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

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

Taste The Sky [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

I remember closing my eyes, face to the sky, to feel the joy in the snowflakes fall. On another day, separated by years, I walked out into the rain and with outstretched arms, I asked the sky to wash my grief away.

On yet another day, a younger version of me, bundled against the midnight cold, lay in a mountain field with friends and watched the stars shoot across the heavens. Oooo-ing and aahhh-ing. Then there was the winter day I stood with my back pressed against the brick wall and drank in the warming sun. My bones and the sun connected.

In answer to his puckered disbelief that I was yet a non-believer, I suggested he find a spot beyond the city lights, and on a clear night peer into the starry sky, and realize what he was seeing. Infinity knows no tribe.

“Clear blue sky always brings my thoughts to Colorado,” I said. “There’s nothing like the Colorado blue.”

One night, amid raging inner turmoil, I looked to the full moon and whispered, “Okay. I will follow where you lead me.”

It is a welcome common occurrence, she stops mid-stride and points, ” Do you see the duck!” or “Doesn’t that look like a crazy Mickey Mouse?” Cloud watchers. A festival of pareidolia ensues.

And who hasn’t looked to the sky and uttered, “Please…” The yearning heart reaches for a vast wordless sky.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SKY

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buymeacoffee is a call from the sky to support the continued work of the artists you appreciate.

Consider The Landscape [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

“We are a landscape of all we have seen.” Isamu Noguchi

In my landscape of life, there is a mountaintop at sunrise. There is a nurse shark hiding in the coral. There is a boat with orca whales breaking on all sides. There is leap of faith after leap of faith after leap of faith. There are betrayals and loyalty. Lightning strikes and earthquakes. There are stages and audiences. Two times living under martial law. Revelations and reckonings. Leaves rustling. A white dog and a black dog with amber eyes. Fresh baked bread and hot coffee. Visits to the past. Fingers stinging with cold so near to frost bite. Shame and embarrassment. Triumph and encouragement. Near starvation and too-much-food. Friends suddenly appearing from nowhere and friends suddenly disappearing into the same nowhere. There is unbridled hope. There is a wasteland of despair. There is cursing the heavens and genuine thanksgiving. So many empty attempts at being clever. So much reinforcement of the fullness of my ordinary. There are so many yesterdays that blur and wash together, a raging river.

There is one today. A single now.

Certainly there is landscape enough to fill a thousand canvases with childlike play. There is enough to fill a million million pages with wonder. Cicadas and sunsets. The smell of fresh basil. To sculpt with words ideas that may or may not help others see the fullness of their unique landscape and how infinitely conjoined it is with mine.

pax, 24x24IN, mixed media on panel

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE BOWL

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buymeacoffee is a landscape of opportunities to support the work of the artists you appreciate.

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

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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

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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

Discover The Miracle [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

The wide strip dividing the parking areas hosted a vast colony of Shaggy Mane mushrooms. From a distance they looked like an epic creation of Andy Goldsworthy. There were so many, made stark white in the sun, that they begged a closer look. “What is that?” she asked. I had no idea.

We’ve all seen pop-up memorials, a sea of markers or flags placed in a field to represent the number of people lost. From far away the colony appeared to be one of those. Human made. A tiny-yet-vast shrine. A passing car stopped abruptly. The driver jumped out with his camera. We were not alone in our curiosity.

They did not come into focus until we were right on top of them. “Mushrooms” she gasped and reached for her camera. My head spun. Not human but nature made! The shock of realization made me laugh. I was almost relieved that, in these times, we’d discovered a miracle of abundant life and not a memorial to unimaginable loss.

The thought gave me pause.

I turned to face the sun and closed my eyes. I listened to the rustling leaves and her care-full excitement at capturing images without damaging the colony. I smelled the crisp air and wished to be nowhere else. Miracles of abundant life.

read Kerri’s blogpost about MUSHROOMS

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buymeacoffee is a shock of realization capable of making your head spin and support the continued work of the artists that remind you to stop and smell the roses.

Mark The Time [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

As long as we’ve been walking trials – I include trails in other states and nations – we’ve never encountered a salamander. It was so out of the ordinary that, at first, we thought someone had dumped a no-longer-wanted pet on the trail. We railed at the cruelty of humans. But, after a quick google search, we found that this critter was natural to the area. Not a pet, after all. Nocturnal, so rarely seen in the daylight. We recanted our railing, changed our tune, and counted the encounter as rare and special. Which it was.

Our salamander encounter was also a marker in time. This post marks the 300th week of our Melange. 300 weeks of writing about our encounters, our ramblings, our rantings, our hopes, our dreams, our dilemmas. At the beginning of week 1, we placed these words at the top of our website: “Brewed from our studio, sometimes fresh and sometimes aged, we offer a daily blend of goodness, thought, laughter, and beauty.”

We can’t claim to know your experience of our too-much-writing but we can report without reservation that we’ve profited mightily. Each day we sit together and write. No peeking at the other’s post. And then we read. We talk about what the photo prompt inspired, the great mystery of inspiration; where did that idea come from?

As milestone symbols go, a salamander is a good one. In my quick research of salamander-as-symbol, these were the first words I read: “Salamander opens us up to secrets within ourselves, secrets within others, and secrets of the spirit.”

And so we step toward week 301 with a healthy dose of salamander blessing, a renewed intention to brew some goodness from our studio, and a whole lot of gratitude for you – out there – giving some of your time to read our daily blend of goodness, thought, laughter, and beauty.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SALAMANDER

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buymeacoffee is what it is: a salamander on the trail that tells us you believe we are doing worthwhile work in the world.

Be In Cahoots [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“I’m making old guy sounds,” I said. All morning I’ve been extra-moaning-and-groaning. Clearing my throat. “I’m making the sound my dad used to make!” She laughed. We are in cahoots, partners in this aging thing.

