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under the i. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

in downtown chicago, it is not uncommon to walk under highways or tracks carrying heavy railroad cars, the metra, the el, freight carriers.

but out on a trail, meandering alongside a river, through meadows and forests, passing fishermen and being passed by marathon-aspiring bikers, with turtles and baby snakes, heron and mosquitoes punctuating our hike, it seems really odd – and slightly unnerving – to walk under the “i”.

you can’t help but look up at the cars and trucks going 70 or 80 mph just above you. i shudder to think of the infrastructure problems that might abound. 86% of bridges in the state of illinois are considered acceptable. i just want to be sure this particular bridge is not part of the other 14%.

as i have some trepidation under vehicle and railroad bridges, my imagination is working a little overtime as i slither underneath the overpass, my eyes on the light coming from the other side. it’s much cooler under the bridge – and surprisingly quieter than before we entered – and there is a pigeon who is touting his wisdom for hanging out where it is sheltered. but most pigeons are not civil engineers nor do they really worry themselves about that sort of thing. i speak softly to it as we pass; it’s not frightened, even of us.

of all the trails we have taken in our general area – i have to say this section hike of the river trail was the least satisfying. we were in a triangular map-section of three large highways, including the interstate. so we weren’t ever far from the noise. and noise – and general hubbub – is what we are trying to escape on a trail. nevertheless, i’m glad we section-hiked that part. it surely makes us appreciate the rest of the trail, in quieter areas, removed a bit from the ruckus of daily life.

perspective is a funny thing. there are times we get sort of lax in appreciation. we take for granted the everyday luxuries of contemporary life, the ease of movement, our connections to family and friends. we see same-same through the same eyes. it’s a theme with variations.

and then, there was the pigeon. it found its safe place under the underpass – a place where it was cool, where the river ran and it could sip, where the insects and worms might be plentiful, where passersby might toss it a morsel or two. it didn’t seem to mind that the interstate was directly above, that this spot was not nirvana for most.

idyllic is in the eye of the beholder. so is wonder. in a busy world, they are easy to miss, easy to same-old-same-old-put-aside.

so, instead of dissing the trail that went under the interstate, i’ve decided to be in amazement that we walked under a road that hosts a daily average of 1.5 million cars of people driving to their destinations. and that on the way back on our eight or so mile hike, we could stop and linger with the pigeon, out of the hot sun.

sharpening the dulled, putting new eyes on the ordinary.

*****

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

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the E.T. from earth. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

and i ponder the reverse. what if E.T. was from earth and was somehow left behind on some other planet with living and breathing beings? would the earth-alien be as wistful about leaving earth behind? would the earth-alien be anxious to go back, to return to earth? what special powers would the earth-alien reveal on the new planet? how would the earth-alien respond to this different place, these different beings?

the thing about the movie E.T. is that it left us with a heartened view of what an extra-terrestrial might bring, the connections an extra-terrestrial might find, might form. it was a feel-good, cry-at-the-end movie and there is probably not one of us who viewed the movie who cannot hear E.T. saying, “E.T. phone home” or his parting words, “i’ll be right here” in our memory bank.

but what about the reverse?

what would a contemporary earth-being bring to another planet? would it be a sense of camaraderie or a dedication to division? would it be a symbiotic working-together or over-indulged competition, lines drawn in other-planet-dust? would it be open-hearted empathy or apathetic closed-mindedness? would it be an attitude of every-one-for-themselves? would there be any tenderness, any gentleness, healing mindfulness or would the attitude be haughty and mean-spirited?

if we didn’t get to cherry-pick the person who was sent to this other planet, how likely is it that the other-planet-beings would be glad that person showed up, to welcome them with warm hospitality, to sit and try to communicate, try to understand each other?

the spaceship flower on the side of the trail sent my imagination off and running.

but it made me also wonder this: if we would – indeed – want to carefully-as-possible pick an earth-being that might represent humankind to another planet’s beings – making sure that this earth-being would bring all the best qualities of humanness, the most nurturing, cooperative, collaborative, forthright, most loving, and all-embracing traits and behaviors, wouldn’t we want the same as the leader of our own country?

