Life Carpentry [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

I teased Kerri that this morning that the first thing on my to-do list was to build the ark. It rained again last night. It’s raining now. I’m not talking about gentle downpours; this is an Alabama rain, tropical, an incessant dumping after yesterday’s dumping preceded by the dumping of rain the day before that. Kerri reminded me that my carpentry skills are lacking so, even if I built something that resembled a boat, no animal with good sense would get on it. I have to admit it, she’s right. I’d never set sail on a boat of my own construction.

A few days-that-feel-like-months ago, the sun came out. In the early evening we sat outside so Dogga could sniff the fence line and bark at random sounds. He’s an old dog now so it makes him feel good to bark into the universe. While he investigated the backyard and the greater galaxy, we sat in our Adirondack chairs and watched the clouds. They glowed, putting on quite a show for us. While the beauty of this world evokes a rowdy bark from Dogga, it does the opposite for us: it invites quiet appreciation. It was one of those rare moments when I knew to my bones -at least in that moment – that all was right in my world.

In that moment. Every spiritual tradition on the planet warns of the folly of trying to hang onto the feeling of a moment. The best we can do is savor and move on.

It is good practice to regularly step back from a canvas and from a distance look at the painting. It brings the whole composition back into focus. Stepping back exposes what is invisible when working close-in. “What’s next” becomes readily apparent when standing back. It’s route finding.

The same thing is true in life. It’s why people take vacations or go on retreats or simply take-a-break. To get some distance from our close-in lives and feel what we do not allow ourselves to fully feel, to re-consider, to open the door and invite in the dreams that have been waiting patiently in the lobby.

Sitting in the Adirondack chair, watching with awe the cloud-spectacular, I heard Joseph Campbell in my mind, saying, “No one lives the life they intended.” Had the younger version of me actually built the boat of my intentions and successfully sailed off toward the horizon, I would have missed this moment, Dogga bark-communing with the universe, Kerri and I reveling with the sun on our faces after days of rain, holding hands, shaking our heads at the impossible beauty of the glowing clouds. I thanked all the powers-that-be that my carpenter skills were-and-are lacking, that my life-ship sank in the bay and required me to step back, take a look and live a life of route finding. My path meandered to a place I never imagined, to a moment I did not think was possible. Simple awe. Had I been a better life-carpenter I would have missed it.

Canopy, 48″x48″, acrylic on canvas

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE GLOW

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Amazing Shapeshifter [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Corking: white linear scars that indicate sweeter, fully ripe pepper with good flavor

To me, corking is a term exclusive to wine bottles. It comes at the moment when, sadly, you decide that one glass is enough. And then, recently, I found myself at a farm stand gaping at the beautiful markings on a basket of jalapeno peppers. “What is that?” I asked, pointing at the peppers.

“Corking.” While nature is a crazy good designer, people have a genuinely hard time creating words to express the beautiful.

In times gone by, “corking” meant “wonderful” or “splendid”. In a past century I might have written, “Nature is a corking good designer.”

Corking precedes “rad” by a few generations but means the same thing. Today you might hear “slaps” or “fire”. Language is an amazing shapeshifter. I’d have completely misunderstood a Gen Z-er, admiring the basket of corking peppers, who said, “Those peppers are fire!”

Do you remember when “bad” meant “good”?

Sometimes I think it is a miracle that we can communicate at all.

When I was young my grandparents used the phrase, “She’s a corker!” It meant “very funny”. We boomers might say, “She’s a riot!”

I bumbled upon this quote from a 16th century French writer, Michel de Montaigne, and thought it more relevant today than when he wrote it: “The greater part of the world’s troubles are due to questions of grammar.”

We currently communicate by text. Condensing our grammar inflates our troubles. We somehow believe language efficiency produces effective communication. We have eliminated time for complexity. We live sound byte to sound byte.

We are learning that governance by text is an especially dubious affair. Efficient word count is provocative but certainly less-than-effective.

These days I might text, “The world is on fire!” and a Gen Z-er might misunderstand me completely. They’d understand the opposite of what I intended. For me, the “world is on fire” does not mean that it is rad or the bomb or slaps. It is definitely not corking.

