Go Curly [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Left to its natural state, Kerri’s hair is as curly as curly-ribbon or the curling leaves of this winter grass. It’s gorgeous though someone, somewhere, convinced her that her curls were passé. Her mom and I waged a not-so-secret campaign to stop-the-straightening but we had little to no impact. Every so often Kerri lets loose her curls and always receives raves but they somehow bounce off the image-shield of straight hair.

I have an image of myself. Lately, when I look in the mirror, I see something other than the image that I expect. It’s something to play with! I appreciated the early days of acting school because it demanded a constant change of image. More than once I had to cut off all my hair for a role. There is a power in studying character, realizing that who we are is not a noun but a process. Character – personality – is how-you-do-what-you-do and not “who” you present to the world.

Also, as a teenager I had an image of who I would become. I am surprised to report that I’m not the cross between Leonardo da Vinci and Joseph Campbell that I intended. No amount of straightening the road could alter my wandering (curly) path. I realized, none-too-soon, that to achieve my image I would have had to betray my nature. I am – and always have been – the steward of a “beginner’s mind.”

Kerri has a theory that people do not change, they become more of who they really are. The layers of imagined-self drop off. The core is revealed over a life-time of shedding images. Self-discovery a la paring down.

I grew my hair (again) after moving to Wisconsin. When I met Kerri I was still sporting the short-short hair that my clients expected of me. For some reason, my clogs were acceptable as an outsider invited into the hallowed walls of the corporate arena but long hair was too much. Long hair was a bridge too far. So I cut it. Now, the longer it gets, the more Kerri (and 20) tell me that I look more myself. I’m not sure what that means to them but I agree. It fits my image of me. I always use the opportunity to tell Kerri that when she allows her hair to go curly, she looks more herself, too. After all, her mom and I have not given up our campaign. Although Beaky is on the other side of the veil, I feel her poke me. That’s my cue to lobby Kerri to shed the image-of-straight, to become more of who she really is, and sport those gorgeous naturally curly locks.

(The title track of Kerri’s very popular X-Mas album, The Lights. She’s inserting into her post so I wanted to also drop it into mine. Happy Holidays!)

the lights/the lights © 1996 kerri sherwood

The Lights is available on iTunes

stream The Lights on iHeart Radio

read Kerri’s blogpost about CURLS

like. share. support. comment. curl. find your nature. or not. it’s all good.

buymeacoffee is an internal image of wildly curly hair meant to bring you at long last to your true nature.

Incite Some Deviance [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

I searched for it but couldn’t find it. A short clip of Carl Sagan placing life on our tiny planet into the perspective of the enormity of the universe. A little sun in a galaxy of suns in a universe of billions and billions of galaxies. Through this lens, it is mind-boggling, the hubris necessary to believe we are the center of it all.

Initially this morning, I wrote a post about grace but cut it. I asked a question about the collision of values: loyalty-to-a-group smacking down telling-the-truth. It’s a uniquely human dilemma. The insistence upon tribe, Us-and-Them, spins some very dark necessities. I tossed it because grace was overshadowed by gloomy.

This is what I intended to write: on this tiny blue ball there is a group of Us defined as “All Humans”. Loyalty to this group is understood as idealistic. How can we possibly reach across so many imagined boundaries? What would we do with a definition of Us that was all inclusive? We would invite grace. Float all boats.

Each year, everywhere I wander, I am steeped in songs-of-the-season that appeal to the best of our nature. Peace on earth. Goodwill. Love one another. Perhaps we should listen to the lyrics of these songs. They are written by us for us as an appeal to our idealism, a sentiment central during this season of light’s return. Peace. Peace. Peace. We should “take it to heart.”

Let’s face it, loving one another is deviant if it is all inclusive.

It’s a reach, I know, but it’s really not so hard to imagine Us in the context of this vast universe, on this tiny ball spinning and spinning around our minuscule sun, one of billions and billions and billions. In such a context, the boundaries-in-our-minds dissolve and invite a different set of questions to arise: How can we better share this blue dot together? Conflict makes money yet collaboration creates possibility.

Pouring a little light into so much dedicated tribalism is deviant. It requires a touch of dignity. Pouring light into darkness is called Grace. Grace, in the face of so much division, is deviant.

