What’s Not To Love [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Two years ago on crisp Colorado autumn day, Kerri and I walked through the pines, scrambled through some scrub, and stood on the rocks at the water’s edge. It was my dad’s favorite fishing spot. It was the day after his funeral. We lit a candle. We sat in silence. We reminisced. We said goodbye.

Eight years earlier, on the occasion of my dad’s 80th birthday, I brought Kerri to meet my family. My dad took us fishing. One of my favorite photos of him is from that day. One of my favorite photos of Kerri is from that day. From a distance, pole in hand, she reels in the line. Like him, she was a natural. Both photos exude a quiet peacefulness.

Recently we were up north with the gang. Fall was in full splendor. Kerri and I took a walk though we didn’t go far. There were too many amazing photo ops to pass by. We’d walk a few feet, she’d gasp and point her camera.

As she aimed her camera through the trees to the lake, I was suddenly transported back to both days at the lake in Colorado. The day fishing and the day of the candle. I thought I’d be awash in sadness but it was surprisingly the opposite. To my right, my father – doing what he most loves to do; to my left – Kerri weaving into the fabric of my family. And, in the center, we light a candle of remembrance and thanksgiving.

What’s not to love in the vast scope of these three days, memories born on the shores of a lake?

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read Kerri’s blogpost about Autumn

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

I’m not sure if the colors are especially exceptional this year or if I am simply more conscious of them. Either way, every time I step out the door I am gobsmacked by the vibrant hues and color-tones.

An earlier version of me would have been compelled to recreate the color-pop on a canvas. Now I am content to stand still in appreciation. To drink it in. The colors change each day. They change with the light. Grey skies make the color sing. When the sun is low in the sky, the plumes on the grasses are electric.

For fun I downloaded “color tips” from Art2Life. He’s terrific. One of his tips is to make one color the hero of the composition. So, I’ve found myself – in mid-gobsmack – asking “Which color in this autumn symphony is the current hero?” And, to my great delight, there is always a standout, a color hero that commands my eye. And, to my even greater delight, when I return later to the exact location, there is an entirely different hero; the previous hero has no problem moving into a supporting role.

Light flickers. The sun arcs across the sky. The heroes share the stage without an ounce of competition. Theirs is an infinite game. I am so grateful that I am here to watch the colors play.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE GRASSES

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Color It Orange [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

I’ve read that orange inspires creativity and provides a lift to people’s moods. I saw the orange-effect in action on the trail. The moment she saw the sun illuminating the orange leaves, she gasped, giggled and raced toward them with her camera. “Look!” she exclaimed. “They’re glowing!”

She wasn’t exaggerating. They were glowing. Brilliant and warm. They looked like sacred flame dancing on the end of the branch.

Yesterday I wrote about gratitude. Intentional gratitude as opposed to the spontaneous variety, though these days, the intentional and spontaneous are blending together like watercolor on wet paper. Sunset yellow and red mixing together to make mind-blowing orange against purple sky. Mood lifts. Creativity sparks.

I’ve come to view all art forms as expressions of gratitude. Kurt Vonnegut wrote, “Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow.” I believe soul growth is the purpose of art and one cannot grow their soul without also experiencing intense gratitude.

Standing on the trail, watching the enthusiasm of Kerri’s flame-orange-photo-shoot, I decided the color of soul growth is most likely orange. She couldn’t see it, but the sun streaming through the leaves bathed her in vibrant shades of orange, making her part of the sacred-flame-dance.

Martha Graham would have loved this moment. “Soul growth,” she would have whispered enthusiastically, jumping to join Kerri in the ancient dance.

read Kerri’s blogpost about ORANGE

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Start There [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

The rest of her quote went like this: “And not everyone has had that chance.”

A simple gratitude too often missed.

For years I’ve made it my practice to list my gratitudes at the end of each day. It became my practice because I was – in my original orientation to time on this planet – hyper-focused on what was wrong with me and the world. Obstacle focused. Conflict obsessed. Judgmental of my every move. Refocusing my eye on the abundant generosity of this ride was – at least initially – an act of survival. I’ve come to realize that is was the most self-loving choice I’ve ever made. I’ve found that I am now counting gratitudes in real-time, as they happen.

