Remember Heaven [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

A lifetime ago my live-work space was above a movie theatre. It was once an office space but somewhere along the way it was converted it into a quirky living space. The largest room had 16ft ceilings and an expanse of wall where I could staple canvas. I loved it. I painted up a storm in that space.

It had been vacant for a long time. I imagine most people took one look and ran away screaming. It needed a serious cleaning. It needed some attention and a few fixes. It needed someone with imagination to see the possibilities. Mostly, it needed some life and energy infused into it.

I put candles everywhere. At that time I painted at night, after the city went to sleep. I had a ritual to begin my work: turn off the light in every room but the studio, light the candles, choose my music, sit far away from my canvas for a few moments until I heard the call, and then begin. Usually I blew out the candles after sunrise, the work session ended with the awakening of the day.

Working after the world went to bed was my pattern for years. It started when I was a child. The house grew quiet. After my parents, brothers and sister tucked into sleep, I’d light a candle, turn on the light, and paint on the wall. There was nothing more comforting or inspiring to me than the quiet of the night, a candle or two for company, and a blank canvas calling me out to play.

Hans told me that “Everyone has their heaven.” Last night, deep into the night, as I lay in bed and listened to the chimes make sweet music of the howling wind, I was suddenly thrust back in time to my movie-theatre-studio, to a particular era in my life, I could feel the candles and the quiet of the night, a brush in my hand…my perfect heaven.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE CANDLE

like. support. share. comment. all are appreciated

buymeacoffee is a warm studio late at night, alight with candles, and a clear reason for being.

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

Gain Some Perspective [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

If you’ve not yet bumped into Piet Mondrian’s paintings of trees, this is your chance. Not only are the paintings beautiful but if you’ve ever scratched your head at his more famous abstract/geometric paintings, you will find the forest through his trees. Things are not always what they seem and, in the era of contemporary art, it is necessary to grok the context in order to fully appreciate the content. Of course, that rule also applies in this age of info-tsunami: content rushing across the screen is regularly embraced whole-cloth – sans context – so truth and lie have equal standing.

In the art world, placing content (an individual painting) into context (the historic era, the long-body-exploration of the artist’s work, the source of the exploration) is called “gaining perspective”. Because things are not always what they seem, it is drilled into every artist to regularly stand back, to clear their eyes, to get perspective on their work-in-progress. It is also (or used to be) drilled-in to offer the same courtesy to the work of other artists. Stand back from snap judgments. Check the sources. Understand the exploration. Grasp the historical context. It is never as simple as “liking” or “not liking”; appreciation opens a vast color palette beyond the numbing mindset of thumbs-up or down.

Gaining perspective and learning are the same thing. The most well-educated people I know are not lawyers or doctors. They are actors, directors, dancers, and painters. Gaining perspective takes a lifelong dedication to questioning and researching and double-checking. It is to peek behind the curtain of popular and not get caught in the current reality spin. It is to know that things are not what they seem. It is to know that reactions are easy answers; questions take time. Gaining perspective takes time.

Sometimes she stops so quickly that it propels me forward a few stumbling steps. While I tumbled forward she knelt at a puddle and aimed her camera at a leaf. Or so I thought. I have learned (daily) that she sees things that I do not. I have learned that my assumptions are almost always wrong. She smiled when she stood up. “Look,” she said.

I gasped. I was terrifically wrong. The leaf was nowhere in sight. The reflection of trees in a puddle on the asphalt trail. A festival of texture. A masterpiece of illusion. Piet Mondrian must have knelt at a puddle reflection just like this! “Trees through an icy window,” I said.

Things are rarely – if ever – what they seem.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE TREES

share it. like it. support it. comment on it. research it. question it. doubt it. grok it.

buymeacoffee is exactly what you make of it.

Hope Is Like That [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

A project has me spending some quality time inside Thornton Wilder’s play, Our Town. Grover’s Corners. Emily, after her death, takes the opportunity to revisit a day in her life. It’s not what she expects. Returning to her grave on the hillside she says of the living to Mother Gibbs, “They don’t understand, do they?”

“No, dear. They don’t understand.”

She learns, as another character in the graveyard, Simon Stimson, says, “Now you know! That’s what it was to be alive. To move about in a cloud of ignorance; to go up and down trampling on the feelings of those…of those about you. To spend and waste time as though you had a million years. To be always at the mercy of one self-centered passion, or another.”

I thought about Emily and Simon Stimson as we walked with Dogga along my favorite stretch of the DesPlaines River Trail. It’s an eight mile out-and-back section. Deer. Heron. Sandhill cranes. Hawks. It passes through meadow and grove, the river snaking close and moving away.

The day was brisk and clear. When we came to the small land bridge, Dogga’s delight filled me with delight. We always stop at the bridge to look for turtles and frogs. This late in the year it is unlikely to find them but we stop anyway. Hope is like that.

And, just for a moment, I stepped out of my cloud of ignorance. Kerri, holding Dogga’s leash, peering with great expectation into the trickling stream. “Do you see anything?” she asked. So overwhelmed at the beauty of it all, I could say nothing.

