My son called this afternoon to check in and tell me he loves me. Whenever he says those words to me it allows me to believe anything and everything is possible. He has taught me the true (and very real) meaning of unconditional love, something I'm hopeful I will never take for granted.

I'm cuddled up with my Tortie Cat, Tallulah, journaling. In the words of my good friend and amazing guitarist, Gary Goodlow, today was a "good-un." 

Time to set the alarm and curl up with T. ... Night, All ...

Peace n' light, 

Kep

I had a favorite horse, Meacan. He was a feisty Appaloosa, cinnamon and white with a patch of white over one eye, just like the horses the indians rode in the old Western movies. I enjoyed riding the other horses as we couldn't always have our favorites and each one had something unique to offer. But there was just "something" about Meacan. He would look over at me and we would exchange a mutual look of appreciation. I felt in my heart he adored me as much as I, him. 

It was a cold and rainy Saturday but the ranchers were loyal and we all gathered for our morning ride. I was assigned to Blue, a retired trotter and gentle guy - rugged and sturdy he went along the trails, behaving like the good man he was. We returned to the corral and dismounted, heading into the house for lunch. There was a fire blazing in the fireplace and we sat around the fire, eating PB&J "sammiches" and laughing about the different horses. I remember thinking I had found my calling. I would move to Montana and have a ranch of horses and in order to do so, I would become a veterinarian. Seems the days moved more slowly back then - hands on the clocks moved more in accordance with us, not the other way around and slowly enough for one to consider afterthoughts.

The afternoon proved clear and almost sunny and I was elated to be assigned to Meacan. He looked my way and I gave him his usual treat, part of a Red Delicious apple. I would usually give the other half to Blue.

We rode along the trails, Meacan jumpy and all over the place and I loved the challenge. As we picked up our pace to trot he seemed particularly hyper and started to canter and rear a little. I managed to get him under control enough to continue for the first part of our ride. Upon our return, however; he spooked, took the corner toward home at full speed and I tried everything within my power to diffuse the situation and get him to slow and calm down. His head went down, hind quarters went up, and I found myself in mid air with full body slamming into a tree before hitting the damp ground.

The horse took off while two ranchers hurried to my aide. Luckily and rather amazingly I was only marked with a few scrapes and welts on my face and hands, but was filled with anger and felt betrayed. I believe to this day the anger was what kept me from being afraid of that horse. Here I was handing him apples and petting him; loving him up and giving him more adoration than I thought possible. Here he was, flirting with those doughy eyes and long horse-lashes, caressing my palms with his soft, felt-like lips and whiskers ... and then, boom! The SOB throws me and takes off.

Albeit a broken heart and muddy tears from the shock of the event, I was fine. I wanted to get right back on that horse and give him a ride he would never forget. I wanted to remind him his usual stash of Red Delicious apples was MIA - no more sugar for him for a while. I was an angry freckled hot head on a mission to get right with that horse.

But once I returned from the woods and saw him standing in a slant at the fence like a poor drunkard in a barroom doorway, it dawned on me he didn't just spook for no reason. There was something that perpetuated his actions. He looked tired and rather pathetic; worn and (despite my sounding a bit melodramatic), depressed.

We were waiting by the corral for our parents to come and get us and I remember reaching over the fence and giving Meacan a good stroke behind his ear, climbed one rung, leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on his nose and said, "see you next weekend."

To this day I'm glad I have the capacity and good sense to forgive. It's definitely an essential when it comes to learning to accept things in life as they come and as they are.

Living in the country (or should I say, boonies) has its perks. A lot of my friends, family, and clients have mentioned with concern that I must get lonely living outside the perimeter of familiarity - away from civilization as we know it. ( ; But I have found it to be a positive experience thus far. It is very conducive to a creative lifestyle; remote and quiet - plenty of privacy with the exception of an occasional nosey skunk or pair of thieving chipmunks.