***

Bonus Snark Addition: We consistently invent new words for old concepts so the mistakes of the past seem like new territory. Perhaps this is why history repeats itself? Today, instead of “Schutzstaffel” (condensed into SS), we say ICE. Instead of Nazi Party, we say MAGA Republican. Different words, same meaning. Neither is corking.

read Kerri’s blogpost about CORKING

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A Shape In Nature [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Staring at the tree in silhouette against the sunset I was struck how much of our written language is pulled from shapes in nature. the runes and glyphs en route to alphabets. A sound associated with a mark on paper. Black ink on white fiber.

For some reason this silhouette brought me to ensō, the Japanese art of ink circles. An open or incomplete circle symbolizes impermanence, the beauty of imperfection. Wabi-sabi. The beauty found in life as it is, not as we want it to be.

Impermanence is a theme of our conversations this week. We walk through the park at sunset and talk about the transitory in ever widening circles of experience, beginning with our own lives, moving out to the government and reaching further to the climate. Nothing is fixed.

I have been playing with shape/symbol as if it was en route to becoming an alphabet or perhaps a long lost written language newly discovered. Like all language symbols, I am making it up. These symbols hold no deeper meaning other than I find them beautiful and making them is mind-freeing and fun.

Sometimes I “write” from left to right and sometimes the other way around. Sometimes I do not pay attention to the direction and break the line. It is easy to paint my “runes” from left to right because I’ve had a lifetime of patterning to read and write in that direction. It seems natural even though I know it has nothing to do with nature and everything to do with acculturation. I’m trying to forget all the rules and, rather than create something, I hope to discover a new promised land: an open mind.

In pursuit of my open mind I’ve made new rules to break the old rules. No brushes allowed (except to wet a surface). Try something new every day, scrapers or sandpaper or rags. Use more paint (I have a poverty mindset where paint is concerned. It’s expensive so I have developed a lifelong dedication/necessity to-make-the-paint-last rather than working freely. To help bust my poverty I’ve purchased cheap-cheap-cheap craft paint in bottles and am using up old house paint).

The most useful new rule is Don’t Think About It. Let it be beautiful as it is, not as I want it to be. Ensō. Wabi-sabi. The beauty of imperfection, a mark on paper or board, maybe or maybe not associated with a sound but certainly inspired by a silhouette or some other shape in nature.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE TREE SILHOUETTE

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About Icky [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

I knew something was up when she emailed the photo to me. She was watching me out of the corner of her eye when I clicked on the file to open the photo. That’s never a good sign. Then, she was just a smidge too intense, one step away from a giggle, when she asked, “Do you notice anything odd about this photo?”

Some dads nickname their daughters “Peanut” or “Princess”. Kerri’s father nicknamed her “Brat”. I take some small comfort knowing that her tendency for mischief was known and acknowledged early in her life. I imagine – check that…I know her brat-hood has only grown more sophisticated over time.

“When I look at this photo, it makes me feel icky; motion sick,” she said, staring at me. That’s called blow back. Since meeting Kerri I’ve only driven the car a handful of times. She suffers from extreme motion sickness; riding in the passenger seat strikes terror in her heart. Sitting in the backseat of a car is more than she can bear. Driving the car is her only option. I have become an excellent passenger. Also, since I never drive, I’ve taken no responsibility for knowing where I am; I’ve lived in this town for 13 years and rarely know how to get from point A to point B. It’s been a zen-lesson in giving over. The photo was upside-down which stirred her motion sickness – but I pretended not to grok it.

Side note: It is too tempting to draw a parallel between Kerri’s marina-flip and the state of the nation. So I won’t do it other than to ask, “Do you notice anything odd about the government of this country?” It definitely makes me feel icky. Democracy upside-down is fascism and that can’t feel good to anyone with a soul.

Brat studied me as I studied the photograph. “Does it make you feel icky?” she asked, a bit too enthusiastically. Schadenfreude.

“No!” I replied. I’ve learned that the best defense against a brat-moment is to feign nonchalance. “It’s odd but it doesn’t make me feel icky.”

“It’s flipped over!” she cried! “It’s upside down. The reflection is at the top! How can that not make you feel icky?” She cried, indignant. “Didn’t you notice?” she frowned.