Had I been able to speak I would have said, “I can see everything.”

For a fleeting moment…

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE CREEK

like. share. comment. support. all are helpful. all are appreciated.

buymeacoffee is a moment in time begging you not to miss it. that’s all. that’s enough.

Follow The Marker [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

An ode to markers on the trail:

Popcorn is for a safe return. Remembrance. Home is this way.

Cairns are a gift to those who come next. Courtesy. This is the way through.

Blazes are systemic. Reassurance. You are on the correct path.

Signs are for sorting. Guidance. This is a crossroad of choices.

Companions are for amity. Togetherness. A living marker. The journey is best when shared.

“We’ve sorted a lot of life on this trail,” she said.

It’s a loop. We usually walk it twice around. Sometimes we’ll reverse direction and make a third pass. Loops are good for untangling knotty questions. We rarely come to certain conclusions, almost never leave with answers. We metaphorically set markers on our life trail so we know if we are in unknown territory or have been this way before. “Do you remember when…”

Remembrance. Courtesy. Reassurance. Guidance. Togetherness.

“What do you think we should do?”

“I don’t know. Let’s walk another loop.”

read Kerri’s blogpost about MARKERS

comment. if you want to. or share it. or like it. or not. support it. or not. all are appreciated. by us.

buymeacoffee is a like a marker on the trail, similar to a cairn, a sign to-left-to-you-left-by-us so we might both find our way through.

Catch-Up [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

It just took me awhile to catch-up. At least that’s what I tell myself. I’ve always had friends and acquaintances who kept herb gardens. They grew herbs in the yard, on roof tops, and in windowsills. They took great delight telling me the rosemary was from their garden or the delicious pesto was made from the basil growing in the pot “just over there.” I was too much a wanderer to commit to anything that needed soil and attention. It was enough for me to rub the leaves between my fingers, appreciate and breathe in the fresh smells of other people’s herbs.

Of course, now, that I have put down roots of my own I am more capable of tending things with roots. I have joined the ranks of herb growers. I have found the deep delight of making a meal delicious with something just clipped from the garden. Tomato soup with basil. Rosemary on potatoes. Chopped parsley with almost anything.

To be honest, Kerri is the primary herb farmer in our house. I carry pots, heft bags of potting soil. I am support services for the herb garden. I double as the substitute plant waterer when she is otherwise engaged. My role is to admire. To appreciate.

It’s a good role because I receive all the benefits of the garden. I even share the credit for the successful harvest. I carry the herb knowledge we’ve acquired. Yet, I rarely worry about the garden. I rarely think about how to improve it. As support services, my role is less about the health and well-being of the herb and more about the health and well-being of the herb farmer. I attend to the tender.

I suppose that is all of our roles in one way or another: attend to the people who attend to us. But, as I wrote at the beginning of this post, I am a slow study. It took me awhile to catch-up. I’m like a good soup. I needed to simmer for a very long time. Oh, yes. I also needed some fresh basil. Grown from the pot just over there. At least, that is what I tell myself.

read Kerri’s blogpost about HERBS

share. like. comment. support. attend to the tender. simmer. we appreciate it.

buymeacoffee is an herb garden where you can attend to the artists who attend to their imperative (and yours) so both can create more beauty and prosper

Color It Red [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Red is the color of anger. Unless it’s not. It’s also the color of Santa suits and fire trucks. It’s the color of embarrassed cheeks, burning bushes and carpet pathways for the glitterati when bubbling with the anticipation of receiving an award. Red is associated with the base chakra. It’s the lowest vibrating color-energy on the spectrum. It’s easy to see. Male cardinals want their perspective mates to see red.

Red is the color of fall. And orange. And yellow. We walk toward it on the trail. Sometimes it’s too much to comprehend.

Horatio just told me of a trip he took through Canyon de Chelly. Red Rocks. He told me that he always feels that something is “right” when he’s there. Like humans and this big universe belong together. Timeless. Ancient. Mystical. Impermanent. Not separate. Red is the color of belonging.

That’s how I felt standing before this sumac. A staghorn sumac on fire with the season. My only purpose: to appreciate. To witness. Red is the color of awe.

read Kerri’s blogpost about RED SUMAC

like it. or not. support it. or not. share it. or not. comment on it. or not. find your red. or not.

buymeacoffee is…

Can You Imagine? [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Like the leaves on a tree. We bud, grow green, vibrant and strong. We are not disconnected from the seasons. Colors change. We shine and become translucent. Brittle. And then, the strong wind blows.

I am not religious but I’ve had a life-long love of story so I’ve spent too much time walking among religious metaphor. Stories that are meant to guide us through the changing terrain of life somehow get lost-and-confused in a literal translation. A universal life-map is reduced to a territorial marker, us-and-them.

