reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

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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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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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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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kintsugi-ing. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

we had a list of possibilities. it was a list of things to do, places to go before or during christmas. since our adult children and their partners would not be here, we knew we needed to keep busy, to create more hustle and bustle. missing your grown-up kids is ever-present, even when you are happy for them.

so we started a list: the botanic garden lightscape display, the garden domes, splitting a burger at a favorite bistro in a little town square across from the gazebo lit with christmas tree and menorah, a park festive with big illuminated balls of color. we included luminaria, a bonfire on christmas eve, singing carols around the piano in my studio.

as it turned out, we lit three luminaria and, on a rainy christmas eve, placed them inside, in front of our fireplace.

and we hiked on christmas day. bundled up, we took to our loop – this place where – for years now – we have sorted through life.

yesterday (which isn’t really yesterday now but is last week) we had a hard day. i wonder how many of us had a hard day. it was the day after christmas, the day when you realize all the hoopla is over, all the preparations done, the anticipation breathing a sigh. it is the day that sort of places you back into the calendar, a place that had – temporarily – been suspended in celebration, big or little.

it was on that day i realized we had not stood at the piano and sang carols.

this is the fifth year we – or even i – have not stood at the piano – any piano, any where – and sang carols.

i thought i was ready.

because five years is a long time for someone who spent most of her adult life – at christmas – creating experiences through music – for christmas.

i thought that carols would be the way back in, the easiest path back.

but somehow it got lost in whatever else we did on those two days of christmasing.

and, when it dawned on me we hadn’t, it didn’t fall gently.

in some self-indulgent raw disclosure to you, i can say this fiveyears has taken a toll. i can see now that being fired broke my spirit, that being fired triggered unmentionable earlier pain that further entrenched the breaking.

and i wonder now if it wasn’t so much about stopping my music. i wonder if breaking my spirit was actually their intention.

wow.

healing takes a long time.

and now this is the last day left to this year and we will cross into the year when i will turn 67. and i shake my head – vehemently, to unstick the clinging tarry goo – and throw a rope to my spirit that is trying to tread the water of eh-it’s-ok.

it’s done. it’s enough.

i have decided to decide.

i’m not positive that is possible; i’m not even sure that is possible.

but this piano-less existence is hard and i wonder if it is harder than what it will actually feel like AT the piano.

it won’t be carols.

but it will be something. something gut-worthy of answering the tug, something that makes me show up, that makes the walls of my studio vibrate with fortissimo and neck-crane to hear breath in the rests.

in the new year, little by little. kintsugi-ing.

and – even now – even in the middle of deciding to decide – part of me wants to add: maybe.

*****

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

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whatever it is that calls me. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

“whatever it is that calls us, that’s our path. and as we walk that path, we have a chance to shine forth who we are. it affects other people around us.” (richard bach)

we were talking about identity. in these later days, i have realized the nonsense of it all. in those striving-striding days of yore, younger versions of ourselves pushed for identity. we poked and prodded and molded and shaped and re-shaped our identity, pushing it out in front of us – as if to parade it, seeking validation. we – somehow in this society based so mightily on valuation – based our value on it. we let it rule us; we let it impact our decisions. we let it undermine our confidence. we let it stoke our egos. all of it.

and, suddenly, it all makes absolutely no sense.

so often, who we are falls prey to what we are.

he asked what we would do in retirement. i laughed. we’re already there. we’re doing it. it’s not a lot different than an artist’s path before retirement. it’s all-the-time.

we just are.

the path of artistry is not for the meek. it’s not a path of return-on-investment, for the investment of one’s heart far outweighs any yields, particularly in a society that underestimates its arts. it’s not a path of certainty, for scrappy is the only thing that is unquestionable. it’s not a path of sanctimony, for any sense of haughty righteousness must fall to the wayside of vulnerable creating. phony should not co-exist with authentic. caste should not co-exist with truthful art-making. all that pretense stuff – wrapped up in some version of identity in which one trembles when asked “what do you do?”

i’ll never forget a dinner i once attended, now years ago. seated in a fancy place with people i did not know, surrounded by those on ladder rungs i might not ever visit, i was asked that question, “what do you do?”

i answered that i was an artist…a recording artist….a composer…a singer-songwriter…a performer. the person – on that other rung – stared at me and gave a little laugh. “nooo, what do you REALLY do?” he asked.

i walk a path. i try my best to create. i try – not always successfully – to shine the truth of who i am, without bending or sacrificing the who of who i am. i try to affect others in a good way.

i know that there will be hundreds – likely, thousands – of cds with my name on them someday in some antique store. people will walk by and either give a quick second look or none at all. they won’t know who i was. they won’t know what i composed, the music i recorded and performed, the words i wrote. they won’t know what my voice – or even my laugh – sounded like.

but i will have walked a path that was mine alone. i will have joined hands with those i loved to walk alongside. i will have yearned and regretted and belly-laughed and wept. i will have realized that art – including music – is the answer to all the questions.

the deer prints will fade as the snow melts. it will be much the same for mine, i suppose.

were i able to go back to the linen-clothed table in the dining room of the country club, i should have looked evenly across the table and answered the guy who asked me what i really do, “whatever it is that calls me.”

