be grammy winners. but his tear-filled words, his staunchly raw comments ricocheting off the walls of the arena gave goosebumps to the rest of us – something we could grab onto, something to hold and wave and speak.

contemporaneously, without the cartoonists populating social media, the stuff that is happening would still be happening. but those cartoonists are bravely offering humor – sometimes truly dark humor – to give us something to grab onto, something to hold and wave and maybe, just maybe, laugh at.

there isn’t any way to rise and reclaim this place without the artists who are the building blocks for actual humanity, the collective melt in the melting pot, the mortar that holds it all together even when it collapses.

“people got to come together, not just out of fear…” (chicago – where do we go from here? – 1970)

it is never not the artists’ time. now is not different.

“let’s all get together soon, before it is too late

forget about the past and let your feelings fade away

if you do i’m sure you’ll see, the end is not yet near…“

the artists have already taken all those big, complex feelings and turned them into something we all can believe in. they’ve been doing it all along. the whole of time.

the world does need artists’ voices, artists’ vision and artists’ courage.

steep yourselves in it all. urgently. get brave. get going.

“where do we go

where do we go

where do we go from here?”

*****

YOU MAKE A DIFFERENCE © 2003 kerri sherwood

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heavy hearts. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

“you are not weak just because your heart feels so heavy.” (andrea gibson)

every friday we look at each other and say, “wow. it’s friday again.”

it’s astonishing. the fridays come and the fridays go. it seems that they come and go ever faster.

this has been a long week. so many of them are long weeks now. despite the fact that the fridays arrive in a moment of surprise acknowledgement, the weeks themselves are laden with difficult, burdened with sadness, whelmed over with the horrific.

and we get to friday, panting with others in this hyperventilating country. we are exhausted. we are frustrated. we are frightened. our tender hearts break with the others, shattered by the vile betrayal by leadership.

we feel weak.

but we are not.

our hearts are heavy.

but they are no less fervent.

we are empowered.

the joining of hands, the extension of kindness and care, the shared value of each other, we are connected.

the spirit of this country beats steady in each of us who push back: when your heart is too heavy for your chest, i will firmly hold it. when your heart feels frail, fragile beyond the pale, i will handle it gently. when your heart is feeling timid, i will bring you courage. when your heart just doesn’t know what to do, i will quietly stand with you.

we are in this together. with our hearts. in every long week. in every friday that finally – and suddenly – arrives. in every storm that is raging around us. in every day.

and those without hearts – without love – without conscience – can just stand back and watch how utterly powerful having a heart really is.

*****

WATERSHED © 2004 kerri sherwood

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in the ant farm. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

when i came across the green plastic ant farm stashed on a shelf in the storage room in the basement – between two stacks of books – just innocently sitting there – i couldn’t help but immediately feel like it could be a metaphor to how this universe – in the biggest sense of the word – is now looking at us.

through a plastic shield, the universe stares at the goings-on on this planet – and let’s make that even more specific – in this country – and – without describing all the horror that meets the eye, the horror that is happening below the surface, the horror that is intended and about which we can only guess – so let’s cut to the chase – the universe groans in utter dismay, shocked beyond belief that we have screwed up OUR ant farm so appallingly.

because instead of ants – relying heavily on the importance and responsibility of connected community, with unselfish dividing up and equal sharing of work, with patience and problem-solving skills, their committed and unrelenting devotion to a positive and generative end result – we humans here on this earth seem to shun the values of equality or connectedness in community, lead with narcissistic and immorality-driven agenda, devote ourselves to divisiveness, cultural, status and caste, racial, gender, religious, nativistic dominance, drive toward a brutally suffocated powerless populace.

to think that an uncle milton’s giant ant farm could show us humans up is preposterous. but it’s absolutely true.

and that – to me – is pitiful.

*****

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