Memorize This [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“This is the time to be slow,
Lie low to the wall
Until the bitter weather passes.
Try, as best you can, not to let
The wire brush of doubt
Scrape from your heart
All sense of yourself
And your hesitant light.
If you remain generous,
Time will come good;
And you will find your feet
Again on fresh pastures of promise,
Where the air will be kind
And blushed with beginning.”
~ John O’Donohue, To Bless the Space Between

There are few pleasures more satisfying than facing the warm sun on a cold day. Just ask the cat who slinks from beneath our fence each afternoon to rest in a nest of grass and face the sun. It luxuriates in the warmth just like we do, sitting in our Adirondack chairs, eyes closed, faces to the brilliant sun.

“Memorize this,” she said. Our forecast is sans sunshine.

This week began with Breck resplendent with yellow and umber leaves. By mid-week her colorful quaking leaves had all but dropped to the ground. She let us know it was time to pull the last of the garden and prep the yard for the coming cold. Autumn steps toward winter.

We are uniquely ready. Our time with Dogga during his illness has brought us into hyper-awareness and a type of gratitude with deep roots. Yesterday on our walk she said that this time was full-full-full of precious moments. It’s true. We’ve rarely been more keenly appreciative of the simple things – a wag of the tail, a successful step down into the sunroom, begging for a bite of our dinner. What used to be common has become reason for celebration. With the sun on our faces we marvel as our wobbly Dogga investigates the scent of an unauthorized kitty.

“If you remain generous, Time will come good.”

She said, “Someday we will look back and know that we did everything that we could do, that we were completely present with him, that there was nothing more important.”

Too true. Someday – someday, we will look back. With attention to our hearts we will know that we did well to prep for the coming cold. “Memorize this.”

YOU HOLD ME on the album THIS PART OF THE JOURNEY © 1998 Kerri Sherwood

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Let’s Get To It [David’s blog on KS Friday]

On our short drive to the post office I saw three homes with new blue porch lights. At the grocery store I noted an abundance of blue clothing. Today, blue is the color of change. Today, blue is the color of hope and I am seeing an ocean of blue.

As Heather Cox Richardson reminds us, the authoritarians and oligarchs will not go quietly into this blue wave. They are afraid. Accountability looms. Our vote was just the first step in defending our democracy. Now the real work begins.

Our hope requires our action. We’ve just seen what can happen when we-the-people come together and act. We cannot now return to our cubicles believing that the change is complete. It is not. The war still rages. The corruption has two full years of runway. The economy is sinking. The system as it currently exists will do everything in its power to stay in place; systems fight to the death to reinvent themselves.

Hope is empty without action. On Tuesday we chose a direction and now we must walk it together. Healthcare. Education. Civil Rights, Court reform, Election reform (can we please get rid of the Electoral College and get corporate money out of our politics!). The authoritarian wannabe and his cult have done an excellent job of demolition. The rebuild is up to us and it requires good architects and craftspeople and support teams. That is us.

Action is fueled by hope and today we – together – have plenty of fuel. Let’s take a breath. Celebrate. And then let’s get to it.

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Gathering Vanishing Days [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“Many of us have made our world so familiar that we do not see it anymore. An interesting question to ask yourself at night is, What did I really see this day?” ~ John O’Donohue, Anam Cara

This week our world is a big as our sunroom. The Dogga is ill and we are with him constantly. I pet him and he sleeps. While he sleeps I look out the window. Breck the aspen tree quakes. Finches alight in the small branch outside the window. They look in, visitors to the people zoo. I look back and am amused at what they see. The autumn light in the backyard is startling.

I realize that in many ways the world has stopped – or at the very least time has slowed. This is unfamiliar territory. Even the room is novel, rearranged, piled with soft rugs and gated for Dogga containment. It has become a cradle of sorts. All of our life patterns are altered. We are making it up as we go. In this unexplored landscape I can see again. Every breath. Every leaf that drops.

I am not trying to be anywhere else. I am exactly where I want to be, doing the most important thing I can imagine doing. I am not bored or feeling trapped. Quite the opposite. I wonder how often this has been true in my life?

John O’Donohue sits by my side. He tells me, “Your soul is the priestess of memory, selecting, sifting, and ultimately gathering your vanishing days toward presence.”

Dwight recently asked a question, “What is the wake I am leaving as I navigate work, my family, uh.. the airport, etc.?” I rearrange the image within his question: what is the ripple I send from my pebble-center that will all too soon disappear, a disturbance in the water returning to mirror calm?

