the picnic ©️ 2019 kerri sherwood
we knew before we really started planning that we would be married in jeans and boots. and anyone who knows us could tell you that we would definitely be wearing black tops, in david’s case – a shirt and jacket, in my case – a long tunic. it’s just us.
we went to the frye boot store in chicago long before our wedding day, combining a visit with The Boy with our errand. the girl-boots i tried on weren’t right…although i love all the high frye boots, we had a vision for these, the one item we each splurged on in our apparel for The Day. the boots needed to be totally dance-worthy, kind of worn-looking, lower-ankle boots. i ended up buying boy-boots; it helps when you have big feet, lol, because you can find boy-sizes that fit. we wore them inside the house dancing many times to break them in. but never put them on to go anywhere. we were saving them.
three years ago today, we donned our boots, our new ripped jeans and our black tops. we individually walked down the aisle to the front of the church and a new life commitment. The Girl, The Boy, 20, arnie and ptom stood in front with us and then we skipped back down the aisle, past pews filled with pieces of our hearts, to the ukulele band playing what a wonderful world. we drove our little baby scion to the historic beachhouse where we had a food truck, a dj playing music people danced to for hours and hours, hula hoops and crayons, wine and daisy cupcakes, spotted cow and quinoa tabouli, brownies and a bonfire on the beach. our family and friends – our community- brought us across the bridge from single to married; it was in a key of celebration, of support.
never did we once think that life would just be like that from there on out. for life is life and challenges arise. we are not exempt from that. but our community stands with us, silently reminding us that they were there, they witnessed the moment. their belief and our love forge together. it takes a village to be married. we are grateful for that village, for anyone who has nudged us to see Us.
and any time we forget that very important day, we pull our wedding boots out of the front of our closets, put them on and remember.
happy anniversary d.dot. i love you.
1. this is not our heap.
2. these are actual chairs selling in an actual barn at an actual farm where actual people go for an actual sale.
3. this is chaos to me (and maybe you), treasures to the owner.
4. i could only stare at this for a few minutes before i got uncomfortable. i felt like i had literally crawled inside the commotion-filled-clinging-onto-everything-psyche of someone who hoarded everything. it was just moments before i had to breathlessly leave the room.
5. the swedish death cleanse is not a bad idea. (from the book the gentle art of swedish death cleaning (margareta magnusson) “a charming, practical, and unsentimental approach to putting a home in order while reflecting on the tiny joys that make up a long life.”) clearing out all unnecessary items. putting things in order. learning to let go. sounds lofty. but, heck, we can try it.
6. so we’ve started purging, baby-step-by-baby-step. #purgingsoourchildrendon’thaveto #lessismore #notaseasyasitlooks #wholooksinthebasementstorageroomanyway #thready-nesshasitsdrawbacks #thedeathcleansemightbeoverrated #meh,atleastourhousedoesn’tlooklikethisphoto #we’lltryagaintomorrow
with the ad-campaign-delivery of beautiful jennifer garner, what’s in YOUR basement?
we didn’t give it a second thought when The Boy told me that he was going to be traveling to the rogers park neighborhood of chicago. of course we were going. we got out the metra train schedule and looked at the sunday trains from waukegan to rogers park, looking at our google maps to see where the restaurant we were meeting him at was located and how to get there from the train station. we will literally trek anywhere if My Boy or My Girl are going to be nearby (or even far) and we have a chance to see them.
we jumped off the train at rogers park and made our way through the streets, enjoying a nice walk, through residential and commercial areas. we turned down clark and then devon and had lunch at uncommon ground, a place known for its rooftop organic farm. when he had to leave, The Boy suggested that we go tour loyola’s lakefront campus before we headed back to the station. we were glad we did; the area was beautiful and we liked rogers park.
six sundays later a beautiful young man had flown out to chicago from new york to pursue his doctoral degree at northwestern university. he moved into a place in rogers park and, four hours after he arrived, took a stroll on clark street to buy hangers at a local store. this aspiring student – just 25 years old – the same age as MY Boy- got caught in the crossfire of two men. he was shot and killed. a mere four hours after his full-of-dreams arrival. i don’t even know what kind of flawed earth we live on when a mom has to learn that her child, following the direction and hard work of his life, has lost his life. my heart breaks for her.
indeed, my heart breaks for every mom, every parent, every human, who has been touched by needless, unwarranted, tragic violence in this world. such despair. where is it safe?
on google maps, there is a small exclamation mark with this caveat: “use caution – walking directions may not always reflect real-world conditions.” i never noticed it before. it’s quite the understatement.
rogers park. ©️ 2018 kerri sherwood & david robinson