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go away. come back home. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

by this time i am likely a little bit homesick.

no matter where i am there comes a point when this happens.

when i was little – and everyone else went to sleepaway camp – i tried it on for size. twice. the first time it was ok. we went to camp koinonia in upstate new york and i was with my best friend susan. we stayed in a screened-in cabin with bunkbeds and there’s not much else i remember, save for the lanyard-making. the second time it was another upstate sleepaway camp and, again, i was with my best friend susan. that time did not go well. it rained a lot that week and that contributed to my wistful homesickness. i remember kickball and crafts and i remember a bit of weeping. i didn’t try it again.

i guess – as much as i now love going away – traveling and adventure, immersing in new places – even my favorite places – i am also kind of a homebody. i miss our house, our routines, my feet on our old wood floors, our dogga.

paradoxically, i feel fortunate to have gotten away from home. we needed a little bitta time out of town, a little bitta time away from the usual stuff, a little bitta time near family, a little bitta time in the mountains.

i think even a short stint of time away interrupts us. it grants us fresh air. it pokes us to not take loving our home lightly. it stirs up the wish-we-were-closer proximity yearnings. it gives us fresh eyes to return to our routines and the projects and challenges on our plates. it makes coming home sweet.

i am really, really familiar with the view out the front door of our house. this tree has been there the entire three and a half decades i have now lived here. and i have seen the sky and the seasons change through the arc of its branches.

the trees next to the sidewalk on our road have been aging out. one by one we wake up or arrive home to the roar of heavy chainsaw sounds. it makes me worry about our tree. it would be tough to see that tree removed.

going away and exploring – meandering around – is good for the soul. it’s invigorating and can take you out of your comfort zone. it’s rejuvenating. it gives you space.

coming back home – after going away and exploring – is also good for the soul. it affirms the everyday, the mundane, everything you consider ordinary, the very-familiar. and it elevates appreciation of all of it.

*****

MEANDER from AS IT IS ©️ 2004 kerri sherwood

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a tulip in the yard. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

we don’t officially compost. but the side of the garage (it used to be the back, but there is a fence there now) is a place of great organic matter. decaying leaves, wilted lettuce and spinach, bits of broccoli or parsley for the possum, shriveling blueberries for the chipmunks.

i walked past and it caught my attention.

a volunteer tulip.

years ago i planted a couple hundred tulip and daffodil bulbs. the squirrels – who are intrepid at our house – dug them all up. every last one of them. i had zero tulips, zero daffodils. i haven’t tried again because the squirrels would giggle and smirk, just waiting for me to bring my tired joints back into the house after planting. then they would make short order of digging or, in a slight (tormenting) nod to letting me think i might actually have bulbed flowers one day, planning to unearth them at a later date.

needless to say, we don’t have tulips or daffodils in our yard.

but here was this beautiful tulip! in all its glory, growing out of the mound next to the garage.

i’m thinking some squirrel – with eyes bigger than its belly – had one too many bulbs. it laid it down or dropped it. maybe it was on purpose. maybe it is a thank-you for all the birdseed it had been scrounging out of our birdfeeder. maybe a thank-you for all the goodies at the side of the garage through the years. maybe gratitude for the squirrel highways above our house or a gesture for the acorn holes scattered throughout our grass. or maybe it just simply forgot about it. either way, we will work around this beauty.

happy that it’s there, i’m a little bit gleeful that i finally – at long last – have a tulip in the yard.

*****

DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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to be here. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

there are days like this. when you can barely see the lake. were you not standing on its shore, watching its waves pummel the rocks below, you would not know. you would look out at the horizon and you would see nothing. the fog encases it all. even the line of sky and water. the fog here rolls in as the wind shifts and, for the closest mile in, all is awash in it.

i like to go to the lakefront on those days. it is beautiful. everything is in soft focus. and it seems somehow fitting to gaze out and not be able to discern much at all. there are days when it is important to be in the fog – to be wrapped in it – in order to remember to live the day – really, really live it.

we think ourselves able to plan, plan, plan. we believe our lists are important, get wrapped up in prioritizing what’s on them.

and the fog reminds us: things are not as clear as all that. they fall away into the mist as we stand, squinting our eyes to see. and then, the breath we see in front of our faces, the waves crashing near us as we stand on the boulders – they drop us into now.

i believe it would serve me well to remember the fog on clear days. to remember to hold it all lightly, in soft focus, to be where i am, to make the most of all of it, to not underestimate my fragility here. life is unfolding – both with and without my insistence on how, both with and without any clarity i might have, both with and without me.

until the sun burns through the fog to find the horizon, i am – once again – sitting in the interim of the fog, amazed at what i cannot see. not-knowing taps me on the shoulder. and reassures me that i have right-now.

and i am grateful to be here.

