Talk Turkey [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

(Bing) “You just got a text” I said. We’d been in the basement all day, cleaning, sorting, making piles of what would go, what to donate, what to keep. There’s nothing like an extended polar freeze to inspire a deep purge of the collected-and-accumulated- stuff-of-life.

She read his text aloud, “Umm…are you guys having turkey tonight?” Our neighbor, John, is a master of understatement, one of the funniest people we know. Bob Newhart dry.

“What? What’s he talking about?” I asked.

(Bing) “He sent a picture!” She laughed, “Oh, my god! We have to go upstairs,” she said, bounding out of the basement.

“What? Why?” She was already gone. “I’ll be there in a minute,” I said to myself. I heard her laugh again and then the sound of the camera snapping photos. Fear-Of-Missing-Out set in. I dropped my broom and galloped up the stairs.

“Come see,” she smiled. “You’re not going to believe it.”

Two of the neighborhood turkey trio were sitting atop the Scion. The third was standing in the driveway staring directly into the studio window. A set up. A blatant appeal for sanctuary. I expected the driveway turkey to extend a wing in our direction. Instead, it raised one leg, tucking it into the warmth of its body. One of the turkeys atop the car pooped. Choreography. An appeal combined with a not-so-veiled threat.

“They must be freezing,” she said.

“No,” I said. “Not a chance. They are not coming into the house.” She snapped a few more photos.

“It’s really cold out there.” she muttered. The one-legged turkey shifted to the other foot. “It’s too cold to stand on both feet,” she said, looking at me with those eyes.

“No way. Not a chance. They’re turkeys. They are made to withstand the cold.” The second turkey atop the car pooped.

Someone is going to have to clean that off the car,” she said, subtly allying with the turkeys.

I slowly raised my leg, tucking it in, standing on one foot. “It’s cold in here,” I said. Two can play that game.

read Kerri’s blogpost about TURKEYS ON THE ROOF

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Clean Inside And Out [David’s blog on KS Friday]

And by the grace of some unseen internal trigger, the long-awaited-often-discussed-house-cleaning-out has commenced. I have no other explanation than the time must be right.

The time is right.

In truth, I’m just beginning to understand that the external house cleaning is an extension of the internal house cleaning that has been going on for some time now. It just finally hit the surface. The bags I take to the trash, the boxes readied for the Goodwill, are extensions of that ongoing internal process.

Making space on the outside is labor intensive. It takes some sweat and muscle. Dedicated time. Making space on the inside begins with the intense heat of disruption. Discomfort. The disorientation of masks falling off, the scary peel of protective layers. Exposure. Loss and lost.

Kerri introduced me to a phrase that I at first resisted: People don’t change, they just become more of who they are. Now, I think she is spot-on with one slight adjustment: People don’t change, they just reveal more of who they are.

It turns out that I am none of the labels that I so eagerly apply to myself. I’m not a winner or loser, an artist or an educator. Those designations are either things I do or fleeting judgments about the things I do. It’s very easy to get lost in the dark forest of self-stick labels. I love what I do. Even so, the labels are not who I am.

Talking about Abe Lincoln – who knows how we got there – Horatio hit me with some of his usual uncanny insight. “His fame is a fluke but his good works are not,” he said, “We often confuse the two.” Good works are intentional. Fame is circumstantial.

As the onion peels and the layers of circumstance fall-off, I discover more center. Or, said another way, applying Kerri’s rule, I become more of who I am. Less peel. More heart.

The river keeps moving. Neither hard times or easy days are permanent, nor are they entirely one thing or the other: hard times hold easy days. Easy days invite hard reflections. In the cleaning-out, in the opening of space, there is one thing that is becoming abundantly clear: Bob Marley has it right. No matter what, “Every little thing is going to be alright.” Because it already is.

Taking Stock/Right Now © 2010 Kerri Sherwood

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read Kerri’s blogpost about EVERY LITTLE THING

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Whirl The Dervish [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

I’m sure I’ve previously written that Kerri does nothing in straight lines. Dogga runs circles and I tell him he comes by it naturally. He’s just like his momma.

The first time I watched Kerri vacuum I felt as if I was watching and episode of I Love Lucy. She whirled the Shark in a rapid circle, a mad-cleaning-ballet, and was soon tangled in the cord, looped to a chair, and tied to the machine. The knot of Kerri, vacuum and wicker chair teetered and tumbled to the floor. “Do you need some help?” I asked.

These days, when the vacuum comes out, Dogga runs to the backdoor. He wants nothing to do with what is about to happen. I’m driving. I believe in straight lines.

We’ve agreed that it’s my job to use the cleaning appliances with cords. Her natural dervish isn’t dangerous when she’s not plugged into the wall. A Swiffer is safe. A broom. But, like any untethered tornado, it’s probably best to stay out of her way.

read Kerri’s blogpost on this saturday morning smack-dab.

smack-dab. © 2022 kerrianddavid.com