E.T. was hiding in the bushes under the spaceship flower. he glanced up at me and whispered, “scared here. wanna go home.”

i handed him the flower and off he disappeared, leaving us all behind to think carefully about what we wish for in humankind on this good planet earth.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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another get-the-lead-out chapter. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

and ever so quietly the cones arrived. and then the “no parking” signs. we didn’t hear the trucks until a couple days later. and, though i’ve lost track of what chapter this is, another chapter begins.

they dug up the street. in front of our house and our neighbors to the east and the west. i instantly started to get nervous. it’s been kind of a long haul, this get-the-lead-out thing. i mean, yes, i want to get the lead out, but seriously, this has been a really long process. our first water pipe lead eradication chapter was in november 2021. we are rapidly approaching two years. i’m frankly not sure if the lead is out – i believe it is – we have shiny new copper pipes and shiny new sidewalks and – at long last – a level front yard with green-green grass – but what about the water utility company being back…again?

whatever the reason, we have determined (read: succumbed to) it is part of the process and are trying to trust that.

for many, many years, we participated in the water utility company’s lead-test. they’d drop off a plastic container which we had to fill first thing in the morning after not using the water lines overnight. each time i’d wait anxiously for the results and any recommendations. with children growing up in the house, i didn’t want either of them to have to seek long-term therapy to deal with their emotional i-drank-leadwater-my-whole-life issues. life is hard enough without leadwater.

i’m guessing we were getting perilously close to the leadwater danger-edge because, when water started leaking into our front yard, we were offered the chance to replace the service line within the guidelines of the new program, assistance with a cap of several thousand dollars that was granted for the work. we were grateful. in our case it was a pretty intense operation – see many blogposts circa late 2021, 2022, likely several in 2023 as well. without exaggeration, our front yard was a disaster area.

in recent whitehouse press release news: “the biden-harris Get the Lead Out Partnership is a coalition of federal government, states, tribes, local communities, water utilities, labor unions, and nongovernmental organizations that has committed to advance a shared set of principles to accelerate lead service line replacement. the inaugural 123 members of the partnership include”…drumroll, please, the city of kenosha, wisconsin!

and so, as we drive around the city, darting inbetween cones and torn-up roads, i am thankful that our city has decided to care about our water. they are taking steps to help people, offer financial assistance, dedicate worker crews to this effort to remove lead water service lines, to have clean water. bravo!

in the meanwhile, we’ll wonder what’s going on in the street and cross our fingers that we don’t wake up one morning to once again see an excavator in our front yard. but we’ll know that – no matter how little we run the water in the morning or how long – we will pass the lead-test with flying colors.

in other undeniably exciting news – a part of this waterstory – we were heartened by a new award certificate we were given by the grassking: most-improved lawn!!

so…no more leadwater for us AND most improved lawn. it’s a win-win!

*****

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

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for right now. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

“the sun shines not on us but in us. the rivers flow not past, but through us. thrilling, tingling, vibrating every fiber and cell of the substance of our bodies, making them glide and sing. the trees wave and the flowers bloom in our bodies as well as our souls, and every bird song, wind song, and tremendous storm song of the rocks in the heart of the mountains is our song, our very own, and sings our love.” (john muir)

there have been moments – holy and glorious moments – when i remember that i am, yes, one with nature. i am no more or less a part of the whole than the heart-leaf on the side of the trail, no more or less a part of the whole than the rocks on the beach, no more or less a part of the whole than the cloud as it floats by. and i remember that in my tiny-ness – within the vastness – i could just as easily have been the energy of the leaf or the rock or the cloud.

“how will you spend your time?” asked the thru-hiker at the end of the trail. mary oliver asks the same, “what will you do with your one precious life?”

i realize – in these sacred and suspended moments when i can feel the threads of soul connect me to the trees, to the living plants, to the creatures – that i am, perhaps, spending too much time in worry.

i am alive. and, for right now, that is enough.

*****

GRACE from RIGHT NOW ©️ 2010 kerri sherwood

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read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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if i was the rain. [two artists tuesday]

it was torrential. for hours. we didn’t know it, but we weren’t the only ones having issues. all over our town, there was flooding. streets, houses, basements, the water was incessant and drainage wasn’t keeping up.

it’s not like we don’t need rain. we do. but the intense downpours aren’t helpful. residents ended up without power, with too much water and without water (ironically).

this is a time of intensity. it seems that every weather system, every environmental concern, brings an amped-up version of itself. it’s not just a little windy. it’s a derecho. it’s not just a bit dry. it’s on fire. it’s not just a soft rain. it’s a deluge. it’s not just a storm. it’s historic. it’s not just endangered. it’s extinction.

and we’re not the only ones.

right after we chose this image for our blogposts, i started humming lowen and navarro’s “if i was the rain“, an utterly debilitatingly beautiful song.

and so i think about how it would be – to be the rain.

“if i was the rain… i’d fall between the fireflies; i’d never dampen any light.”

yes. how i’d be careful not to dim the brilliance of others.

“i’d strike a chord within each heart, wherever they were torn apart. and if that helped them heal themselves, maybe we’d find out where forgiveness starts.”

yes. how i’d be aware of washing away old hurts, bringing a flowing river to all.

