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watermelon time. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

dogga adores watermelon. he also adores blueberries and carrots. he’s a big fan of any kind of chip, cracker or cheese. really, any dog-safe morsel of people food – except bananas – are in his taste-treat wheelhouse. he finds us easy to convince – those eyes of his – complete amber eye-to-eye contact.

back in the day, when i lived in florida, you could find watermelon at many rural corners, much like boiled peanut stands – a pick-up truck with a bed filled with watermelons fresh off the vine for buyers to choose from. i remember breaking open melons, sticky sweet, a tiny bit cooler than the air temperature. these last few days here in wisconsin remind me of those hot summer days down south, with nights that don’t cool down and humidity lingering so much in the air you can see it. chilled watermelon helps.

in the olden days (as my poppo used to refer back) watermelons had seeds. lots of them. you’d stand out back on the patio or on the deck spitting pits over the railing – contests of whose would gain the most ground. now, we are lucky – seedless watermelons have changed life, like seedless mandarins. no more contests over the deck rail, but so much easier to eat. ahh, the end of the folksy tradition of the watermelon-seed-spit. probably not a big loss.

dogga will accept any treat he is offered. he clearly trusts that we will keep his well-being and his people-food tastes in mind, so when i cut up the watermelon the other day into bite-sized pieces, he was right there, by my side, waiting. it’s his summer too.

but time doesn’t stand still. we simply cannot believe that it is labor day weekend already. the summer flew by. and soon, a bit later on, we will be barreling through fall. it’ll be time for apple-picking and pumpkins, jeans and boots and vests. part of me yearns for that – autumn – my favorite time of year.

but watermelon is plentiful right now, and, so, our moments will include dabbing our napkins on our watermelon-slice-sticky faces in the middle of these hot summer days, these days of intense heat.

dogga doesn’t seem to have yearnings for later-on. somehow he knows that any time at all is too precious to waste. his wisdom is in his absolute presence. whether it is watermelon time or apple time or cranberry time or blueberry time…it doesn’t matter. he is just there – appreciating all the wanna-bites of the season.

so in the middle of winter – when it’s frigid outside and we humans are wishing for a little warmth while dogga is relishing the piles of snow – we may summon up these days in the sun. hopefully, even in our baselayers, wool socks and down coats, we might taste the summer we – hopefully – memorized. we might close our eyes and remember the sweetness of cold watermelon.

or, because this world is what it is and we are fortunate beyond belief to be able to purchase produce from nations and places far and wide, we may buy a watermelon – in the cold of winter – from the grocery store. we’ll take out the big carving knife and the cutting board and slice it into triangles, with great anticipation. and we’ll take a bite of the top of the triangle, easily the best bite of all melon bites.

and we’ll be back – standing in the hot sun, with sticky hands. because watermelon has that power. even without seeds.

*****

GOOD MOMENTS: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=WbiKiz1NZYs

(copyright 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood)

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classics frenzy. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

it could easily put you in a frenzy.

technology – stuff – is like that. and we are surrounded by old technology and old stuff. now, don’t get me wrong. i’m not complaining. it’s just a fact. besides, i heard kamala loud and clear when she said, “don’t complain. dooo something about it!!”

and so, i do the workaround. it’s a bit like the electric shuffle, a mix-up of the hustle and the bump, maybe a little macarena-ish. it’s not a pretty mash, but it moves and shakes and gets it done.

a little over a week ago my laptop died. there is a grey folder with a question mark flashing when i turn it on. this is not good news for a macbook from 2008 – the year my girl graduated high school – and i immediately shut it down, in the hope that the next time i turn it on all will be well and it – personifying it, of course – will have forgotten its troubles and will simply get back to work.

in truth, i haven’t tried that yet.

i’m not anxious or excited about the outcome. well, to be fair, i am anxious, just not excited. i – listing heavily to optimistic – am hoping against hope that it will turn on and remember everything that would otherwise be lost. anxious. yes.