*****

happy birthday, my beloved daughter. 💗

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

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in the same way. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

in the same way this peony bud waits – tightly budded – absorbing the sunshine and the rain, glomming onto every gift nature offers her – i write this ahead, in great anticipation of being in the mountains.

i am a peony bud – wrapped up and waiting to unwind. ready to stand in the sun, soak it in, my breathing a little off as i adjust to altitude, weeping at the first sight of the range in front of us.

and in the same way this peony will soon glimmer in blossoming, i can feel it in anticipation. i can feel standing on a crest or tucked into the aspen forest along the trail or sitting in the brook on a rock. i can feel the petals relax, unwind. i can feel the air brush past me. i can feel my heart beating.

“i am here now,” i will remind myself, “stay here in each moment. don’t go anywhere else but here right now.”

and all that will come – all that will happen – whether ants or good weather or bad – i am nevertheless a bud that will open, unfurling petal by petal. nature and time will have its way. no matter. unconditionally. like goodness and love.

and i will stand today in the mountains – grateful – for peony lessons, for patience and fortitude, for all things unconditional.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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this is that day. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

what is it they say? a blessing and a curse.

yes. remembering dates can be both. on one hand, you can suddenly recall that something absolutely splendid happened on this very date – that it was life-altering, that it was the beginning of a new journey, a divergent path in the woods. on the other hand, you can suddenly recall that something absolutely dreadful happened on this very date – and it slams into you and holds you down for a moment or two while you catch your breath, gulping air, grasping at remembering you are no longer in that very moment on that very day.

today is one of those remembering dates.

but today is the first kind.

eleven years ago today – in baggage claim of o’hare airport – in a pair of jeans, a black sweater and some boots (an outfit pondered over for days) – i stood, holding a single daisy, waiting to finally meet this person i had been communicating with for about six months every single day.

and that moment – on that day – in that place – with that outfit on – was about to change my life.

you can’t always pinpoint those moments, exactlyyy. you know that something – some set of circumstances or events combined to change you – but you don’t always know the moment when something in-real-life enters your life and nothing will ever be the same.

it wasn’t like stars exploding or fireworks. no bells rang in my head. i didn’t faint or have palpitations. i was not weak-kneed. i wasn’t wowed or wooed or walloped. i did not whoop in overwhelming wonder.

i laughed. we hugged. and we skipped. and i felt like i had come home.

the universe had somehow – in some kismet-ish sort of way – sorted through the billions of people on this good earth – and had connected me to a person who would give me equal shares of blissful moments and infuriating moments, the person who would be my favorite person, the person who would be my favorite pain-in-the-ass, the person who would make me think and feel and cry and snort, the person who would be my rock in a never-ending river complete with gentle pools of lazy and boulder-laden whitewater rapids, the person whose kiss on the top of my head nearly breaks my heart open.

this is that day. i remember it.

❤️

*****

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

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my monogram. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

i saw the letter k immediately. one always sees ones initials, i suppose.

it immediately made me think of the way i used to sign everything – back in the day. (note: “the day” means the 70s – which is now – shockingly – half a century ago – which makes me laugh aloud!!)

i used a combination of my initials K, E, A – joined together – nothing extraordinary, it looked like this:

i used it everywhere. i signed my poetry with it. turned in lab reports with it. i autographed my lyrics in black-and-white-speckled composition books. i signed all my greeting cards with it and left notes on crunch’s windshield adorned with it. my monogram traveled with me everywhere.

and soon, recipients of my dedication to this began to use it back to me. i even have a beautiful gold necklace that was gifted to me with my cherished self-designed monogram.