“if i was the rain, i’d choose forever to remain. i’d add a sparkle to the night and marvel at the morning bright.”

yes. how ever-present, a single drop of rain. ever-mindful of vast goodness, of perspective, of eternal gratitude.

“if i was the rain i’d bless each blossom to unfold and i’d turn each one of them to gold.”

yes. how to feed every last thing with the best nourishment, water to grow, dreams to flourish. nurturing. giving to. not taking from.

“if i was the rain. if i was the rain.”

but i’m not. and there are changes happening. and the weather is intensifying. and we – as humans on this good earth – have choices to make.

the things we will decide will affect the rain. and the rain will affect us.

and we’re not the only ones.

“when we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe.” (john muir)

and then, eric lowen performed it one last time, “if i was the rain, if i was the rain.”

and i can’t help but wonder.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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love, love, love. [merely-a-thought monday]

when i was in sunday school – decades ago – we sang a song with these lyrics: “love, love, love. that’s what it’s all about. cause god loves us, we love each other. mother, father, sister, brother. everybody sing and shout. cause that’s what it’s all about. it’s about love, love, love. it’s about love, love, love.”

and then, somewhere along the way, it seems that the rules changed. and suddenly, it wasn’t all about love. it – on the contrary – became about the parameters put on love. it became about who people identify as and who people love. it became about valuing only male-female love. it became about quashing people’s gender identification. it became about ancient, close-minded, patriarchal interpretations. it became about bigotry. and the sunday school song takes on a different meaning.

but we know that nothing immensely beautiful, nothing meaningful or of import has come from limitations. it is not the ostrich with its head in the sand who can feel the dawn of a new day on its face. it is not the people who do no true research, who do not ask questions, who do not ponder the possible; these same folks who, if they instead would have respectful consideration of others, could find that we all can be spokes-living-better-together.

one of the things i really loved about my sweet momma was her willingness – her desire – to learn new things. even in her nineties, she tried to stay current, to stay informed. if she didn’t understand something, she’d ask questions or she’d look it up. she stayed open, non-judgemental. she hoped for happiness, love, freedom, peace for everyone – despite their race, ethnicity, gender identity, religion, sexual orientation, socioeconomic status. she did not make broad sweeping statements dissing any group of people. she held onto her belief that everyone deserves “to thine own self be true”. i’m guessing she would agree with ruth bader ginsburg, “we will all profit from a more diverse, inclusive society, understanding, accommodating, even celebrating our differences, while pulling together for the common good.”

the day my beloved son came out to me, i rejoiced in his freedom. all i really wanted for him – that day and every day since – was to love and be loved by his partner, working together with mutual respect, loyalty, understanding, generosity, admiration, affection, support. it is the same for my beloved daughter in her love relationships. i merely birthed them and then, in the briefest time that flew by, they became adults, out in the world. and with them, they took the knowledge that they had freedom to be who they are, knowing – without a doubt – i love them.

i can’t imagine poking at a group of people – including, and particularly, an all-embracing LGBTQIA+ community of beautiful people. lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, intersex, asexual: their individual and precious lives are not mine to live, nor mine to decide, nor mine to undermine.

we are the same. remember the sunday school song? or are there limitations to these lyrics? in what faith is love not love?

we purchased a new yard sign. half of the proceeds go to PRIDE.

*****

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

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TLC. [saturday morning smack-dab.]

so right now we have harvested four tomatoes. i know that four tomatoes does not a stockpot of marinara sauce make. but these four tomatoes count and later today we will place them on a special plate and have them with our lunch, delicious-homegrown-bite by delicious-homegrown-bite.

our basil and flat-leaf oregano and rosemary have gone to town and are a delight to use in recipes. our mint insists on flowering and is kind of spindly. (yes, yes, i know the flowering part sort of causes this, but no amount of cutting back seems to help.) and our tomato plant – well, despite our best efforts at loving this little potting stand garden to fruition, it’s eking out very few tomatoes. that’s ok. we still are in awe of the whole process, and watch, in utter happiness, as our little garden grows.

there’s a guy on youtube who is hiking the colorado trail. more than once we have heard his mantra: what goes around, comes around. he is in the practice of doing good deeds for others, on the trail and off. and he recognizes each time someone does something for him, or the universe tilts in his favor. i’m betting he would love our little garden too. not necessarily for its tomato and herb yield, but because of the tender loving care we are putting into it and the joy it is bringing us.

i’m thinking that’s true of most things you tenderly and lovingly care for.

it’s not the marinara sauce that matters.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