Actually, I have always had an appreciation for the simpler things life has to offer and being out in such a rural setting reinforces this. I don't focus on wanting what I don't have but instead, dwell in a comfortable place of knowing the value and importance of what I already have - my loving family, good friends, beautiful clients and a solid roof over my head as well as a car that gets me from point "A" to point "B." And for the most part, my health. Sure I like to buy clothes and shoes from time to time (boots are my weakness), but I have truly asked myself numerous times over the last few years, "how much do you really and truthfully need?" The answer is always the same, "not much."

So as I type, my pretty tortoise shell cat, T. sits beside me on the bed, washing her face with her left paw. The quiet allows me to hear the faint ting of her collar bell and low hum of the laptop. I have a lavender candle burning bright and it has cast a wide shadow of the lampshade upon my bedroom wall. After a long and rather arduous couple of years, I have come into my own. All these simple things are the things I have earned and love. The quiet of these back roads and this old farmhouse leaves me feeling very much at home and at peace tonight.

Got into Boston a little early yesterday for my appointment with the allergy Specialist, Dr. Wilson. Perused the gift shop at Massachusetts General Hospital and found a couple of cute and unusual things. I was a little anxious about the visit as up to this point every "Specialist" I have been to has informed me that basically my days as an avid athlete would pretty much have to come to an end.

Of course, deep down, I haven't believed that for a second. In the words of my 88 year old client, ... "fooey."

I got into the exam room and Dr. Wilson discussed all the necessary items and variables. I sat quietly bobbing my left leg with hands folded over my lap. When he finished with his questions, the words rushed out of me without thought; "so, what's the deal, am I done with being an athlete? Will I ever be able to resume the activities I love?

He looked over at me rather seriously through his wire-rims, briefly touched his salt and pepper goatee and said, "I don't believe you are done, no, and I have had people with this disorder actually run marathons." 

My heart started to race and I wanted to leap out of my chair and onto his lap, covering him with big, wet Irish Setter kisses (I didn't so relax). "Are you serious?"  I said. "We just have to get the right amount of antihistamines into you and timing is essential. No eating anything at all 4 hours prior to a workout and you will have to take more pills than what you are used to. Let's see how that goes and you will have to be gradual and very careful in your approach to exercise."

He then informed me I wasn't to exercise alone and always within a controlled environment for safety sake. Once I was finished gleaming and gurgling like an idiot, he half-smiled (I think) and informed me I was going in for all food and then environmental allergy testing.

Oh the joy of being pricked and prodded. 

I could barely contain my excitement.

Sure enough it was discovered I am allergic to dogs (so upset about this one), ragweed, dust mites (big time), birch and maple trees, and one more that I can't recall. Only one of these poses a real problem (dog) as I love animals and can't cuddle my dog enough when I go to visit with her.

So ... I have to pick up my prescription and gulp down 6-8 pills a day then pray they will be effective enough for me to resume on-land exercise (aquatics and water is still out of the question for the time being). I am thinking good thoughts and feel great about the visit ... finally found a doctor that listened and actually knew a little more about Exercise Induced Anaphylaxis and Cholinergic Urticaria (I can't pronounce it either - don't even bother).

Can't wait to get back to getting my body movin' n' groovin' ...

Honored and flattered beyond belief to have been informed this morning I've been  included in a Dylan "bootleg" compilation. There is an impressive and esteemed roster of artists, including Robert Plant and the Band of Joy, Santana, Lucinda Williams, Bruce Hornsby, Grace Potter, Ron Sexsmith, and many more ... very humbling to say the least. 

A cover of, "Cold Irons Bound" was taken from one of my performances dating back to 2004 (yikes) at The Blackstone River Theater, a gorgeously renovated theater in the Cumberland RI area.

Many thanks to all for your support! 

Peace n' light ...