and so, in the meanwhile, i am typing on a mini ipad and trying to find creative ways to do what it is we do. so a little redundancy will have to work.

we have classic stuff.

our three vehicles (littlebabyscion, big red and my vw superbeetle) add up to 97 years old. my iphone is a 6, from the dark ages of 2016. this ipad is a mini2, only five years old but way past retiring. our tv is a non-smart late teen. it is as it is. and we totally make the best of it. not complaining, nope, nope.

i just know – in the middle of these workarounds – that there are those of you out there who get it. i wonder what it would be like to never have to figure things out, to never have to make it work, to never have to stand where you are and just be grateful and not wanting of more.

when i wash my hair today and tip the bottle, slapping the bottom of it over and over to get the last vestiges of shampoo out, i will think of my sweet momma and – apparently – kamala’s as well.

i’m thinking beaky and shyamala are visiting together on some other plane, maybe having sweet tea and, though they know we have plenty to complain about, watching us all dooo something – the best we can. and that, my dear friends, is classic.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING SMACK-DAB

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for the little things and the big things. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

we drove home with the heat blasting and the windows open. all 263 miles.

we drove slower than usual – cruise control on – smiling at everyone who passed us as we toodled along in the right lane.

we stopped every hour.

each time, we raised the hood, set a timer, stretched our legs. we readied the old beach towel and the funnel, got out the big jug of coolant and waited till it was safe to open the radiator cap.

and littlebabyscion – with whom i had had a few conversations prior to getting on the road – hung in there.

each time we opened the radiator cap to reveal that the coolant level had not changed. the red coolant light – which had intermittently flashed at us numerous times on the way up north – causing great distress – never flashed at us on the the way home.

when we got off the interstate for the last eleven miles or so, i turned off the heat. and LBS dutifully and safely got us home. no flashing lights on the dashboard. no drop in the level of coolant in the radiator.

so it’s all a bit of a mystery – this curious and first-time problem – the flashing light, the seriously depleted coolant on our way up. i have a few theories and, frankly, i’m hoping they are correct, that our brilliant mechanic will concur. that would mean that nothing is really horribly wrong with LBS. and that would mean we can continue our journey together. 276,000 miles and beyond.

we – david and i – were seriously serious about staying in the calm-zone as we dealt with this car issue while on a little time away and, mostly, while driving home. though i, initially, was pretty upset about the potential problem that this could represent, my conversations with LBS were fervent and d and i were determined to stay in the zen-zone all the way home. taking the over-the-phone advice of our mechanic, knowing that our dear friends were not-too-far behind us and that 20 was waiting at home with dinner and ready to help in any way were all sources of infinite reassurance. that kind of support gives one confidence to keep going, to not immerse in worry, to just trust it all.

it’s been a long, long time since i have driven on an interstate with the windows wide open. it’s a noisy place. and yet, the kwik-trip, the fox river park, the giant truck stop all provided us with quieter places to stop, places to wait it out, places to be celebratory each time we opened LBS’ radiator cap and then packed it all back up and drove on for the next hour.

this was an in-the-lull lesson for us. any moments of upset were not helpful. instead, staying focused on the things we could do, the help we had been offered, the steadiness of this little xb – these all gave us the ability to stay in the moment and not lose the lull.

i’m not positive we would have passed the lull-test alone. we are infinitely grateful to have not felt alone. that is the power of community for each of us – this abundance of support. when we wouldn’t have normally asked for help, it was there anyway. we just need to remember it’s right there. for the little things and the big things.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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crown. no crown. the choice. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

crown (noun): a circular ornamental headdress worn by a monarch as a symbol of authority

and in this country, not one among us – no one – has any right to a crown. that’s what democracy is – we the people for the people – no monarch, no one above the law.

until now.

when suddenly, the supreme court has crowned the presidency – granted immunity to the position of president of the united states by declaring that presidents cannot be held criminally liable for laws broken as part of their official duties – incentivizing the unconscionable.

and suddenly, it’s no longer about democracy – where the rule of law applies to every person…every single person.