SMACK-DAB. ©️ 2023 kerrianddavid.com

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board by board. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

it is a distinct sound – footfall on boardwalk. and somewhere in there, echoic memory rises. and crab meadow, sunken meadow, fire island, hilton head, atlantic city all fly to the front of my mind. even a boardwalk on a vegetation-dense mountain trail in pisgah national forest. anywhere my feet had hit the boards, with that hollow suspended-above sound.

and as we start to cross the marsh on this trail on the lake michigan coast, i want to slow down, to revisit each of those other places.

i’ve spent an inordinate amount of time on crab meadow beach’s small boardwalk. it’s the place i’d stop and empty the sand from my shoes after long walks on the beach. it’s the place – other than the tree in my growing-up side yard – where i did the most life-processing.

every other boardwalk elicits particular viewmaster frames etched in my memory. the planter’s peanuts store on atlantic city’s boardwalk when i was kid, my planter’s peanut pencil clutched in my hand. fire island lighthouse exploration as a late teen, blankets and coppertone in the dunes. hilton head island and treasured family time. a christmas hike in the north carolina mountains.

the limbic system kicked in the moment my feet hit the boards. and i pause in conversation, remembering. it’s like a kaleidoscope of images, a mix-up of boarded walkways.

our deck makes noise too. as you walk across, it creaks, giving up its age, telling tales of tiny children, family dinners, dance parties, ukulele rehearsals, quiet happy hours, silent time on the steps spent staring, watching the grass grow, treasured dogs-through-time napping. it has seen sparklers and bubbles, sunset skies and meteor showers, deep drifts of snow and umbrella-ed hot sun. it has earned its creaks and groans. it joins the photo album of boardwalks.

so, i go slow across the expanse over the marsh. i take my time, drinking in the tall cattails on either side. the warm humid air partners with the distinct sound of this wooden walkway and gets stored in my brain.

and one day, the next boardwalk day, whenever that is, the dopamine will rush forward as i – in the present and in magical memory – walk, step by step, board by board.

*****

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

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seeds. [two artists tuesday]

and the beautiful flower – with tiny white petals – its seeds were ripening. slowly, it began to wrap its inflorescence in, protecting. and the tiny bird’s-nest-shape remained, wound around, parenting, holding dear until the dried seeds, ready, release and go off into the world.

nature repeats itself. its stories – from one species to the next, one genus to the next – seem inordinately similar.

we – now adults – have left our own green-bird’s-nest years ago. it was a haven of sorts, but only for a time, as we grew. and then, suddenly, we are out and about in the world, riding the jet stream, surfing the tide, subjected to scorching sun and bitter cold. we trust the world to carry us safely. we are innocent seeds.

we learn – in different stages of our growth – that though we are held in unconditional love by some, there are others who will not tend us gently. we begin to discern the difference. we choose those who support us, whose inflorescent arms wrap us lightly, tenderly. we are buoyed, encouraged, picked up, bolstered by these arms. the others – the ones who aim to dilute, push down, disempower – they are loud voices – righteous and suffocating and dispiriting.

but – amidst either – we are still seeds as we continue on, other seeds also on this way.

and we try to remember to be as queen anne’s lace – once held gently and released – always with the knowledge that there are nurturing tiny and big blossoms out there, sharing the universe with us.

and we try to remember to be as queen anne’s lace – to, similarly, hold gently and release – with empathy our north star as we float and soar, celebrating every single other seed.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

(composers pat alger and ralph murphy)

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what i need. [saturday morning smack-dab.]

i am a homebody. i truly love home.

but – juxtaposed on the same life-wave-riding surfboard – i love to get away. i love roadtrips and adventure, exploring backroads, immersing in new places. though i am fed noticing the extraordinary in the familiar, i thrive on images of the unfamiliar. more than once i have cried entering a canyon or at mountain-range first glimpse or surrounded by the scent of a lodgepole pine forest or the quiet of an empty trail or the quaking of aspen leaves.

so i yearn for these places – the ones we have been to and have loved and the ones we dream about.

i’m not high-maintenance when it comes to vacations. i’m not a resort-type or a cruise-type, not a disney-type or an amusement-park-type. i don’t need all-inclusive or my bed turned-down. i don’t need all-you-can-eat-any-time-of-day-or-night. i don’t need fancy or plush or luxurious. i definitely don’t need contrived.

it’s pretty simple. what i do need – is a little or big getaway. short distance, long distance. time to leave, see new things, experience new places, feel the sun from a different latitude or longitude. and then time to go home and feel the hygge that is ever-present back here, the moments that go by perhaps a little underappreciated, to feel the here and now without regret or longing, a chance to revive my homebody-ness.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

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