“Oh, wow!” I pretended to notice for the first time. “That’s cool. Why does that make you feel icky?” I asked.

“Because it’s upside-down!” she declared, outraged. Disappointed.

I should have confessed that the photo made me feel off-balance because, the top of the list in Kerri’s Brat Book of Rules is this: “If at first you don’t succeed, escalate.” Now I have to watch my back.

Side note: Oy! It is way-too tempting to draw a parallel between rule #1 in Kerri’s Brat Book of Rules and the state of the rogue government as we roll into the midterms. So far they haven’t succeeded in rigging the election so they are escalating. If we want our democracy to emerge intact, right-side-up, we have no choice but to watch our backs.

It all makes me feel icky.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE MARINA FLIP

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Who We Are Not [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

For a few short weeks, peeking from beneath the tall grasses in the front yard, we had a single yellow flower. A volunteer. A bright yellow visitor that perked up our days. The question of what type of flower remains. “It’s definitely not mules-ears,” Kerri said, comparing the results of her Google search to the photograph.

We do not know what it is but we do know what it is not.

I’ve often heard that in our democracy, we must redefine ourselves every day. Democracy is a living thing. It is a relationship. Governance of, by and for the people is, well, dynamic. We rarely know with certainty who we are – by design. We are, by design, a diverse nation, fluid in our aspirations – not fixed as is the case in authoritarian regimes. However, in these times, it is increasingly apparent, and vitally important, to know who and what we are not.

We are not maga. We are not a cult of personality.

We are not supremacists, white or otherwise.

We are not fully conservative or wholly progressive.

We may currently be lost in the woods but we are not arsonists who would burn down the forest.

We may be gullible but we are not stupid.

We pride ourselves on our individualism. It is high time that the party of red, those who tout themselves as the guardians of individual rights, recognize what they have become. They no longer know who they are. They most certainly have become what they claim that they are not. Afraid of speaking truth. Afraid of acting independently. Followers of a man rather than stewards of a nation of laws. They followed a liar into the swamp but are they lemmings who will follow him over the fascist cliff?

Those wearing red hats with hearts full of fear have helped me know who I am by showing me unequivocally what I am not. I believe they are doing the same for the majority of this nation. At this juncture, amidst the wreckage and global humiliation, we may not know who we are but we are rock-solid certain in knowing who we are not.

In Prayer, 67″x64″ mixed media on canvas

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE YELLOW FLOWER

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Weird Sh*t [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Two weeks ago we popped a sweet potato into some soil. Today its vines reach nearly halfway across the deck. The message is clear: don’t sit still next to the sweet potato plant if you value your freedom. We don’t think it is a carnivore but neither of us is willing to test the theory.

Over the years we’ve developed a shorthand phrase, a catchall for the unexplainable stuff of life. Our phrase is a leveler, a way of making the edges less edgy. For instance, after a particularly harrowing medical emergency, Kerri looked at me, knowing I was scared, and said, “Weird sh*t.” I laughed. My blood pressure dropped several floors. Suddenly, the unknown, the terrifying, the mind-run-amok-with-fear had a solid anchor. A simple explanation. Nothing to worry about, it’s just more weird sh*t.

It’s a phrase that comes in handy with the news of the day, the family zoo, the unexpected stuff of life, and the sweet potato plant that is rapidly entwining the house. “What do you think of that?” I ask, amazed at the plant reaching for my feet.

“Weird sh*t,” Kerri says, stepping back.

And with that pronouncement, the unexplainable is explained. Sense is temporarily restored and we allow ourselves to believe that all is right with the world.

from the Logos series, 23″x32″ acrylic on hardboard

read Kerri’s blogpost about SWEET POTATO VINE

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Give Time [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

“Nobody sees a flower – really – it is so small it takes time – we haven’t time – and to see takes time, like to have a friend takes time.” ~ Georgia O’Keeffe

I am fortunate. I have good friends. Really good friends. We give our time to each other. We’ve given each other our time for a very long time.

Time is not something marked by a clock. It is a decision. It is attention given with intention. Giving time is not as sterile as it sounds. It is not bookkeeping. It is generous.

At the end of the day, attention is all I have to give.