See the glimmers. Note the kindness. Do not miss the sun on your face. Appreciate the smile. My nightly gratitudes rarely recount monumental happenings. The first sip of coffee. A message from a friend. The Dogga made us laugh. We wrote together. Warm bread and camembert cheese. Kerri held my hand.

I had a full day of life. Let’s start there.

read Kerri’s blogpost about CHANCE

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Feel The Sound [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Far into the sleepless night, the cold night air driving me deeper beneath the quilt, I heard the low song of the chimes and whispered a gratitude to Guy. There are few things in life that bring me an immediate sense of peace and well-being like the chimes.

A few months ago Kerri and I wrote of our yearning for chimes. Our “someday” wish. We wrote of the many times we’ve stood in stores, sounding the chimes-on-display, feeling and then discussing the tones. Guy read our post. His life is rapidly changing. He wanted to find a new home for his beloved chimes. Would we like them? Yes! Double-Yes!

They are magic. I feel the sound to my core. In the few weeks since we hung them from our spruce tree, more than once I’ve stood near when the breezes begin to blow, and closed my eyes so I can feel the full ripple of sound resonate through my being. It’s like a giant Tibetan prayer bowl. Instant calm. Instant presence.

Were I in charge of this contentious world, every person would begin each day with chimes. Eyes closed, resonating with the wind and their neighbors. But, since I am not in charge, I will drink in the peace and each time whisper my deepest thanks to Guy.

[this may be my favorite of Kerri’s compositions]

peace/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 CHIMES

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Count The Angels [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

One day on the trail we talked of the good angels that surround us. 20 and Brad and Jen. The Up North Gang. Horatio and Guy. Smith and Dwig and Arnie. There are too many to count. Dogga is an angel. John and Michele. People we rely on. People who show up when we need help. People who reach out with a kind word. People who let you know that they are there. Alex. Kim. Kate and Jerry. Buffalo Bob. People who listen when we need to talk it through. People who inspire us. People that we simply know are out there, our spiritual safety net. MM. Master Miller. Judy. People who have walked before us. Tom Mck, Quinn, Columbus. Beaky and Pa.

Too many to count.

I believe County Rainy Day was an angel sent to remind me not to fixate on a single path but to look left and right: what might appear a deviation is, in fact, the heart path. Like County Rainy Day, some angels appear in our lives for a brief moment and then are gone. The security guard who let me stay in the small airport after closing; he knew I didn’t have money for a taxi or a hotel. An angel.

This was the point of our trail conversation: the angels that populate our lives are not ethereal abstractions. They are the people and critters who walk the path with us. They show up in critical moments and during the everyday. They are as messy and confused as we are and unafraid to show it. They, therefore, want to help make our path easier. We want to help make their path easier.

And, in the process of helping, of showing up for each other – together – we fill this very short life window with treasure beyond measure. Presence. Attention. Support. Encouragement. Reflection. Good angel stuff.

[happy birthday, pa]

read Kerri’s blogpost about ANGELS

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Eternal Thanks [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Eight years ago today, 10-10, at 11:11am, Kerri and I were married. Our guests teased us that our reception started at 12:12. The food truck was delayed in showing up and arrived one minute late at 1:02.

The altar was awash in daisies. Susan made daisy cupcakes. The first day I met Kerri she was holding a daisy so that I might recognize her at the airport. Daisies have been our flower ever since. She carried a bouquet of daisies as she walked down the aisle to join me.

Kerri wrote and recorded a song for me that played when I entered the church. It was a blue jeans wedding, our guests wore white shirts so we could wear our beloved black.

So many of our friends and family made food, decorated the beach house for our reception, fetched wine and coffee, built the bonfire on the beach. Kerri’s choir circled us and sang We Are Family. I like to think of our wedding as a barn-raising. My sister and niece jumped in to organize the moving pieces. So many people showed up and pitched in. Judy played her magic harp. Jim played his guitar. The ukulele band sang What A Wonderful World. Kerri and I shared words from our Roadtrip. Arnie and 20 were at my side. Kirsten and Craig stood beside Kerri.

We skipped out of the church just as we skipped out of the airport on the day we met.

Each day, every single day, I am grateful for the second chance that life brought to me. I. Am. The. Luckiest. Man. Alive.