the last weeks have been mind-bogglingly distressing.

and where do we go from here?

we – the people – have some big decisions to make.

but the biggest one – the biggest decision – is simple:

america-the-democracy or maga-america.

it really boils down to: THIS AMERICA or THAT.

because the voting in of THAT would mean that THIS – this united states of america – would never look the same and THAT – the voting in of THAT – would be one of those profoundly devastating moments in history you look back upon where you can see that every single thing changed.

and we will – regrettably – be able to point to before and after. it will be unbelievably simple to plot the map that got us there.

for there is a very detailed plan for the demise of our democracy. it’s not secret. it is in plain view and every single person – who cares – has access to it. step by step it will strip away freedoms, respect for human rights and government by the people for the people.

we are in jeopardy.

THIS democracy is in jeopardy.

the crown is coming if we do not pay attention, if we do not raise awareness, if we do not talk about this, if we do not vote against it.

crowns do not belong here. except perched on the heads of little children blowing out birthday candles, young women celebrating quinceanera, drag queens or people at burger king.

****

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

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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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a little bitta beach. [k.s. friday]

if you didn’t know, you wouldn’t know.

we were laying on the sand on a couple of old beachtowels. the feels-like was 90 plus, but we were under some trees and what appeared to be the only spot of shade on the beach. the breeze was coming off the water and we could hear the waves breaking at the shore. seagulls, the laughter of children in the distance, boats and jetskis out on the aquamarine water, you could think it was a beach resort somewhere, perhaps an island.

with my head on my small backpack, i closed my eyes and appreciated the wind, my feet still cool from walking the water’s edge, waves breaking on our legs. above us, the sky was cerulean, gorgeous cumulus clouds floating by. we couldn’t believe our good fortune, this ideal spot on the beach.

it was down the beach from where the work was taking place. there were tugboats and bulldozers and barges and boulders and giant backhoes – all to shore up the shoreline, a project by the state of illinois. interesting to watch, we were far away so as not to be intrusive. we were surprised to see jetskis zipping in and around the actual workzone; we wondered aloud about their lack of regard for the workers and safety issues.

we lost track of time as we stared at the water, watched golden retrievers fetch balls in the waves, marveled again and again about the cool sandy haven we had found. hiking back out – it was only a mile or so down the trail – it was hot again, humidity clinging to the marshland as we walked through.

back home we agreed that it was the perfect way to spend the afternoon. a little bitta beach goes a long way settling down your mind. our spot, like a guided imagery meditation, the quiet and almost-solitude, the sun filtering through the trees, the clouds dancing across the sky-canvas, and waves lapping the sand. restorative, it brought us calm.

*****

EACH NEW DAY from RIGHT NOW ©️ 2010 kerri sherwood

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fly. [k.s. friday]

the seagull looked at me furtively, side-eyed. he acted like i just wasn’t there, stepping along the harbor channel wall at his own pace, seemingly not too nervous about my presence.

writing, i’m holding my weathered copy of jonathan livingston seagull in my hand. jonathan thrived. he left the traditional flock of gulls so that he could fly, soaring higher than he had ever soared. he was an outlier but was kind and loving, generous with the skills he learned.

i’m thinking he was as much an artist as those of us who are artists.

ever since, well, forever, i have had a thing about seagulls. i have a seagull collection in a box in the basement. in the 70s, it was a popular tchotchke – a plaster or wood base that looked like a piling or rocks or shoreline with a thin metal piece atop which was a seagull. sold in every beachfront town, i was – back then – a willing buyer. i had seagulls everywhere in my room. they represented the beach for me – my winter/spring/summer/fall sanctuary. and then i read richard bach’s book. and i was hooked. it resonated with me back then, this story of breaking away, hopefulness, dreaming, accomplishing. i was 18 and i was a jonathan-livingston-seagull.

my soaring seagull days ended abruptly at 19.

but in these days now – as i walk the lake michigan beach or hear the gulls as they fly overhead our house – i am reminded. the caw of the gull is reassuring and, as i gaze up watching them swoop and soar, i feel vestiges of the surf – the sound and the ocean from long ago. tide out. tide in.

i walked along the channel and, in parallel lines, the gull started to step along the wall. and then he stopped, put both feet firmly on the cement.

and, still looking at me sideways, whispered, “don’t forget you know how to fly.”