When I cut my initial post I wondered what it would take to breach the code of tribe, reach beyond the singing platitudes, and incite some deviant behavior like peace-on-earth and all-inclusive love-of-one-another.

read Kerri’s blogpost about DEVIANT BEHAVIOR

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buymeacoffee is a force like gravity helping the artists you appreciate keep their feet on the earth.

Strut Your Flannel [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

As I’ve written before, we are a scintillating couple riding high on the cutting edge of fashion. Not. Black t-shirts. Black thermals. Jeans. That’s about it. Though (make sure you are seated for this next shocking bit-o-information): I have a few new flannel shirts. Two are green. One is black. Stand back! There’s some green in the house!

In other regions of flannel interest, there are sheets (it’s winter and cotton is an ice-cold-night-time-plunge that I avoid) and, at holiday time, the buffalo-plaid-flannel pjs make an appearance. I’d strut-my-flannel on the way to the coffeemaker in the morning but tis the season to be humble so fa-la-la-la-lah, la-la-la-la!

Truth? I couldn’t strut in the morning no matter what I was wearing. Buffalo-plaid helps hide the shuffle.

read Kerri’s blogpost about FLANNEL

like. share. support. comment. and do it any and all in flannel!

buymeacoffee is a warm flannel heart-wrap capable of inspiring support for the continued work of the shuffling artists that you appreciate.

Trance Dance [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Our son is an artist. He composes EDM – electronic dance music. The proper term is “DJ” but that doesn’t begin to describe the art form. He does more than select tunes and spin discs. He builds layer-upon-layer of sound to create new and uniquely styled pieces. A surprise weave of repetition and pounding rhythm; it is a master class of tension-and-release. Improvisation meeting intention. Storytelling in sound.

His artistry is a pure root reaching into trance traditions, ancient impulse colliding with modern technology. To me, it is an invocation of ecstatic dance, freeing human bodies of their inhibitions so they might give over to the rolling wave of music. It is an invitation to ecstasy. It invites full-body surrender allowing the music to shake free the spirit. Earplugs are the only requirement.

I love the juxtaposition, the music composed by the mother and the music composed by the son. Kerri’s piano compositions are meditative, they turn the eye inward. They slow the pace like a rich memory. She eschews vocal acrobatics preferring a simple line. Craig’s EDM compositions thump every thought from the noggin, assault the senses, accelerate the pace, tossing bodies into the movement of the moment in a fête of complexity. Both mother and son induce a type of trance; one gently, the other with ferocity.

I’ve watched him watch her play. I’ve watched her watch him play. There is wild respect both ways. On the surface it would appear that their artistry – their music – is worlds apart but, like all things, surface impressions miss the greater depth of the human spirit. There is harmony in their appreciation. There is a shared center in their impulse to make music.

I am the lucky bystander. The proud husband and father. I am in awe no matter which way I look.

figure it out/right now © 2010 kerri sherwood

Kerri’s albums are available on iTunes and streaming on Pandora and iHeart Radio

Listen to Craig’s music here or visit his site here

read Kerri’s blogpost about EDM

like it. share it. comment on it. support it. no matter what, we appreciate your dance with it.

buymeacoffee is a full body ecstatic dance of appreciation for the artists who get you there;-)

Answer The Call [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

As is always true, the color calls me and I stop. You’d think I’d get used to the pop of red vine against the winter grass. You’d think that I’d expect it and, therefore, no longer see it. But that hasn’t happened yet. Or maybe I’m refusing to let it happen. The color calls. I answer.

Sometimes I feel as if it is a requirement to move slow enough in the world to actually absorb it. Move too fast and the extraordinary bounces off. Moving too fast makes us Teflon. Non-stick living. I want to soak it up. I want to feel it, the whole spectrum.

It’s a consumer mind that thinks, “I’ve seen it,” and races fast “to get there,” forever on the freeway gobbling miles and eschewing the backroads. Gobbling achievement while missing the experience. Checking life off the list. I am not the same as I was yesterday. When the red vine calls I might be open to a wholly new conversation. The red vine certainly is not the same as yesterday. I can see it because I “took the time” to see.

Like the red vine, the phrase “take time” called so I answered. I Googled it and, no surprise, most of the synonyms were negative. Culture betrays itself. Dawdle. Dally. Waste time. Fritter away. Goof off. Lolly gag. And, the cherry on the top of the Puritan heap: lose time.