If for a moment you doubt that this universe is generous, all you need do is think of me. Think of us.

and now © 2015 kerri sherwood

read Kerri’s blogpost about OUR ANNIVERSARY

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Choose The Shape [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Kurt Vonnegut posited that stories have shapes that can be graphed. According to his graphs, there are only eight story shapes. His story graphs work on a horizontal axis, from Beginning to End, and a vertical axis, Good Fortune to Ill Fortune.

Stories are journeys. Life is a journey. Over the course of every journey, fortune flips. Robert McKee writes that fortune flips are central to making a well-made screen play. What looks like a gift becomes a disaster and vice-versa. Just like life.

Kerri calls this photo of a mushroom A Table For Two. It reminds her of our pop-up table. We’ve celebrated anniversary dinners at the beach around our pop-up table. We’ve had pop-up snack time in the woods. The pop-up table was a great idea that came during pandemic isolation. For me it became a visible symbol of a fortune-flip. How to bring light into a dark time? Make a special meal pop-up in any location: a beach, the woods, a park, a trail…

There are circumstance-driven fortune-flips. There are fortune-flips brought through intention. When circumstance brings ill fortune, there is no better response than to pack a special meal and celebrate the day from a surprising location. Flip the circumstance through intention. Choose the shape of the story.

Disaster strikes? “A table for two, please.”

good moments/this part of the journey © 1998 kerri sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about A TABLE FOR TWO

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See The Bounty [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

I doubt that our bird feeder experience is different than most people. The chipmunks and the squirrels get most of the bounty and the birds play clean-up.

In another life, were I to aspire to be an acrobat or gymnast, I’d study the amazing antics of chippies and squirrels. They scale the impossible pole. They leap the impossible leap. And then they fill their cheeks to bursting, kick gobs of seed to the ground, and fling themselves – fully loaded – into space and somehow catch a limb or bit of fence and escape into the great unknown. They are fearless.

The birds alight on the feeder, too, but mostly they find their fortune on the ground.

Over the summer, directly beneath the feeder, corn plants appeared. We let them grow for a while. I confess, the corn made us smile. “We have corn!” we’d giggle at the absurdity even though the origin was obvious. Apparently we are easily amused.

And then the corn plants sprouted across the yard. A stalk grew right next to Breck-the-Aspen-Tree. And then we found a few lively plants pressing through the tall grasses in the front yard. We’d unintentionally set into motion a small-sample-experiment of corn migration as carried by birds and mini-beasts.

Across many cultures, corn has long been a symbol of prosperity and representative of the cycle of life. It’s easy to understand why. The fields are magical places. In our film mythos, baseball teams of yore emerged from the corn, bringing good fortune to the family that built a field on their farm. Giver of dreams. Fulfiller of hope. Ancestors return to the corn.

In addition to the summer of the bunny and the surprise frog-named-Hope, this is the summer of corn-on-the-move. As the leaves begin to turn, as the harvest comes in, we take comfort knowing that we are surrounded by so many symbols of plenty.

read Kerri’s blogpost about CORN

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See Hope [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

The sun had set. The pond lights aglow. The night was quiet with occasional bursts of the cicada chorus. We were exhausted from the day. I saw its silhouette when Dogga ran his usual circuit by the pond. It leapt across the light and plopped into the water. A frog.

“What are you doing?” Kerri asked as I jumped from my chair.

“But it’s late September!” I said. She narrowed her eyes, my reply too random for synapse connection. “I just saw a frog!” I announced and she was instantly by my side. We stayed by the water for several minutes, searching, but saw no further sign. “I didn’t imagine it,” I whispered. “I saw it. We have a frog.”

“I know.”

I’d like to say that we didn’t need some sign of hope, some whisper of encouragement, but it would be a lie. This unlikely frog, coming so late in the season, seemed like a sign or at least we decided to make it so. “Things are going to change for the better,” she said. I nodded. I was so tired I wanted to blubber with giddy-frog-inspired-relief.

“I’ll take my hope anyway I can get it,” I said.

“That’s what we should name it!” she replied. “Hope.”

Yes. Hope. A silhouette flashing across the light on an otherwise quiet dark night. A leap. A glimpse. And suddenly, anything is possible.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE FROG

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buymeacoffee is an online “tip jar” where you can support the continued work of the artists you value.