*****

TAKE FLIGHT ©️ 1997 & 2000 kerri sherwood

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our dividends. [k.s. friday]

we did not birth a baby together. until all these bunnies. our new-parent-juju is rising. together, we watch over them, noticing how they are growing, changing, their different puff-ball tails, their different markings. truth be told, we are not sure how many bunnies we actually have. we suspect that the number is rapidly increasing – as different sizes are showing up – all in the same day. so we are likely parenting multiples – twins, triplets and beyond.

my sweet momma used to tell me that when she discovered she was expecting – a decade after having my sister and brother – she wanted to have twins. she wanted me to be twins. she didn’t get all regretful or anything, but she just wanted me to know that she wanted me to have a sibling close to my age.

i wasn’t a twin. and my sister and brother grew, lightyears ahead of me, leaving home and marrying while i was just reaching double-digits. i, ever the little-sister, had special relationships with both of them and treasured time and sleepovers at their homes. but i can see the wisdom of my mom’s wish for twins. she called me their “dividend”.

and so i grew up – post-just-turning-double-digits – with older parents. they were already in their mid-fifties when i was a mid-teenager. and they were from a generation a little bit more old-fashioned. so, i s’pose i was a little bit more old-fashioned too.

they were already at the stage where suddenly they had a little bit more time to pay attention to the birds, the animals around our growing-up house, their garden. while i always appreciated their zeal, i didn’t stop in the zooming-around of a teenager to partake in much bird or wildlife watching or spend a lot of time in the gardens. after they moved to florida, in their last home together, they would sit for hours gazing out at the lake behind their home, watching for waterfowl, tiny lizards and traces of lurking alligators. witnesses of nature. it always brought them peace.

and now i get it.

last night we sat on the deck as the sun began to fall behind the horizon. the night air was cooler and the birds, chippies, squirrels, bunnies were busy. we marveled at the hummingbird flitting in to the feeder and we laughed at the antics of a gleeful dogdog, who was outsmarted every time by whichever bunbun was in the yard. we both sighed. the day was coming to an end and our yard-family was getting ready to tuck in.

the joys of dividends are numerous we see. old-fashioned goodness.

my sweet momma and my poppo – over in the next dimension – smiled knowing smiles and clapped their hands as they watched me, as they watched us.

*****

and goodnight ©️ 2005 kerri sherwood

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the stage. [two artists tuesday]

behind the curtain and between stage-left and stage-right wings, the action is paused and ready. umbel stalks on point, waiting to explode into clusters of tiny white flowers, delicate leaves opening, lacy, inviting the show to go on.

it’s spectacular – this performance of nature.

queen anne’s lace – i first learned of this wildflower from my dear friend linda – can be confused with other plants. bishop’s flower, wild parsley and hemlock taunt many from the meadow and one must be careful to realize that their performance piece is not the same – they are not edible – like this wild carrot of queen anne’s lace – and, in fact, they are toxic. the meadow stage offers up options but only carrots are carrots.

for those who love the stage in any capacity, there is a responsibility, things one must remember.

i knew from the beginning that the stage was not about me, not about what it could bring me. instead, the stage is about what i can bring to the audience. i have played to a handful of people; i have played to tens of thousands of people. i always knew it was simply my job to offer my music, stories, lyrics, song, to put it out there. to be absolutely present – sharing the moment – my jeans stuck in my boot. to connect, to resonate, to move – though my expectation was not to be moved, were i to feel it connect, resonate, move, i, in turn, am profoundly moved.

to be off-stage for a longer period of time is taxing. there’s expendable energy stoking up, ready to burst off the apron, into the house. shimmering moments, illuminating the glow of faces seated, the warm cloud of laughter, the sighs of sinking in.