The temperatures are dropping and my inner weather station is alerting me to the changes. Achy joints. Sinus headaches. I’m not sure why an inner weather station is necessary. I can see the snow on the ground. The cold wind is hard to miss. The back door is sticking. There are plenty of indicators that the seasons are changing. “I know! I know already!” I say to my buckling knees. They seem to think that I missed the temperature plummet. “As if I didn’t already know.”

She laughs.

Sometimes when I walk across the parking lot toward the grocery store I pretend to be really old. She punches my arm and whispers “Stop it!” And then she looks around to make sure no one is watching my antics. “What! I’m practicing!” I say. “Practice makes perfect.” Another punch. “It’s the only way to Carnegie Hall!” I shout, defending my self. A third punch. And then she laughs.

Mission accomplished.

The view is near. The view is far. The day we met we climbed out a window onto the roof, drank wine, and shared life stories. The wind was cold off the lake so we wrapped blankets around ourselves. When it was too cold we came inside, sat in front of a fire, and shared more life stories. She read a story to me, something she’d written. She wanted me to know. She played the piano for me. I wanted to know.

We don’t have decades of shared memory so we share stories. We want to know. Looking back as we move forward. Comparing newly discovered aches and pains. Dusting off old heartbreaks, roads not taken. We are in cahoots, partners in this life thing.

And, to my great delight, captive witness to my endless antics, mostly, she laughs.

[let me take you back will not only take you back but will also give you a lift]

let me take you back/as it is © 2004 kerri sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about NEAR AND FAR

share. like. comment. support. compare. dust off. read aloud. practice, practice, practice. we applaud every act.

buymeacoffee is an achy-joint-early-toleration-systemic-tip-jar affording you the opportunity to relieve however slightly the aches and pains of the artists you may-or-may-not appreciate.

Tend The Pond [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

She called it The Big Dig. She always wanted a pond in her back yard so she threw a party, invited friends to bring shovels, and the pond was born. I flew in for The Big Dig since we’d only just met. Early in the day we went to a local landscaper and collected a trailer load of stone. Ted ran power from the garage to the dig site.

A mass of people arrived with shovels. Mudslides were served. People laughed. And, in less than 15 minutes the hole was dug, the liner installed, the pump secured, the stones placed and the hose was busy with the inaugural filling. We cheered when the pump was plugged in and the fountain began to bubble.

The Big Dig was a ceremonial so-long to the past and a hearty welcome to the future. It was the next day, sitting in the sun, that Kerri let the “m” word slip (marriage); she blushed and back-peddled so hard I fell out of my chair laughing. When I could breathe again I confessed that, at that very moment, I too, was thinking about the “m” word. It was the day after the Big Dig that I understood I was about to uproot my life from Seattle and move east.

Each spring when I clean the pond, repair it, and ready it for the summer, I revisit the ceremony. In fact, caring for the pond has become for me a ceremonial revisit to that line between past and future.

Each fall, when the pond begins to ice-over and I am forced to pull the pump, filters and fountain, tucking it in for the winter, I have a rush of quiet thanksgiving. A new life. A second chance.

A decade of seasons has rolled by since The Big Dig. There have been plenty of changes since that day. Dogga arrived and ran deep velodrome paths around the pond, forcing us to lay stone to prevent him from carving a full moat with his racing circles. We put up a fence. We’ve planted grasses. Breck-the-aspen tree found a forever spot and is entering her teenage years. The Covid epoch made us focus on our backyard. We made it our sanctuary.

And, at the heart of our peaceful place, a monument to the beginning of our story, a reminder of our good fortune, a refuge for the birds and chippies that we adore watching, bubbles the pond. Every day. A simple source of nourishment for our souls.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE POND

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buymeacoffee has nothing to do with coffee and everything to do with supporting the continued work of the artists you appreciate. Even if that work is cleaning the pond…

Mark The Way [David’s blog on KS Friday]

We are avid late-night-watchers of people hiking trails or climbing mountains. Some time ago it occurred to me that, even in the remote wilderness, there are known paths and helpful trail markers. The markers may be official park service trail signs or they might be cairns or sticks placed on the ground in the shape of an arrow. “Don’t be fooled,” the arrow signals, “The trail is this way.” People who came before helping the people who will come behind.

Most of the hikers and climbers also have help from satellites. They carry gps to illuminate the trail, provide elevation data, locate water sources, and weather information. It’s nothing less than remarkable the plethora of information available to someone strapping a pack on their back and stepping into an adventure. They are beholden to the people who came before who thought long and hard about ways to make the journey easier.

And, these same plugged in hikers pass it forward, mostly, through acts of courtesy toward people they will possibly never meet. They do their part to help the people who will come next. They cut brush from a trail. They re-stack the cairn stones. They pick up trash as they go. They reconstruct the arrow after the wind moved the pieces. They invent better markers, some from outer space.

I think we watch them because of the culture that has evolved on the trail or on the quest to scale the mountain. They give us a dose of hope for humankind. They know without doubt that they are stewards of the path and of those who walk the path. They live from a dedicated personal responsibility that is not in opposition to a group responsibility. They are their own and their brothers/sisters keeper.

There are trail angels that show up in unlikely locations with hot food. There are angels that leave water caches in the desert without which the traveler would not be able to reach their next destination. Their purpose is to make the passage easier for others because others have made the passage easier for them. It is not a difficult concept to grasp.

A culture of support. It’s why, at the end of each day, we check in with the people on the trail.

you hold me/this part of the journey © 1997/2000 kerri sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blog about TRAIL LEAVES

share. support. like. comment. make the passage easier. we thank you.

buymeacoffee is a trail “tip jar” where you can make the passage easier for the continued work of the artists you appreciate.