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wiper wisdom. [kerri’s blog on not-so-thawed wednesday]

it is most definitely a wisconsin thing.

never before – in all my years of winter in New York – did i see anyone ever stand their windshield wipers up.

now, i suppose it could be a contemporary thing – which would explain why i didn’t see it in my growing-up years. perhaps someone somewhere decided that rather than ripping frozen rubber wipers off their windshield – necessitating new wipers – they would attempt to avoid the freezing-onto-the-windshield by standing their wipers up. however it came about, having spent long periods of time freezing and trying to de-ice my wipers, i have to admit that it’s a good idea.

so we have joined whatever masses out there do this thing and, because we don’t garage littlebabyscion or big red, they are outside – anytime we are not driving them -with their wipers at attention.

already this winter we have had two significant snowstorms and extended frigid temperatures. it is only the beginning of december. though this does not bode well for people sans snowblowers – like us – it is opportunity ripe for successful wiper-freezing-avoidance.

back in the days of selling cds at retail show after retail show after retail show i stumbled upon a vendor selling round cone-shaped ice scrapers. i watched the video demonstrating this handy device. once again, this time in utter scraper-ignorance, i had never seen such a thing but it turned out to be pretty remarkable and i bought several and gave them to family and friends. we still have one and i just looked them up online – they are readily available.

my sweet dad always had tips for me – things he (strongly) suggested i do as i travel around, words of wisdom. “Keep kitty litter in your car,” “buy a telescoping shovel for the car,” “put blankets in the car,” “make sure you have a working flashlight since it gets dark early”. i am unable to start winter without – still – following his advice. living his retirement in florida, he was just happy to relinquish all his winter-knowledge to the sun gods and me. and he bought one of those folding dashboard sunshades, some kind of unwritten law in the baking-sun sunshine state.

so I don’t know if you do the standing-up-windshield-wiper thing. if you live in wisconsin and your vehicle is outside i suppose there’s a pretty good chance you do. these regional trends are powerful.

besides, you don’t want to be caught out there with your magical cone-scraper trying to get your soon-to-be-de-rubbered wipers unfrozen off your windshield. i mean, one can only handle so much failure dealing with winter. and the town snowplow coming down the snow-filled road right after you cleared the apron of the driveway is more than enough stress.

*****

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

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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

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read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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snowed under. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

so it feels a bit like a continuation from tuesday’s post that i wrote on sunday, but here we are – on monday morning – waking up to a winter wonderland. it all feels kind of early, if you ask me. i mean, it’s only november 10th. but, somehow, in the middle of the night – in those wee hours when i laid awake – in the middle of a great dark hush outside – the kind of hush in which you would never have guessed what was happening – it was snowing. clearly, non-stop.

the sun is coming out now and the sky has that blue that only follows a big snow. crisp, unexpected, inches and inches of snow. since we live by the lake, we were pretty slammed by lake effect and a ruler shows that there are – truly – about 15 inches out there.

we are cozy in here, though. under a comforter and a quilt, sipping coffee, we feel beyond fortunate. we have had our simple breakfast and, even if we can’t get out later, we have leftover food for lunch and dinner. lucky.

what about those people without? there is nothing i can say that would be – in any way – polite language about an administration fighting to continue the cruelty of withholding monies for food. i cannot grok that kind of evil.

i’ve looked – a couple times – at d’s aca healthcare policy to see what his new premium will be. i am well aware that it – a premium already ridiculously expensive – will probably be triple. we also noted that his actual policy will no longer exist and the “comparable” policy that was suggested is one with – no surprise here! – higher deductibles, higher co-pays, a higher maximum out-of-pocket combined with less coverage and – the icing on the cake – zero out-of-network coverage at all.

and who is it that is against universal healthcare??

of course that doesn’t begin to address the violent removal of people that a bigoted administration has decided are not worthy of being here.

one nation, under god, with liberty and justice for all. uh-huh.

so many people – the populace of this country – struggling, desperately trying to stay healthy, to stay fed, to stay safe, to stay alive.

i would never have guessed – in the dark hush of this administration’s years and years of strategizing, scheming, conniving – what was happening, all of what they had planned for this country.

somehow, the siri of the universe seemed to think that we meant “snowed under” literally.

siri was right. both ways.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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the fermata of snow. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

and somehow, the universe knew and the snow began to fall.

and everything became quiet and peaceful. all forward movement ceased. we sat in the pause.

this fermata was certainly needed. we had been feverishly working, working. emotions were high and our energy was almost depleted. but then the snow came.

though spring had made an appearance and our garden – peeking out – was circumspect about the snowfall, we welcomed its hush. every flake that fell received thanks from us. and it kept falling.

our fermata in the snow granted us a bit of rest, a bit of perspective. we took deep breaths and moved slowly through our day. we gazed out the window and watched as the snow covered all – everything – in a blanket of white. it erased all the writing on the page. it shushed the noise in our busy heads. it lent ease to our weary minds and hearts. it took the astonishing – disheartening – events of the week and buried them under inches of snow. it cleared the ugly like the swoosh of lifting cellophane on a magic slate.