Kerri

I had a dream last night ... very strange yet awesome as I dreamt I was running through Massasoit State Park, a woodsy dome of trails I frequented back home in Massachusetts. I could feel the padding of earth beneath my sneakers and had this incredible feeling of freedom while running. There were moments of feeling "stuck," like I was trying to run - my body struggling to move ahead, and there were alternate, split-second snaps of light coming down from the sky through the pine trees. Albeit the dream was incredibly vivid and "happening for real in the moment," I somehow knew even while not being fully conscious that this was all surrealistic.

When I awoke this morning, I was angry.

I don't feel angry often as I don't really see the point and as we get older we learn to manage anger, but as we are all cut from human cloth these emotions strike at times when you just have to go with them.

I was angry because the minute I opened my eyes, it hit me right in the gut that my life as an avid athlete has been abruptly interrupted. I have been told by more than one specialist that it could be for good and to consider looking for a, "new and less risky profession," that I might have to replace my day-gig as a personal trainer and aquatics instructor. This is something I do not want to jeopardize. I love what I do and it's unfortunate enough I had to literally be pulled out of the water, no more swimming either. Everything I do has to be temperature controlled. Freaky, kinda.

Being diagnosed with Cholinergic Urticaria (heat related/induced hives) and Exercise Induced Anaphylaxis has been mind-blowing to say the least. I am now one of the 15% of the population who has this somewhat rare allergic disorder.

Having a heart arrhythmia fixed in 2010 led to many amazing opportunities; a tv commercial, NBC news spot, various magazine and publication coverage, and performances as well. I regained quality of life after my procedure and felt like I was in the Winner's Circle, humbling. I was enthusiastic and grateful beyond measure.

And now I'm dealing with yet another "quality of life" issue. I am trying with everything I am not to view it as an issue because I have made the decision to put forth the kind of effort into rectifying the problem as I would my training - vigorous and without mercy kind of determination not to give up trying, ever. 

Don't want to be mistaken for sounding or being triumphant in any way just trying to remain on the positive and healthy-minded side of the fence.

Maybe the dream was a glimpse into my future; running on back roads with my ipod in tow with great cadence, sweating through my clothes and heart pumping. There is no other feeling in the world like it.

One thing I know for sure is that I can't or won't run from the situation and will do everything within my power to change the fate of what is happening. There has to be a way outta here ... ( :

Got to thinking this morning about songwriting. From a personal standpoint I should be writing feverishly ... strange that I'm not as nothing will come and I won't force it. But considering the last few years of such immense change one would assume I would have a few albums worth of material, and fairly good stuff - because it comes from a deep place of real emotion.

I got nothin'.

I realize that I'm out straight with the artwork and my day-gig. I know I'm not putting as much time in - and to some small degree feel that maybe I've been avoiding it because I don't feel like "tapping" into the emotion all over again. Going through it once was enough and I'm in a much better place so why push it? However; the craft calls and I can't stay away from it forever.

Played around with a few ideas last night - harmonica and guitar parts; nothing cheesy (good start), so I guess I will be patient and wait to see what happens.

Taking my lil' tree down today. Mom mentioned yesterday that she always feels a little sad after the holiday when taking the decorations down. My parent's home is beautiful - like something out of Country Living Magazine; tastefully rustic. My mother is a visual artist (Impressionism) and really knows how to make something incredibly beautiful out of nothing at all. I don't feel sad about taking my decorations down because I'm looking forward ... Hopeful that 2012 will be a good year, and the songs will come!

Until I got home.

Fat cat, Tallulah, decided she was going to create as much of a mess as possible because I left her behind for (less than) two days. 

I walked in to a loud series of weird half-baby-half-cat whines and she was off ... running laps around the coffee table then onto the coffee table (an old wooden tool box I cherish that my dad refurbished from the early 1900's) then she repeated this action 2-3 times, then straight at me like a maniac before slamming on the breaks just before she reached my feet, looked into my eyes and the alpha cat stares began ...

There was litter splattered all over the bathroom floor and her wet food dish was tipped upside down, half submerged in her water bowl. She managed to pull the blinds completely down off the window in the bathroom and screwed the shower curtain up as well as tracking litter into the tub. A few candles were tipped over and my towel rack had clearly been 'cat-ransacked.'