A haiku: Dogga lifts his head. His tail wags a single wag. My heart knows itself.

WHEN THE FOG LIFTS on the album THIS PART OF THE JOURNEY © 1998 Kerri Sherwood

Kerri’s albums are available on iTunes or streaming on Pandora

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A Well Known Truth [David’s blog on KS Friday]

I’ve been thinking a lot about truth lately. What is true and what is not – and in this age of technology how do we know? A photograph is no longer proof that something happened. Neither is a film or a voice recording. All can be manufactured and manipulated. The legacy news outlets are partisan at best: narratives are manipulated for ratings or some other less palatable agenda…but only loosely related to truth.

How do we know what is factual when there is a concerted effort – from every direction – to spin the truth?

If truth is a coherence that emerges when facts are lined up and stitched together, then the best way to undermine the truth is to deny the facts. In this age of rampant gaslighting and cries of “fake news”, indisputable facts are daily obscured by clouds of deceit and tsunamis of nonsense.

How do we, as a nation, as a community, expect to debate best paths forward when we are incapable – or unwilling – to acknowledge facts? At the No Kings rally I had a conversation with a man who perfectly captured the challenge we face. Playing devil’s advocate, he said: “Who needs facts! If I believe it is true then it is true.”

These are facts:

~ Election fraud in our system is statistically zero.

~ In 2020 a mob incited by the current president attacked the Capitol.

~ He lost the 2020 election. He is a felon. He’s been found libel for sexual assault.

~ He’s a pathological liar.

~He wants us to believe that voter fraud is rampant in our elections.

Based on a plethora of facts, when stitched together, it is impossible to escape this truth: he is waging a war on our Constitution in order to install an authoritarian state. To do it he needs us to divorce ourselves from the facts. He needs us to be afraid.

Water freezes at 32 degrees. Fact.

Truth: The horizon calls us to the unknown. It invites us to ask, “What’s beyond?” It’s why we build ships, sail to the edge, seek religious freedom, play with fire, build roads, seek cures and imagine and strive for a nation governed by the people and not a king. It’s why we seek truth and rely on facts to get us there.

This is a well-known truth stitched together from facts: Democracy dies in darkness. “Without reliable information, the public cannot make informed choices, leading to the gradual erosion and collapse of democratic institutions.”

EVERY BREATHE on the album AS IT IS © 2004 Kerri Sherwood

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Simple Entanglements [David’s blog on KS Friday]

The leaves on a sweet potato vine are shaped like hearts. When barking at phantoms on the neighbor’s balcony, Dogga regularly gets tangled in the sweet potato vine that now stretches across our deck. It surprises him every time and his look of confusion gets tangled in my sweet potato heart.

I’m a believer in the small things. If, at the moment of death, life truly flashes before your eyes, my flash will include Dogga getting tangled in the vine, Kerri getting tangled in the vacuum cord and me getting tangled in the long orange extension cord. My life review will be full of entanglements, real and imagined.

Last week was our anniversary. Sitting at our small bistro table, enjoying our candlelight anniversary dinner of homemade pizza, I was overwhelmed with my good fortune and told Kerri that I loved being married to her. She asked, “Why?” I stammered because there were was no single answer. It’s hard to put tiny words on big-big feelings.

Were I to answer her question today I’d say, “Because of all the little things that will flash before my eyes the moment that my soul lifts off from my body.” There are more and more each day, every stop along the trail to photograph or take note of something beautiful. Midnight anticipation of morning coffee. Sun on our faces. Making marinara for the first time. Laughter with our friends. Standing still so as not to spook the deer.

Mine will be a very long life review, a long sweet potato vine with heart shaped memories. Simple entanglements. Barking at phantoms on the balcony. A spontaneous slow dance on the back patio. Yoga mats. A shock of vibrant green against a weathered deck.

YOU’RE THE WIND ©️ 2005 Kerri Sherwood

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The Gateway [David’s blog on KS Friday]

An unlikely heart. Or, a heart in an unlikely place. Or, a bit of bread crust that brings heart-to-mind.

Tomorrow is a very significant day. Eleven years ago, at exactly 11:11am, we stood before our friends and families, told our story, and said, “I do”.

1111 in numerology is “believed to mean that an energetic gateway has opened. Alignment. Amplification.”