and when the swirl slowed a bit and i stood on the deck – giant flakes gently falling – gazing out at the pristine world surrounding us, i realized that was pretty much all that mattered. we had been granted time. time to consider and rejuvenate, time to reflect, time to clean off the shields we held so tightly – the ones that protected us. time to grasp onto snowflakes – quickly melting – and realize – once again – that life is just too short.

the fermata of snow. well-timed.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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IFTTT. [d.r. thursday]

out the window was a snowstorm. it was february and it is wisconsin. it’s an IFTTT. we had plans for the next few days, not something we oft have…fun things booked with others. we pulled up accuweather and, between that and the ice forming on the window, had anticipatory grief, figuring all would be cancelled. we worried. if this-then that. if a snowstorm, then everything halts.

IFTTT – if this then that – i didn’t know this acronym was a thing, but i see no reason for conditional statements not to have their own acronym. “if you build it [then] they will come” made hugely popular with the movie “field of dreams”.

out the window was a snowstorm. it was february and it is wisconsin, so this is not a surprise. it is an IFTTT. but in these strange climate-changing times, the snow didn’t really stick around much. a couple days later we were out and about at the winter festival in cedarburg, traipsing around with the up-north gang. and the next day we hiked our favorite river trail. i might add – sans miracle mittens.

IFTTT should come with a caveat, some sort of warning. because there are times we may make the worst of assumptions about what is to come. we if-this-then-that ourselves into angst. we can – for sure – envision the difficult, the darkness. but, she reminded me, do we envision the blessings?

it didn’t all halt. on the contrary. instead, the snow fell and it was a magical day. by the time another day passed, most of it was gone. the temperatures were in the 40s and our day’s end on the deck around a couple firepits was dreamy.

out the window was a snowstorm. from inside, we watched it fall. we were warm and toasty. we were immersed in the work we must do right now – the IFTTT of job loss. and we were excited – with some trepidation about cancellations – for the next few days to follow.

kevin costner called and reminded us to stay focused on the hope, to stay the course, to dream of the field of possibilities, to go play after the snow falls.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

from the new website…if you build it, they will come.


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nothing better. [d.r. thursday]

“the snow
began here
this morning and all day
continued, its white
rhetoric everywhere
calling us back to why, how,
whence such beauty and what
the meaning…” (mary oliver – first snow)

it snowed all day, the wind howling, the temperature careening below zero. a white christmas was on its way. the luminaria, though, they would not make it onto the sidewalks with neighbors and friends. it would be too oppressively cold, dangerously bitter.

wisconsin – right here by the great lake michigan – was not besieged with tremendous snow. there were not depths taller than shovelers or windows blocked by towering drifts. but it was so so cold. severe.

and even in the frigid, the glitter was obvious.

“…never settle
less than lovely!…”

the pond gathered the flakes. you could almost see them individually…the gift of a dry and very cold snow. dogdog laid outside, allowing snow to fall on his fur and, from time to time, jumping up and licking big swaths from the deck. he is a cold-weather dog, gleeful in the snow.

some of our plans were changed because of the arctic blast. i regretted that. for a bit. there were so many things to go do, so many lights to go see.

but the dura-fire was lit in the fireplace, the wine was poured, the cookies needed decorating, the ornament game waited. and we looked out the window and spoke of bing crosby and white christmas.

and it was beautiful out there. and still. quiet. and sparkling.

“…and though the questions
that have assailed us all day
remain – not a single
answer has been found –
walking out now
into the silence and the light
under the trees,
and through the fields,
feels like one…”

and we were home. together. and i can think of nothing better.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY


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snowcake and lemonade. [d.r. thursday]

david, wearing his birthday tiara, waiting to have birthday cake

he said that he stood at the back door and thought, “i’m going to like this time of life best.” out the door, surfing through piles and piles of snow, dogdog ran the yard, bowing to the snow and snacking on it, his chin and face covered. a snowglobe day, david stood and watched our dog in his glee while the coffee brewed. moments later, he brought a steaming mug of strong black coffee to me, lounging in my flannel pjs in bed, sleepy eyes and a warm cat by my side. we clinked mugs and sipped while we talked of birthdays and time.

our day was simple. we ate, we wrote, we ate again. dogdog and babycat were by our sides, not eager to be anywhere else on this frigid day. negative temperatures in the minus-twenties weren’t at all encouraging for hikes outside, or even walks, and i made a mental note to start asking around about a treadmill. we unwrapped a winter-scene jigsaw that had been in the hall closet for years, called people, answered texts, opened a surprise gift that arrived on our frozen doorstep and puzzled at the dining room table. a late dinner and a couple of glasses of red and dogdog was begging to go sleepynightnight. he led the way to the end of the day, a valentine’s-day-birthday, a day of marveling at how dear people are, how fast time goes, how vested we are in adjectives like ‘peaceful’ and ‘promising’ and ‘content’ to describe our next. ‘euphoric’ and ‘carefree’ would be lovely too; so many adjectives, so little time.