At the end of each day I give some time and attention to gratitude. I review my day. I give attention to what I gave my attention during the day. Kerri and Dogga are always in my review. My friends. This house that keeps us safe and warm. The list spirals out from that constant center. The orange day lilies that brought a smile. The sunrise. The slow evening walk that we enjoyed. The enormous hibiscus that stopped us in our tracks.

It is an important question to ask at the end of each day, “To whom or what did I give my attention?” I wish I would have asked this question of myself earlier in my life. I would have seen many more flowers. I would have been a better friend. I would have spent less of my limited time on earth giving attention to abstract futures or nonsense achievements.

No matter. I cannot go back in time. And that is precisely the point. I have attention to give and rather than look in the rearview mirror, how much more satisfying is it to give it to this moment, to today, the first sip of coffee in the morning, the clicking sound of Kerri’s keyboard as we perform our morning ritual, writing posts together, about the marvels that we experience, like an enormous hibiscus that caught our attention and shared with us a little bit of its time.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE HIBISCUS

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Not Hyperbole [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

I added an addendum to my post yesterday. I’d purposely avoided the news of the day. I was in overwhelm with the corruption and blatant disregard for human life by the current administration. I was tired of asking myself and others, ‘How is this possible?” And then, right before I scheduled my post for publication, I saw a news report of the fires in Spokane and around the world. And, as fate and the algorithm would have it, right next to the news of the fires burning across the globe, was an article about Shell Oil’s massive surge in profits. I wanted to vomit. This was my addendum from yesterday:

(a note about the current state of the nation and the world: today I simply do not know what to say. There is fire. The oceans are heating. River’s are drying. Crops are dying. And, “Shell reported a massive surge in profits, posting second-quarter 2026 adjusted earnings of $9.84 billion, more than double the amount from the same period last year.” What is there to say about people setting fire to their neighborhood and then finding pleasure in profiting from it?)

My question was not – and is not – hyperbole. “Carbon dioxide emissions are the primary driver of global climate change.” Oil. Gas. Petroleum. Coal. What is there to say about people setting fire to their neighborhood while finding pleasure in profiting from it?

This is not a challenge without a solution. We-the-people and the people of the world have the capacity and the technology to slow the warming if not turn it around. Our challenge is not will. Our challenge is the profit of special interests. Rampant greed. It fuels the cries that climate change is a “hoax,” it is the driver behind the current attempt of authoritarian take-down of our democracy.

In the era of the emergence of the corporate monster from the swamp, Teddy Roosevelt – a Republican – warned that the only protection a citizenry had against exploitation by the monster was a strong government willing to regulate its actions. Our current situation is not a new challenge in the USA:

“At many stages in the advance of humanity, this conflict between the men who possess more than they have earned and the men who have earned more than they possess is the central condition of progress. In our day it appears as the struggle of freemen to gain and hold the right of self-government as against the special interests, who twist the methods of free government into machinery for defeating the popular will…Now, this means that our government, National and State, must be freed from the sinister influence or control of special interests. Exactly as the special interests of cotton and slavery threatened our political integrity before the Civil War, so now the great special business interests too often control and corrupt the men and methods of government for their own profit. We must drive the special interests out of politics.” ~ Teddy Roosevelt, The “New Nationalism” speech, Osawatomie, Kansas, 1910

The difference between now and then is the scope of the existential crisis. Teddy Roosevelt cited the Civil War which was a very real threat to the existence of our nation. Our warming globe threatens the very existence of humanity. This is not hyperbole. The water wars are on the horizon. Crop failures, the collapse of the food supply, are a reality today. This is data. Information. It is knowledge that somehow has not landed as understanding in the corporate boardroom or the republican congress.

Wisdom is nowhere to be found.

Last night we had a discussion with 20 about a man who has made his home a bunker. His basement is filled with canned food. He hoards ammunition because he believes in the coming world bullets will be currency. His is a cowboy fantasy. It is the same fantasy as those entertained in the boardroom and strutted by the maga-republican-madhatters. This man thinks that he will somehow be able to go it alone in a societal collapse. His strategy is built entirely upon the labor and support of others. It has yet to occur to him that his cans of food did not manifest themselves. They represent the labor and service of hundreds of people, people that he pretends that he does not need or depend upon. The same is true of his guns and bullets. He did not forge or construct any of his many weapons. He has yet to consider that his cans and bullets will only go so far. And then what?