i have stood on the giant rocks of the john denver sanctuary, bowing. i have stood on the stump and the downed tree in the forest, bowing. i have danced on the deck, bowing. i have fist-microphoned in the kitchen, bowing.

i googled “what is the difference between an entertainer and an artist?” for i am often called an “entertainer” and, for some reason, that word rubs me wrong. surprisingly, an AI bot responded. “sage” wrote, “entertainment often focuses on providing a pleasurable or amusing experience for the audience, while art is more about expressing ideas, emotions or personal experiences. … entertainers focus on entertaining, while artists focus on expressing themselves through their art.”

sage’s answer indirectly implies a contrived reorganization, a pleasing-you approach. and while i have read audiences time and again, choosing direction of a concert – if possible – as i perform, on the fly, it is still with an intent to share, to impact, not to simply “amuse”.

i think it’s a matter of purity. or order. or intention. a combination of the three. plus gut. intuition. emotion. to bring. to touch. to move. to prompt questions. to elicit change. artistry. to lift up – suspending in midair – a piece of music, to let it soak up tiny jet streams that will carry it, to let it fall – as it might – onto the anyone or the anyones who is or are there – recipients of my good intention, from stage to audience.

hunger for the stage is real. it is pining for that connection, for the very reason i have composed.

one day the curtain rises – one day the delicate leaves drop – and i’m grateful to perform, piano, boom mic, wood under my feet – and the clusters of tiny white flowers explode into daylight.

*****

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proud at pride. [k.s. friday]

and tomorrow we will go to chicago. we’ll metra downtown and walk to boystown. there will be sooo many people. and with them, we will stand on the corner of halsted and waveland and watch our son perform on-stage outside in the rainbowed city.

and we will celebrate pride.

to say i am overjoyed at his producing of music these days would be an understatement. his zeal is full-on and he is squeezing every last minute of every day as he works in his professional position full-time and djs edm (electronic dance music) the rest of the time.

at his condo in chicago, in his studio, he demonstrated to me how he creates. as an analog artist, it was a fascinating experience to glean this complex digital mixing of tracks, layering, feathering, a sedimentary piece of music produced with great intention. it is hard not to dance as i watch. it’s hard not to be aware of the invisible bit of baton i hold, poised to pass. and i am aware of the contagious quivering of excitement, the gift of his sharing his process, how much i understand – on a cellular, heart level – how this creating feeds him. and then…then, there’s the joy…

different genres, but i still grok how my son feels. knowing that what you are producing is resonating with someone – someones, if you will – is powerful inspiration. i won’t forget the release of my first album and, even at number fifteen years later, it was with both the same excitement and vulnerability as the first. time and study and experimenting and lessons bank courage, though, so we each keep on keeping on, growing – much like anything in life to which we give time and attention.

i’d imagine that the day my yamaha c5 was delivered into my studio felt much like the day he upgraded his decks and gear. i’d imagine the day i stood in the sitting room with the chicago radio station on – waiting – and then my music aired – the first airplay ever – feels much like his tracks being signed to major edm labels, waiting to be released. i’d imagine the applause, stepping into the apron, at the end of a piece, feels much like the exhilarated dancing and cheers of the crowds at his gigs. i get it.

you know you are merely one artist in a universe of artists. humility. relevancy. there is much to learn. for both of us. always. the arc of an artist is never really done.

we have spent nights watching our son stream from clubs. 2am is later than it used to be but it’s a thrill to watch him in his element. we’ve listened to every single track he has sent us, every idea, every gesture in whatever iteration. we’ve connected our remote speaker and played his music during our happy hour, i’ve listened with ear buds on soundcloud, spotify, iTUNES. but tomorrow…

it is with much pride we will stand and watch our son. it is with much pride that we will be surrounded by his friends and by the community. it is with much pride that we’ll dance and cheer along with the gathered crowd. it is with much pride that we celebrate pride.

*****

UNFOLDING ©️ 2004 kerri sherwood

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