Tuck It In [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

We open the garage, push the VW Bug out into the sunlight for its annual washing. It’s a yearly ritual. After cleaning the garage and scrubbing the Bug, we push it back into the garage and cover it like a sacred object (it is).

This was Kerri’s first car. Her parents bought it when they vacationed in Europe in the 70’s. They shipped it back to the states. After a time, they “sold” it to her. It was light blue then. Now, it is titanium white.

It hasn’t run in the decade that I’ve lived here but that is of no matter. It is filled with stories. It is filled with connection to her parents. She’s walked up to line a few times, thinking she should sell it to someone who’ll fix it up, get it running again. She steps back from the line, “Not yet. Not yet.” After all, it’s not simply a car that she’d be selling.

“Maybe I should take pictures of it, make it into a Shutterfly book. Then I’d have the memories,” she says, suds to her elbows, as she gives the VW Bug its yearly bath. This, too, is part of the ritual. Imagining it gone. Imagining letting it go.

“That’s a good idea,” I say, playing my part in the ritual.

She climbs in the driver’s seat, releases the brake. “Okay!” she says and waves to me. I put my shoulder into it and push the Bug back into the garage. Her connection to her mom and dad, their stories, her stories, safely tucked in for another year.

read Kerri’s blogpost on THE BUG

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Eat! [on Merely A Thought Monday]

Sitting at the dining room table late at night on xmas eve, in a lively post-dinner discussion, I suddenly remembered Ms. Brunell. I hadn’t thought of her in years.

She was in her eighties and lived alone in an apartment nearby. Ms. Brunell loved to cook. I was seventeen years old and would visit from time to time, to help her with odd jobs, cleaning her apartment or simply to sit at the table and chat. And eat. Chatting required food. Lots of food.

Thanksgiving day, after eating an enormous meal with my family, I was slipping into a food coma when the phone rang. It was Ms. Brunell wondering where I was. She’d made a Thanksgiving meal for me. She forgot to invite me.

I was desperate. I knew the meal she prepared would come in many courses. She was Italian, and rich, thick lasagna was most certainly on the menu. She was old-school so each bite would be replenished by another scoop of food. “Eat!” she’d chirp and smile, reloading your plate. Food was her love language.

As I drove to her apartment I pondered my-death-by-overindulgence. I was caught in the-good-boy-trap and wrestled mightily with my dilemma. Do I confess that I’d already eaten and disappoint her? Do I lie and tell her that I was starving and find some way to put down yet one more spoonful of food? Neither option seemed tenable. How do I reconcile my moral code of honesty-at-all-times with my third-child-need-to-please?

Ms. Brunell was excitedly waiting for me at her front door. Her shining face resolved my dilemma. I have little memory of that meal. I ate. And ate. And ate. I must have blacked-out somewhere after the second course. Death-by-over-indulgence seemed the only option. My honesty-code didn’t stand a chance when faced with the-need-to-please.

Listening to the laughter at our late-night table this xmas eve, a discussion of impossible dilemmas, I sat back in my chair awash in gratitude both for Ms. B., for surviving her generosity, and for the Thanksgiving meal that taught me that shining faces are sometimes more important that made-up-moral-codes. Real life is never as simple as it seems in the code reduction.

The best thing to do when faced with a genuine quandary; eat! And eat again.

read Kerri’s blogpost about FOOD

Hear The Echo [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Hitting the road double-haiku:

The sign speaks the truth.

In the last moment of life:

Food with family.

My face, too, will fade

But the laughter will remain.

Echoes across time.

read Kerri’s road trip haiku

Close Your Eyes And Unfold [on KS Friday]

unfolding song box copy

Hopeful. Playful. Lighthearted. A birthday surprise. DogDog romping through a new snowfall.  Chasing the surf on a summer day. The discovery of a spring meadow in the middle of the forest. A good story told with an open heart. An evening of potluck dinner and laughter with friends.

Listen to UNFOLDING, as I do, with your eyes closed. Happy, life-giving memories and images will flood your being and lift your day. What could be a better gift to give yourself on this Friday.

 

UNFOLDING on the album AS IT IS available on iTunes & CDBaby

 

read Kerri’s blog post about UNFOLDING

 

laughing website box copy

unfolding/as it is ©️ 2004 kerri sherwood