The lower kitchen cabinets had all been opened and it was clear she "rummaged" through each and every one of them, knocking a few pans and vases over in the process.

She is demon-spawn.

But I love her.

She missed me, what can I say?

Happy New Year, Hell-Cat.

( ;

I spoke with someone recently about making the choice to be happy. Now don't get me wrong, not every day is going to bring about the kind of joy most of us seek (not at all realistic), but I mentioned to this individual that it really boils down to choice; making the choice to embrace what's good and be happy with who we are as opposed to being unhappy about who we are not as well as always wanting what we don't already have. This person said, "it's not that simple to just choose to be happy - sometimes you have to work stuff out." My response was that of course we all have "stuff" to work out but making a conscious effort to flip the switch from feeling bad about a trying situation to being at least somewhat positive and happy while doing so is going to bring about a far more fulfilling result.

Maybe I'm plum crazy ... Good for me then.

Bottom line: I respect where others come from. Everyone one of us has or holds his/her own opinion regarding life matters. And we all approach things differently. All I know is that I try on a daily basis not to judge (tough one sometimes) and love the feeling of being happy and on the up side of things. It gives me a sense of inner peace and puts a whole new slant on various issues that may arise at any given time.

There are days when I'm not so happy - I guess that's just life balancing out. And what a person does with that balance can make a big difference ... So many lessons to learn.

The New Year weekend will be spent with my favorite teenage boy, my son. Taking him for breakfast this morning. There is nothing like the unconditional love of family to reinforce what life's all about ...

Happy, healthy New Year, all! ( ;

Peace n' light,

Kerri

I am blessed to have a spry eighty-eight year old client. She has an incredible smile and rosy cheeks with beautiful blue eyes, and walks carefully and with a slant due to loss of balance. I usually accompany her to the recumbent bike and then back to the mat when she is finished warming up so she can continue with her routine. She doesn't want me to help her much only when she has a difficult time sitting up. She is considerably self sufficient.

She is usually my last client to leave on Tuesday afternoon before we break for lunch and we have become quite close - bonded from the first day I met and trained her.

During our last training session together, I sensed she was lonely. She started to talk with me openly about her first husband and mentioned she has never loved anyone remotely the same ... there will never be anyone like him in her life again and she said she was "very lucky to have him." She went on to disclose that he used to let her do all the "yapping," and would sit patiently and listen even when she was "so fresh" to him. She told me she knew he really loved her and went on to talk about his picture on her dresser and how she thought he was the most handsome man she ever knew. Her heart broke when she lost him at the early age of 42.

At the risk of sounding 'mushy' and cliche', I can only hope for a love like that. Not something I will ever force or convince myself as to it having to happen at a given time, but I do believe it is possible regardless of what age a person is or where they are at a particular point in life. 

It's a scary prospect to give yourself to someone one-hundred percent. We have become a nation of "scaredy-cats," withholding for the sake of safety and yes, conformity. I'd like to know how and why we think by holding back and not giving as much we'd possibly be better off in the long run. It is only my opinion, but I don't believe there is a long run when we stifle what we have to give others. The long run is cut short and life isn't really truly being lived to its fullest potential.

My client looked into my eyes and patted my hand as she spoke to me. She told me she didn't like being alone and it scared her because it allowed her to think about dying. Her eyes welled up a little and she shook her head and said, "Charlton was the love of my life and I'm so thankful for having him for what little time I did." 

I'm thankful for my clients. They have opened my eyes and heart to a wide spectrum of what's new among the old and wise - I believe we arrive on different paths at different times in our lives to follow a learning curve. I'm learning and gathering wisdom from my elders, listening intently to their kind words of caring and vivid stories of the past ... they have welcomed me into their lives with open arms and without question. I imagine my client is curled up in her bed tonight, sleeping among dim-lit shadows of the angels ... and I know the one closest to her bedside is Charlton.