and then, the guitar strap.

it was a present.

it was during the time that tooled leather had more than a minute. like everyone, i already had tooled leather keyfobs, bracelets, belts, change purses and full-sized handbags.

but the guitar strap stood out.

i used this guitar strap for five decades on my guitar. i had compartmentalized what it represented, the person who had given it to me, the time of which it reminded me.

until one day, a few years ago.

when you join together with a partner much later in life, you are full of the stories of the rest of the time you were not together. it’s rich history, narrative begging to be shared. and so, these stories start to tell themselves a little at a time as you get to know each other. and so one day i told him the story.

in horror he listened. he held me as i wept. he gently asked questions. he was quiet with me.

the bungie cord tightly lashed around the compartment of the sexual abuse flung free, snapping back, narrowly missing us. and the box was opened.

i removed the guitar strap from my guitar, unweaving the leather cord that held it onto the neck just under the tuning pegs. i stared at it for a few minutes, my monogram tooled into stiff leather that had somewhat softened through all the years.

and i took it outside and placed it in the garbage can.

*****

THE BOX from BLUEPRINT FOR MY SOUL ©️ 1996 kerri sherwood

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not normal. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

“starlight. starbright. first star i see tonight. i wish i may, i wish i might, have this wish i wish tonight.”

he said, “you’re not normal. you two are not normal.”

he didn’t mean it in a mean way. in fact, he quickly explained it was a compliment. he elaborated that it was his way of saying that we lead with creativity and artistry and that just isn’t a normal thing, that we don’t necessarily give credence to how naturally that is a part of who we are, how we move in the world, what we do with our time.

because our success is not measured like the success of others, it’s a little hard to take in this compliment. the success of our imperative is measured in resonance with others, in touching hearts, in poking thoughts, in giving space. the success of others is measured in salaries and annuities and perks and material goods. there is a vast disparity between the payroll of the artist and the payroll of the white-collar-ed.

at the queen tribute band concert we attended there was a woman in the next row who held an intense conversation during intermission. she spoke about their son who had chosen a different route – not to go to college – and who was succeeding mightily nonetheless. she spoke about how others looked disparagingly upon him, but how she supported his choices. the most telling thing she said was, “at least in life he isn’t doing a job he hates.” i did a double-take. the tone of her voice, the look on her face showed she was underplaying her own feelings. she is clearly doing a job she hates. for the long haul.

we’ve all had jobs we hated. it’s a fact of life. bills need to be paid, obligations need to be met and we are responsible people.

we talked about this on the way home from the concert. eh…who am i kidding? we talk about this all the time.

our life is different than most anyone else’s we know. our dreams are maybe a little different too.

we immerse in moments that remind us of the good fortune of merely breathing. we flail in moments that remind us we are not “that kind” of normal. but seeing stars in dried flowers and hearts in verdant underbrush and angel wings in clouds and appreciating the sunshine on the quilt, the old birdhouse on the mantel, the tiny cairns on our shelves, the harmonic overtones in the air all remind us.

i wish i may, i wish i might, have the wish i wish tonight…

to not worry. to know that this work that we do in the world is valued. to feel some of the same ‘normal’ as most of the people around us.

but if i have to worry and wonder and feel ‘not normal’ to be the artist i am, to maybe have something i do resonate with someone else, touch them, make them think, change them a tiny bit, give them a little space of peace, then i’ll take it. because i don’t hate what i do.

because i love doing what i do.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

SEE AN OWL mixed media 24″x48″

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for all time. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

we co-wrote an absolutely brilliant song when we were on washington island in the summer of 2019.