Sometimes, for fun, we try and calculate the odds of our having met. Impossible. Impossible odds and yet, here we are. It is why we refuse to allow ourselves to take for granted our good fortune. It is why we refuse to relegate anything into the box of “impossible”.

Anything is possible. We are the proof. Every day.

Eleven years. 11:11. A celebration of the impossible. Unlikely hearts met in an unlikely place. In such a magic remembrance, even a bit of bread crust brings heart-to-mind. Each day, we mind our hearts, never taking for granted the impossible story that is us. Amplification of all that is good. Alignment as we walk this path together. The gateway opening anew each day.

Kerri’s life’s work is available on iTunes and streaming on Pandora

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In My Latent Maturity [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable. Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven’s sake.” ~ Kurt Vonnegut

When I grow up I want to be Kurt Vonnegut. I used to want to be Leonardo da Vinci or perhaps Joseph Campbell but now I’m all in for the master of satire and dark humor. I could use some time taking myself less seriously and Kurt is a great model to follow. Laughing at the dark would be a refreshing character trait. I imagine Kurt cracked himself up all the time. Or rolled his eyes. Making myself laugh more would be good!

If you’ve noticed – or if you haven’t – I’ve almost made it through a week of posts without a rant about the politics-of-the-day. I swore off indignance last Sunday. At least for a week. I needed a break. It’s Friday and I will honor my swearing-off but have to mention politics to explain how I arrived at Kurt Vonnegut for my model of maturity. During this week of exile from righteous anger I’ve pondered a more healthy response to the cancer raging in the national body. My conclusion? Satire may be my savior. The times are dark so the humor must meet the occasion. I’d have gone with Mark Twain but wanted to shoot for someone whose lifespan crossed mine. So, Kurt Vonnegut it is! Plus, he knows what the arts are about. Soul growth. Making life more bearable. Shining light into dark places.

The sun poured through the blinds this morning. That might not sound miraculous but it has been a rare occurrence this summer. The shadow made stripes on the grasses. Kerri cooed and reached for her camera. That’s what soul growth looks like. Can you imagine being so moved by the sun-pattern cast upon the grasses in the tall basket that you coo and begin to compose? It’s a glorious thing to behold.

“Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment. There is no why.” ~ Kurt Vonnegut

Soul growth is its own why. So is making life more bearable for people. All people. The previous two sentences are not political. They are a very human way to live if we so choose. I do. So does Kerri. The artist’s way. It’s why I believe to my core that all people – at their core – are artists. If only more people would listen to their cores!

“There is love enough in this world for everybody, if people will just look.” ~ Kurt Vonnegut

I mean, seriously! Who better to aspire to become in my latent maturity than Kurt Vonnegut?

AS IT IS on the album AS IT IS © 2004 Kerri Sherwood

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Keeping Vigil [David’s blog on KS Friday]

I’ve read that mourning doves are “strongly monogamous and often mate for life.” I’ve also read that, when one of the pair dies, “The survivor often sits in a nearby tree or roof and coos repeatedly, calling for a partner that will not answer.”

Lately, each afternoon, the mourning dove arrives to hold its vigil. It sits on the same wire in the same spot. Each day we watch for it and when it arrives, we hold vigil with it. We watch. We know that its partner will not appear. We wait for it to know. It is silent.

“It’s so sad,” Kerri whispers. I nod.

This dove reminds me of the last time I saw my great-aunt Dorothy. Del had died suddenly and she was heartbroken. It was the first and only time I saw this powerful mountain woman wearing a dress. Emerald green. I almost did not recognize her. As a boy I’d followed her up mountains, unable to keep up. In her grief she was barely standing. She passed a few months later; a broken heart.

I had my annual physical yesterday. The doctor asked me if I had a will. Then, she asked if there was someone who knew my wishes. I thought of Kerri waiting for me in the reception area. I answered easily, “Yes.” For a moment I was overcome with gratitude; I have not always been able to answer, “Yes,” so I repeated my answer, “Yes.”

Yes.

Sitting on the examination table, I shifted my weight, the paper crinkled. I thought of the mourning dove, the weight of grief sitting on the wire. Dorothy. Loneliness. Heart break. Gratitude. Kerri waiting for me. The paper crinkled. The doctor listened to my heart.

Today, the mourning dove did not return. We held our vigil for it none-the-less.