It’s a regular deathbed revelation for people to wish they had not raced through their lives to hang yet another plaque on their wall of respect. If there is a strategy for losing-the-time-of-your-life it is to race-through-to get-to-the-end. Goal achieved. There’s another way. Walk slow enough to hear when the red vine calls. Then, take the time to stop and answer.

read Kerri’s blogpost about RED VINE

take the time to like. support. share. comment. all are appreciated.

buymeacoffee is…

Welcome Jacob [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

For reasons that I cannot explain – even to myself, these Honeysuckle berries bring Jacob Marley to mind. Ebenezer Scrooge’s deceased business partner, “…doomed to wander without rest or peace, incessant torture and remorse!” Jacob’s ghost visits Ebenezer in the dark of night to issue a warning. “BUSINESS?” Mankind was my business!” (sound effect: irate ghost rattling chains)

We know the rest of A Christmas Carol story. After a long night of life review and literal soul-searching, Ebenezer changes his miserly ways.

This season is rife with ghosts of the past. It’s the brilliance of Dicken’s Carol. We sat at the table and told stories of Christmas past which made us yearn for those loved ones we’ve lost along the way. We revisited childhood. Kerri told me of being a young parent and planning the magic of the season for her children (now our grown children).

We talked with 20 who said, “I’m becoming my dad!” More and more jaded by the rampant commercialism, he’s finding it hard, like Ebenezer – like his father, to reach into the deeper meaning of solstice, return of the light and the hope of renewal. I understand. I’ve spent more than one holiday season repulsed by the Walmart stampede. My revulsion has always driven me to quiet walks in nature. A deeper appreciation of dinner with my friends.

If I could give one gift to the world this season, it would be a visit from Jacob Marley. “Stop messing around!” he’d rattle his chains and roar, “YOU’RE FOCUSING ON THE WRONG STUFF!” Humankind is our business.

This year, I’m especially moved and delighted by the ghosts that are visiting. For the first time we’ve hung Beaky and Pa’s ornaments on our living room branch. They are here. I can hear Columbus’ laughter. My heart aches for old friends, just as it should. Most nights, to finish the day, we turn off the all the lights except the “happy lights” on our many branches and e.e., our holiday tree. We sit in silence and appreciation, welcoming the ghosts to visit. It’s a moment to cherish the abundance of holidays-past and enliven this season, a quiet nightly invitation to the ghost of holiday-present.

read Kerri’s blogpost about HONEYSUCKLE

like. support. share. comment. welcome jacob

buymeacoffee is a welcome site for visiting ghosts meant to offer appreciation for their wise-less insights and the musicality of their rattling chains

See More. Know Less [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

“(What makes his world so hard to see clearly is not its strangeness but its usualness). Familiarity can blind you too.” Robert Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

Red and green. Oppositional on the color wheel yet understood as compliments. They set each other alight.

I am certain the longer I walk this life the less I know. How much time did I spend trying to get-there-fast? How much life did I give to my attempt to attain the mountaintop before I realized that there wasn’t one? How much hubris did I exude believing “my” work might change the world before I was humbled sufficiently to see that the world was changing me? Is there such a thing as “my” work? I have lived a life rich in collaboration. Who hasn’t?

And, how fortunate am I that life has routinely tossed me out of my “comfort” zone? Don’t get me wrong, I would appreciate a bit of smooth sailing with ample provisions but the ongoing absence of “normal” makes eyes-wide-open a necessity. There is no missing how interdependent we are, how utterly interconnected, when here-and-now is the only place we can clearly see.

read Kerri’s blogpost about RED AND GREEN

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buymeacoffee is. nothing more. nothing less

Listen To The Sing-Song [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

The sound, rhythm and pattern of language. Listen to the sing-song of a mother talking to her infant child. Exaggerated prosody. Love carried through time and space on a warm carpet of sweetly over-elaborated sound waves. The words carry less meaning than the prosody. The shape of the sound, exaggerated to invoke a giggle. A bright face. A smile.

In our house, the exaggerated prosody is reserved for Dogga. “It’s time for sleepy-night-night!” Kerri sings to a tired-faced-Dogga. There is a distinct rhythm to “sleepy-night-night” that has become a comforting ritual chant. Our day would not be complete without it. He wags his tail and lopes toward the bedroom. Or, “We’re going to the living room!” she says in response to his constant anticipation of our next move. The words “living room” elongated and embued with excitement. He dashes to beat us there and, in my mind, to convince us that he’s been waiting all along.

