Love The Pile [on Merely A Thought Monday]

For years I lived with very few possessions. When I moved from California to Seattle, the moving truck was filled with paintings, my easel, and a rocking chair. 15 years later, when I met Kerri and moved to Wisconsin, the moving truck was filled with paintings, my easel, and a rocking chair.

When I visited Georgia O’Keeffe’s home and studio in Abiquiu, I felt an immediate kinship with her space. It was open and spare. I imagine the spatial simplicity served as visual-palette-cleanser. Light. So much light. So much air.

There is a curious paradox afoot during these long pandemic months. Things have piled up. We’ve pulled bins from the basement to sort and perhaps clear out, sell, and donate, but the more we attempt to sort and clear, the more stuff appears. The great winter basement flood of 2021 is partially to blame. Things were shuffled rapidly and piled high. Moving my parents from their home of 54 years meant we brought a truck load of stuff back with us. If nature abhors a vacuum then our house of late seems to abhor open space. One box out, three boxes in.

There’s only one thing to do when the boxes are behaving like rabbits. Look the other way. Pretend the piles are intentional.

For giggles and delay-tactic-reinforcement, google the health benefits of procrastination. In a phrase, less stress. As I was reveling in the positive science of dilly-dallying I wondered why intentional stress reduction should carry such a heavy label: avoidance or procrastination. It is impossible to throw away the box before reading the letters from the past or reviewing again the long-ago-art work of our children. Reading the book. Cleaning out might also be called “life-review.” The piles are full of voices from the past that often need one more say.

I am guilty of tossing boxes too soon, my need for space and air overriding my curiosity in what I might find there.

I am also guilty, more recently, of losing entire weeks in the art books I found buried in a pile. I have spent hours looking through DeMarcus’ sketches or reading the notes I wrote 20 years ago. One of the gifts I have received in my new life living in a house: I save the boxes just because I might open them someday and look inside.

“No rush,” Kerri is fond of saying. “It’ll happen when it happens,” the Balinese taught me to say. Remove the judgment and attend to your moment.

Space. Memories. It’s a dance. No stress necessary. Sometimes, I’ve learned, it takes great space to be able to open the box. It’s better to wait. A good memory, like a good soup, needs ample time to taste and simmer.

read Kerri’s blog post about ATTICS

Pull Weeds [on KS Friday]

pullingweeds song box copy

This piece of Kerri’s could be the soundtrack to the past half decade of my life. Almost five years ago I moved from Seattle, WA to Kenosha, WI, and, during that time, I have been cleaning out, clearing out, paring down, letting go. Pulling weeds.

Some weeds are easy to pull. Others have roots that seem to have no end. They require multiple pulls, daily in some cases. They are great teachers of persistence.

I love PULLING WEEDS because it is gentle, a cycle. In the midst of the weeds it is warm and hopeful. It ambles. It reminds me that there’s no sense trying to control things or to race. There is much pleasure to be found in the tending – and perhaps that is a good rule for a happy life. Let go of the control and tend. Attend.

Feel the sun today and begin by PULLING WEEDS with Kerri.

 

PULLING WEEDS on the album RIGHT NOW is available on iTunes & CDBaby. Purchase the physical CD’s available here.

 

read Kerri’s blog post on PULLING WEEDS

 

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pulling weeds/right now ©️ 2010 kerri sherwood