Penny wise and pound foolish. And arrogant. And blind.

We’ve only walked our loop twice since June. The storms, heat and humidity have made it impossible. While snapping his photo of the black-eyed-Susans, Kerri said, “I miss our loop. When do you think this gross weather is going to change?” I shook my head, not wanting to say what I was thinking because my thought was cynical: When the people stoking the fire in the world realize that their massive profit will not spare them from the flames.

Untitled, 30″x54″ mixed media

Earth Interrupted VII, 48″x36″ mixed media

read Kerri’s blogpost about BLACK EYED SUSANS

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Become Softer [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

If you’ve not yet seen Cooking with Carter on Instagram, youtube…, I suggest you drop everything and find him, this young boy who delights in cooking. His enthusiasm is balm for the weary soul. As Tyler Merritt said in his lovely rant about Carter, in this dark time, this small boy reminds us that there is still joy, “There’s still softness in the world.”

Carter not only reminds us of our better angels, he inspires us reach for them. And my favorite part? Carter is a child. He’s not trying to rack up followers or look good on camera. He loves food. He loves to cook. He is having fun with his dad and mom.

In our mad, mad, mad selfie-and-sound-byte driven world, where everything is a performance, Carter does what he loves to do because he loves to do it. He is not at all concerned about controlling what other people see or think. He’s too young to be lost in his image.

His joy is pure. His purity melts our hard armor and helps us, even for a moment, open our hearts and become softer in the world.

Nap with DogDog and Babycat, 36″x48″ mixed media on canvas

read Kerri’s blogpost about SOFTNESS

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Our Context [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

“Words are never good or bad on their own, context makes them so.” ~Abhijit Naskar

I know what the image is and, even so, it took my brain a moment to make sense of it. It’s what happens when the subject of an image is stripped of context. On first glance this looks like a claw machine in an arcade instead of the last moments of our ancient maple tree. It took a crew less than an hour to reduce a century of growth into a stump. A giant claw easily lifted the massive trunk into an awaiting dump truck.

I am writing this the day after the grifter in the White House served the nation a prime time lie. A well-worn, very tired, endlessly debunked lie. Every statement he made was void of context. He is adept at wrapping simple facts in a morass of made-up hooey. He lost an election. His knows his party is about to lose “bigly” in the upcoming midterms. It can’t possibly be that he is incompetent. It can’t be that he and his party have no interest in governing or a shred of reverence for the constitution or the rule of law. It can’t be that the nation is shocked by the blatant corruption. No, to stay in power, a fabricated context is called for. Fraud! Hoax! Foreign intervention! The loser-in-chief cries again and again and again, “They cheat!”

Context: Over 60 courts tossed his 2020 claims of voter fraud for lack of evidence. His own government watchdogs reported that the election – like all elections in the USA, was free and fair. Context: while he lost, the down-ballot republicans, listed on the very same ballot, in the very same election, won handily. Context: His administration was in charge of the election he claims was rigged against him.

Context question: Are you as weary of this incessant boy-crying-wolf as I am?

“Separate text from context and all that remains is a con.” ~ Stewart Stafford

His cries of corruption in our elections are a deception. He is the corruption in our electoral process. He is the threat to our free and fair elections. He and his crew are the danger to our democracy.

His prime-time lie, like everything else about him and his crew, is a con. They expect you and me to ignore the context, to swallow their bilge without question. It is less than 100 days to the midterm elections. Our role as citizens in a democracy has never been so clear: first, we must be keepers of the actual context and protect our right to vote. This administrations authoritarian intentions are apparent. Their actions are criminal. It is our context.

Second, after we protect our elections from this assault, we must hold this con man and his mob accountable for their crimes. It is what they most fear, it is why they lie, it is the reason they ask you and me to close our eyes, plug our ears, and pretend that they are not reducing our centuries old democracy into a fascist stump.

In the end, history will place them in their proper context.

Red Bird*, 16″x20″ mixed media on canvas

*This painting has nothing to do with the theme of this post. It’s new. It’s lighthearted – and, like me, I suspect you could use a bit of that.

read Kerri’s vastly different thoughts about THE TREE

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