WRITTEN IN YOUR LIFE on the album AS SURE AS THE SUN © 2002 Kerri Sherwood

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Just A Few Feet [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Lessons from the garden, vol. 1, episode 11. Title: Every Plant Has It’s Place.

When you buy a plant the little tag stuck into the soil offers location advice and watering preferences. Sun part shade. Full sun. Keep soil damp. Water only when soil is dry. And, as helpful as the information is, it is generic at best. I’ve learned that plants are like people: thriving is based on individual preference. Not all sun-part-shade locations are the same.

For instance, we have a pot of Impatiens that was in the perfect spot according to its tag. 48 hours after coming home with us it was sad indeed. We moved it 3 feet to the left to a spot where it would have 6 more minutes of shade each day and a better view of the tomatoes and it boomed. It sings arias. It is a boastful Impatiens daily testing the limitations of its pot. Such a small change for such a mighty response.

I’ve already reported about moving of the very-depressed-sweet-potato-vine from the ladder to Barney-the-piano and how it perked up immediately. Last season the sweet potato vine adored the ladder but this sad character was not happy with its locale. The move to Barney was balm to its Gilead. The amount of sun-to-shade is the same, the amount of water has not changed. Only the view is different. And, I suppose, it sits on top of Barney’s lid as opposed to being suspended from a rung. Perhaps, like me, this sweet potato vine was afraid of heights? No matter. Now it is happy and wrapping Barney in vines of sweet potato love.

The sweet potato vine move left an empty space on the ladder. It was late in the season and we found an almost dying fern at the nursery. Half price. They wanted to sell it before it was in full demise. We brought it home, used shower curtain hooks to suspend it from the ladder. Attended to its obvious need and the next day it was radiant. It simply needed a new location called “home” and a bit of personal attention.

I learned the same lesson when I was working with the schools. Not all kids are desk-sitters. Kinesthetic kids need the freedom to move or to run a lesson through their fingers. For them, a desk is despair. Simply standing up and stretching their limbs transformed frustration into happy exploration.

I learned the same lesson in the theatre. The best stagemangers I worked with were previously unhappy actors. A simple move a few feet across an imaginary line made all the difference. Plus, they learned early in their new location/identity that the snacks are much better at the tech table.

Like their human counterparts, every plant has its place. The solution to the droop need not be dramatic or complicated. Thriving might be just a few feet away.

NURTURE ME on the album RELEASED FROM THE HEART © 1995 Kerri Sherwood

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

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Go To The River [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Siddhartha finds illumination sitting by the river. He realizes that it never stops moving. No two moments are the same. Just like life.

Narcissus and Goldmund seek the same thing. Illumination. One studies from the confines of a monastery. The other goes into the world and makes a mess of things. Which one do you suppose finds what he seeks?

I did not grow up around great bodies of water. I know the mountains so they do not intimidate me. The-lake-that-looks-like-an-ocean, on the other hand, is daunting. Alien. Each day we walk the path by the lake and I am taken by the mystery. I admire the sailors who seem so at home, so at peace and in their element, sailing on the mystery-water. I wonder if the power of the mountain seems unforgiving to them.

My dear Endless Enigma texted. His daughter is getting married. His son has already married but I could tell from his note that, for a dad, this passage is different. A father does not give his son away. Why is that? In our tradition, a father walks his daughter down the aisle to join her hands with her soon-to-be-husband. It is a ritual. He gives her away. For the father, the marriage of a daughter is a letting go. Has it always been this way with sons and daughters?

This water runs deep.

I cannot help but ask questions of tradition. For me, questioning tradition seems to be a tradition. It is perhaps why in my past life I needed to stir the pot. I needed to run at the edges and jump.

Time keeps moving.

Sometimes I wonder: did really I have a plan for my life? How did the path I walked compare with the clean-penciled-plan I once scribbled in the notebook? Have I at long last let go of my plan or am I making it up as I go?

I have at the very least learned that I control almost nothing. The river is so much bigger than I am.

I now see that I spent an inordinate amount of time swimming against the river. That was exhausting. I have discovered that it is so much better to give over and let the river carry me. Saul-the-Tai-Chi-master used to say, “Let the energy move you.” Kerri says, “Gear down”.

I do not really understand Narcissus and a life of study in a monastery. Goldmund, on the other hand, I know like the back of my hand. One can study the river from a book or one can go to the river.

ADRIFT on the album BLUEPRINT FOR MY SOUL © 1995 Kerri Sherwood

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