Spend enough time in many traditions – as Joseph Campbell did – and it becomes apparent that the characters in the stories might be different, but across cultures and systems of belief, “…all paths lead to the same destination.” [Bhagavad Gita…and others]

In the Christian tradition, today is All Saints Day. Tomorrow is All Souls Day. Though, the hinge word is “all.” They do not celebrate all; they celebrate only the saints and souls within the faith.

Standing beneath the luminous tree, the leaves lightly shaking in the cold autumn breeze, I wonder if it is possible for humanity to wake up – or progress – and celebrate the All. I’m an idealist so it’s not hard to suss out where I stand. Wouldn’t it be grand if for a day we could pause our many wars, put down made-up divisions, and celebrate all souls? Can you imagine? “Let’s fight again tomorrow, but, for today, I celebrate you, soul-to-soul-as-one-soul.”

All souls sacred. Like leaves on a tree.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE LEAVES

like. support. share. comment. soul-to-soul appreciation

buymeacoffee is a “tip jar” where you can support the continued creativity of the artists that spin stories that keep you grounded and full of curiosity.

Peek Behind The Facade [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Two people sit at a bar, late in the afternoon, and order far too many appetizers. Then, when offered, they say “Yes” to a peek at the dessert menu. They split a second glass of wine. They seem as if they have not-a-care-in-the-world.

Things are rarely as they appear.

I often remind myself that I can never know the full story of another person’s life. My reminder comes in handy when I am judging or comparing. It is the thinnest image slice that invokes judgment. My comparison is made with a facade.

The day of our anniversary was so fraught that we couldn’t reach through the angst to touch a moment of celebration. We sabotaged the day. Lit it on fire and watched it burn.

The next day we took a very long hike. We sorted through the ashes of our angst. We laughed at ourselves. After our hike we decided to have a glass of wine. We did what we almost never do: we spent money on ourselves. Two people at the bar. We decided to order appetizers and, since it was a make-up day for our anniversary, we ordered anything and everything we wanted. Pressure release. We were like kids in a candy store, our eyes a’ poppin’ when the food arrived. We clapped our hands. We giggled. We savored each delicious bite.

Our plates and glasses were empty. So full we could barely move. As a courtesy the bartender asked us if we wanted to see the dessert menu. He was as surprised as I was when Kerri said, “Yes.” And then she ordered another glass of wine for us to split. And then, a slice of flourless chocolate torte.

This was a first. In our decade of life together, frugality has been our necessity. A first taste of excess, a moment of generosity to ourselves, was a healing balm. An anniversary celebration.

We laughed at the story the bartender must have told of this care-free couple. Of their excess. He could not have known.

“For one person to love another: that is perhaps the most difficult of our tasks…” wrote Rainier Maria Rilke. “Loving…is a tremendous responsibility.”

read Kerri’s blogpost about DESSERT

like. support. share. comment. order too much. love through the ashes. appreciate it. yes. we do.

buymeacoffee is like a “tip jar” where you can support the artistic waitstaff that refreshes your wounded soul.

Play Well [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

“It takes a very long time to become young.” ~ Pablo Picasso

Early in our collaboration, when my plan seemed too fun-loving for our corporate clients, it struck fear in the heart of my business partner. I was fond of telling her, “Everyone really wants to play.”

And, I believed it. I believe it still. Everyone really wants to play. The challenge of stimulating entrepreneurship or innovation or creativity is never about opening minds; it is to scale the fortress walls we erect around our light hearts. The same is true with change initiatives and diversity-equity-inclusion. The heart is the target and playfulness is the path.

In general, the epicenter of what ails us is that we take ourselves too seriously. The cure: play. When the mask of seriousness falls, there’s nothing left to do but play well with others.

I am reminded of the cure every time we assemble at the cabin with The Up North Gang. The overriding intention of our gatherings is to take nothing seriously. To play. We eat too much. We snack with abandon. We adventure. We make space for fun and eschew all serious pursuits. We laugh. Spirits are lifted. Eyes and hearts open. Ideas and imagination flow like a raging river, so warm, safe and impish are our companions.

Play is an action but it is also the fruit of an environment. People cannot play if they do not feel safe. Another truism I learned during my walk in the organizational wastelands: environment creates behavior. So many serious faces; so much fear of being seen “as”… There’s nothing like a safe space to foster a hotbed of creativity.

A warm autumn day, a blue-blue sky, the leaves vibrant with fall color. A quiet mind. An open heart. A great relief. I realized that over these many months Kerri and I have not felt safe, swimming as we are on the bottom of Maslow’s Hierarchy. I was suddenly and profoundly overwhelmed by the lightness in my heart, the ease in my being, the great gift of our Up North Gang.

A gentle reminder that the path forward is rarely found by squeezing together synapses and figuring-it-out in-the-mind. The path becomes clear when illuminated by the lively spirit of play. Heart-paths become visible. I smiled at all that I know and too often forget. Everyone really wants to play.

read Kerri’s blogpost about AUTUMN UP NORTH

like. support. comment. share. many thanks.

buymeacoffee is a “tip jar” where you can support the artists you appreciate.