[i’m thinking i already posted about this. 1900 + blogs and redundancy is a thing, i guess. my apologies – i know some people really detest redundancy. i, on the other hand, don’t really mind it at all. you can tell me the same delicious story over and over and i will still be a happy listener. (these rules don’t apply to david, of course)]

anyway…now, every-single-time i see a butterfly (and even yes-yes, technically, a moth as well, yup-yup) i cannot help myself. i immediately think of this song and sometimes – ok, most times – i start singing it. “butterfly, butterfly, spread your wings. butterfly, butterfly, fly. butterfly, butterfly, flutter by, to the big blue sky.” (see audio file waaaay below if you are dying to hear this brilliance!)

we cannot help laughing.

really laughing.

like the kind of laughing when your cheeks hurt and your ribs begin to ache, tears start streaming from your eyes and you might even snort. THAT kind of laughing.

we were so inspired back then by our butterfly song, we decided – while still on island – to write another song – fun in the sun – and we tried to record it (see below)…ridiculously harsh sunlight, anything-but-flattering-up-angle, very-very-insanely-close-up…but the moments are recorded no less. for all time.

the red admiral butterfly – that fluttered by and landed right next to us on the adirondack chair on our patio – according to the great google – symbolizes spiritual awakening, transformation, and renewal. all beautifully restorative. truly a gift.

but there is nothing like a good laugh to put things in perspective. for all time.

*****

the butterfly song – by kerri & david

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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hundreds of them. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

sometimes something comes out of the blue. and it just makes you feel oh-so-good.

a wisconsin high school contacted us about a month ago – they wanted to order a few hundred of our “be kind” buttons for their kindness week. with my sweet momma smiling over my shoulder, i tended to all the extra paperwork and steps that a district purchase entails, happily thinking about hundreds of people wearing our buttons.

i originally designed them when we had a showing of the movie wonder at the performing arts center we co-managed on washington island. i wanted everyone to have a “be kind” button as they left the theatre. i’ve ordered and re-ordered these for various reasons and various organizations since. every single time i think about my mom – thrilled that this gentle reminder would be on someone’s lapel, someone’s backpack, someone’s jacket or maybe hanging from their rearview mirror. i personally have them pinned on a few purses – because – well – too many people need to be reminded.

it’s a simplicity. “be kind”…a choice. it echoes out and out in concentric circles and douses people with the magic dust of generosity. i wish that every school, every business, every service or religious organization, every politician, every single person might wear one – to remember.

i am ecstatic each time these buttons are ordered. and i was inordinately proud of the personnel in this high school student services department. so very happy to know that spreading kindness throughout their school mattered. grateful they went the extra mile. that though this district’s per capita spending may have gone up by just the teeniest-tiniest smidge with the purchase of these buttons, the payoff must have been brilliant.

reminders to be kind. to choose kindness. to experience kindness. to live kindness.

and my momma smiled broadly, knowing she inspired these buttons. hundreds of them.

*****

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

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makes me think of. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

amaryllis makes me think of my sweet momma. the color pink makes me think of my daughter.

on the windowsill of the bathroom there are two small bottles. one is estee lauder’s ‘pleasures’ and the other is a tiny daisy-capped bottle of marc jacob’s daisy perfume. two scents that remind me of those same two beloved people.

because i am thready (some may say overlyyy thready) i surround myself – intentionally and unintentionally – with tokens of remembrance – some actual, some merely floating in my heart – filaments that connect me to people – and make me think of people – whether they are nearby or far away or on another plane of existence entirely. threads. woven in.

this bulb – a gift – requires no attention whatsoever. you just place it anywhere and it will take care of itself. no water needed. it contains all the water and nutrients it needs to flower. it has stored carbohydrates so it is self-sustaining and can bloom without any care.

i am thinking that between the plethora of mcdonalds fries i ate in my teenage years on bike hikes, the wavy lays and cape cod chips in later years (and even recent later years!!), ever-reassuring mashed potatoes and the daily morning breakfast david makes each day that includes yummy potatoes, i have plenty – plenty!!! – of stored carbohydrates. one would then extrapolate that i would be self-sustaining and would bloom without care. but, the flora world has it all over us on this one. i do not have the advantage of the waxed amaryllis bulb. water, nutrients and care are necessary.

the pink-waxed amaryllis is just starting to get closer to blooming, a flower stalk straight and tall from the center of the bulb, the bud tightly wound. i visit with it each day, marveling at it.

and i think of dearest jen every time i look at it.

*****

CONNECTED from RELEASED FROM THE HEART, THE BEST SO FAR ©️ 1995, 1999 kerri sherwood

download from my little corner of iTUNES

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read DAVID’S thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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