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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countless stars. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

the way back north – though we would have lingered on and on save for our sweet older dogga at home waiting – was beautiful. we knew it would be; we have taken these back roads every single time we drive to chicago. following the lakefront, through little towns and along ravines, the holiday lights on our way home – in the dark with full hearts – are always magical.

to sit and spend any time with your grown children and their partners is always a gift. some people are privy to that all the time – fortunate to live in the same town or very close by, fortunate to have time together often. others of us have less time together; proximity can be challenging, so the time together with them is treasured and exponentially valued. we are always grateful to have that time.

earlier this week we had a chance to be with our son and his boyfriend. we brought all the makings for a thai chicken soup, our son’s requested “christmas lunch”. we gathered for photographs by the christmas tree and visited in the kitchen while we cooked. hearing their recent adventures, their thoughts, their latest dreams, hugging them in real life – it’s truly the stuff that this holiday is made of.

i remember the day after christmas from growing-up times. it was a day that was kind of the denouement of the season. it was a slow day, a reflection of what all had transpired, a review of it all.

we kept all the decorations up for a while back then. i don’t remember taking them down as a child. this year i think we will keep them up a bit as well…keep the light going. the trees add warmth to the cold of this season, particularly at this corrosive time in our nation.

he said that he hadn’t had his chance to put the star on the tree before he was no longer welcome. but this year it was HIS home, HIS tree, HIS star. and he owned the very-important-moment of placing his own star on his own tree, undeterred by disrespect of him or biased bigotry. it made me cry.

no longer welcome. holding a ‘welcome’ ransom is as absurd and cruel as holding the star ransom. in the christmas story, the star represents the celestial guide to the manger. but, more so, it represents light in the darkness, hope, the arrival of love. love…that which should level the field for all, that which grants grace, reminds us of compassion and inclusion, of unity, of hand-in-hand support of one another.

on the way home we talked about the lights on people’s houses, in their yards, inside their open front windows. we talked about multi-colored lights vs white lights and our own interpretation of these.

although we both grew up with multi-colored-light-families, we both always choose white lights. for me, that simplicity is part of the season. for me, it’s like a thousand stars, constellations of beacons in the darkness, of hope, of love. white lights bring the galaxies of the universe inside.

this day-after-christmas will be slow. it will be a day of reflection and rest.

and it will be time to continue to keep the happy lights lit, countless stars surrounding us.

*****

TIME TOGETHER © 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood

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now more than ever. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

it’s a week ahead of christmas as i write this.

in earlier years – for decades – i would have been consumed with shaping advent and christmas services, designing music that lifts the story of this holiday, that spreads the message of love, of light, of the season.

it’s been a bunch of years now that I haven’t been a minister of music and i trust that each church i’ve served before will again have ringing of handbells, choirs in harmony, cantatas with wonderful narrative, pipe organ music reflective of this time of light…perhaps even a ukulele band strumming some favorite carols. i hope that the music programs i started in churches in new york, florida, wisconsin all have grown and that they carry on in the same spirit of joy i brought. it is different to not direct, but the space allows for introspection and reflection.

several years ago – as a piece for one of the cantatas i composed or arranged – i wrote the song “you’re here”. as i listen to my own song – recorded as i sang it at a piano into my phone – these lyrics: and now, you’re here, in a world of hypocrisy and your love can heal us all…”

and it occurs to me that we are all mary – holding space for love, for light, for hope. even outside a tradition that celebrates christmas or hanukkah or any other specifically religious holiday – it is love – period – that can heal us. OUR love. love for one another, love for equality, love for goodwill, love for kindness. it is holding up compassion, concern, tenderness, empathy. it is recognizing brokenness and despair. it is valuing humanity itself and leading with heart and generosity.

in this season, i have found myself humming another of my own personal favorites: hope was born this night.

i hope so.

in each of us.

we need it now more than ever.

merry christmas.

alleluia.

*****

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

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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

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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?

*****

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