When Unka John arrives, his ritual Dogga sing-song goes like this: “Hey! Hey! Give me that bone!” The game is explicit, the sound of the words as exacting as a line from Sondheim. After Unka John pretends to eat Dogga’s bone and returns it to the awaiting Dogga mouth, signaling the end of the arrival game, he chants two consecutive times, “Do you want a treat!” with the hard accent and lift on the word “treat.” It sets-off a full body wag and race to the treat jar. “Gentle! Gentle!” is the incantation that signals Dogga to sit and tenderly accept the treat. Of course, the whole sequence of Unka-John love-fest is ignited when we say to Dogga, “Guess who’s coming?” in a melodic line that we know will provoke a bouncing-dog-rush to the front door as we await the imminent arrival.

The meaning is not carried in the words, rather, it’s in the poetry of the tones. The generosity of the sound.

It’s the poetry of everyday life. The ritual sounds we use to shape our day, to create our comfort-home. To fill our hearts with gratitude. To clearly say, “I love you” in sound and tone when our words are merely, “Do you want some lunch?”

read Kerri’s blogpost about EXAGGERATED PROSODY

like. support. share. comment. all carry forward the meaning and are appreciated with or without sound.

buymeacoffee is a sing-song of generosity offered to the ongoing work of the artists and travelers that support you journey.

Start There [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

It’s a simple math equation relative to years-on-the-planet. The numbers go up so the choices go down. Or, perhaps, the choices become more refined. We are, after all, high performance machines (a metaphor a-la la Mettrie) and, over time, require a finer food-tuning. A raised consciousness of how interrelated I am, we are, to all things – like the food we eat: what’s in it, where it came from, and what happened to it before it was packaged, transported and plated.

Mostly, in the midst of raising my consciousness relative to my/our numbers-on-the-chart, it’s really really good to have another day of life. It’s really really good to have another day of life with Kerri. I’ll start there.

read Kerri’s rant about NUMBERS-IN-HEALTHCARE

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buymeacoffee is an ancient calculating device similar to an abacus but requiring electricity and computer technology to make the beads move this way or that.

Add More Layers [David’s blog on KS Friday]

As I write this I have my feet under a blanket. I’m wearing three layers of clothes beneath my favorite Patagonia vest and I can say with all certainty, with deepest conviction, that I am not warm. It’s been trying to snow all day. I want another pair of socks on top of the pair that I’m already wearing. Fear not! This is normal winter behavior for me. I am always cold.

The silver lining in piling on layers and layers of clothing is that I look like a bigger guy. Someone with muscle and heft. Also, my perpetually cold red nose makes me look like I’ve just come from the bar. A passerby might confuse me for someone who is raucous and boisterous instead of the meek introvert that I am. In truth, beneath all of this clothing, I am only exuberant in my writing. Corner me at a party or in the lobby of a theatre and I will almost certainly convince you that I am a nincompoop or in a whisky stupor since you’ll no doubt confuse my red nose as booze-induced. I have no reputation to uphold so I’m good with your misperception either way.

Our favorite neighbor, John, rarely wears a coat. He is in shirt-sleeves even when ice is forming on my eyebrows. I envy his inner warmth though my envy is not green but ice-blue. I consider him the 8th wonder of the world since his capacity to thrive coatless in the subarctic temperatures is a pyramid-sized-wonder. His wife, Michele (also our favorite neighbor), recently texted, “I know it’s cold because John put a coat on.” I ran out to see if it was true. John dons a coat maybe once a century. It was true. He had a coat on so as a preventative measure I ran back inside and quickly added several more layers, then dove beneath a quilt.

Kerri called this photograph, “Snow Burden”. I immediately identified with it. “That’s me!” I thought, my teeth clacking. A skinny stalk bending beneath the weight of the cold, cold snow. Leaves wilted, curling and brittle in the frozen air. Afraid to move for fear of shattering. Dreaming of the sun.

This is no joke. Kerri just had the audacity to ask, “I’m-hot-you-hot?” I said nothing, incredulous that she could look at me shivering (though beefy in my many layers) and somehow miss my crimson-red nose.

“Oh, the weather outside is frightful…”

waiting/joy! a christmas album © 1998 kerri sherwood

Kerri’s albums are available on iTunes and streaming on Pandora and iHeart Radio

read Kerri’s blogpost about SNOW BURDEN

share. like. support. comment. bundle up. light a fire. all good things.

buymeacoffee is a warm blanket for the artists you value who are possibly at this very moment freezing in the snow.