on the deck right out the sunroom window, the wrought iron table and chairs were laden with the accumulation of days of snow. i could not help but see the round snowpile on the table as a giant birthday cake; i could not help but see the snow-shape in the chair as a little alien snowman, waiting patiently for a piece of cake. it was just too tempting and david was out front shoveling. with a couple silver christmas balls, a tiara found upstairs in my girl’s room, a tall white taper and some vintage pink-plastic-cake-numbers-that-hold-tiny-birthday-candles, i made myself laugh. sinking well over my knees in snow as i inadvertently stepped off the side of the deck into a drift, i collapsed into the snow, cracking up, just too excited for david to come around the corner of the house, shovel in hand. lemonade, i thought. this is lemonade.

and that, i believe, is what he meant by, “i’m going to like this time best.” a time when you know that lemonade – and the making of it with or without lemons – is most rewarding.

*****

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hold on for dear life. [two artists tuesday]

ice

i’m sure the tree held on for dear life.  perched among the big boulders on the shore of lake michigan, these trees have held on through many a storm, waves crashing past them, wind howling.  only this time it was too much.  it didn’t have a chance.

we could hear the lake from our house.  the winter storm was raging and the intermittent crashes and booms were clearly devastation-in-the-making.  when we drove big red over to see, it was astounding.  the wind, the waves, ice had torn up and thrown entire chunks of sidewalk.  boulders were thrown twenty feet.  waves pelted the gazebo that sat back from the lake’s edge.  trees were uprooted, glazed in thick shrouds of ice.  the storm came and the storm left and the lakefront was forever changed.

in the littlehouse on island we watched the shoreline fade – many feet – over the course of a few months.  waves from the south pounded the shore, eating away at earth and trees, demolishing the new dock.  what it looked like when we first lived there is not what it looks like now, merely six months later.  it is forever changed.

we aren’t big sitcom-watchers.  but we are earth-show-watchers.  it’s astounding to see how our good earth is mutating – through no fault of its own.  profound.  fires destroying ecosystems, displacing and killing wildlife, changing the horizon forever.  glacial ice melting, challenging the arctic.  earthquakes and tornadoes, hurricanes and tsunamis.  toxic air forcing the use of face masks, and even of oxygen, the prevention of carbon dioxide in an environment less protected by photosynthesis and more consumed by greenhouse gas emission.

i have lived a couple blocks from the shore of lake michigan now for thirty years.  the storms in the last ten years have been fierce.  each one erodes the coastline a little more.  walking along the water’s edge the-day-after made it all feel apocalyptic, these changes.  ‘less is more’ the saying goes.  then it alludes that more is even more, perhaps too much.

the tree held on for dear life.  and lost.  are we holding on for dear life?  how are we long-term helping our good earth?  how are we long-term hindering it?  do we have a chance?

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

 

aftermath

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snow angels. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

snow angels copy

it wasn’t exactly a blizzard, but it was a great snowstorm.  it makes me wonder what would have happened if i had wished for something else….

every weekend My Girl drives back and forth across the high mountains.  she is a head coach for a snowboard team in aspen and instructs in telluride, so this four-and-a-half-hour-each-way-she’s-driving-where-there-are-no-guardrails-worry-zone for me is a necessity in her life.  i check the weather and implore her to stay in touch as she goes.  this last week, both of these towns and pretty much every town in-between had “winter storm warning” and THIS posted: avalanche warning copy

not exactly words that warm a momma’s heart.  but kirsten knows i am worried and, probably rolling her eyes, generously lets me know how things are as she goes.  she has good snow angels and i count on them.

i always say things like, “someday you’ll understand” to kirsten and craig, but i know that right now my mom-worrying might just be a burden to them.  i’m grateful they humor me, and i do know that someday they’ll understand.

when we were driving across the country in really bad weather, wendy had the ability to locate us and we were both really relieved for this.  checking in every so often, had something happened, at least she knew where-in-the-world we last were.  a good snow angel.  both The Girl and The Boy can locate me at any time too.  this is not an uncommon device used by families and i know that every mom has eternal gratitude for such a thing.

we took a walk in the freshly fallen snow.  It was very cold out and the wind was blowing, causing drifts across sidewalks and the waves to slam against the rocks on the lakefront.  i was glad not to be driving and my mind wandered back in time to other snowstorms….ones where my children bundled up and ran out to build snowforts and snowmen, ones where i was the one on the road and my sweet momma was the one worrying.  snowstorms when i went outside and played in the snow laughing with beloved old friends.

it had been kind of a long while since i’ve made a snow angel.  we got back from our walk downtown and were in front of our house.  i took david’s hand and we fell backwards into the snow.  i drew in my breath at the cold and laughed, my arms the wings of a snow angel.

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

bong trail, wisconsin website box copy