Barnacles And All [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.” ~ Thomas Merton

If you visited our house you’d immediately notice that Kerri’s design style is “well-worn and well-loved.” Rather than mask the wear-and-tear of age, she revels in it. Our dining room is a wonder, made beautiful by the marks left when she removed wallpaper. Rather than paint over the marks she recognized their unique beauty and showcased them. A happy accident. I stopped in my tracks the first time I walked into the dining room, asking, “How did you do that?”

I love our backdoor. The pressure of our hands on the door has overtime peeled and revealed the white underlayer beneath the black paint. It’s the story of our comings-and-goings. It is the mark of our human hands pressing on an old door that swells with the humidity and shrinks with the cold. It is our personal hand-print-petroglyph.

The beauty of age. The patterns of rust. The celebration of the flaw. Most people would scramble to cover the cracks or repair the damage. I have occasionally earned her Irish ire by repairing something she thought was aesthetically interesting. I have learned to ask.

Standing on our deck, Columbus was concerned that the exposed unsealed wood was disintegrating. “You oughta’ stain this,” he said. “It needs protecting.” I told him of the time Kerri pressure washed the deck, removing the patina of age. Even though with time the rough hewn look returned, she has yet to forgive herself for her pressure-washing-indiscretion.

“Kerri likes it this way,” I replied. “She doesn’t like the way it looks when it’s neat and stained.”

“Well I guess that’s the way it’s gotta be!” he smiled, knowingly.

Our house is an ever evolving work of art. A perfect home for two artists. Nothing matches yet everything goes together. It’s filled with visual and repurposed surprises. It is warm, sometimes a cocoon where we shut out the world and sometimes a place for our community to gather. It is the sanctuary where we have come to discover and appreciate ourselves, barnacles and all, while steadily growing into something we could never have imaged.

(I love this piece by Kerri)

Nurture Me on the album Released From The Heart © 1995 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about RUST

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The Tiniest Ray [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“Everything that is done in the world is done by hope.” ~ Martin Luther

Master Marsh tipped me over the edge. He sent a basket-load of cartoon ideas and encouraged me to draw a few. Prior to the arrival of his basket I’d been considering channeling some of my national-dismay into cartoons. Drawing them makes me laugh. Laughter fills me with hope. Hope shines a bright light into the dark age in which we find ourselves.

The gift of the current administration (I use the term loosely) and the clown car of billionaire appointees is that they lampoon themselves. It’s a confederacy of dunces so cartooning comes easy. It’s why in only a few short weeks Master Marsh was able to harvest a full basket of material.

Sometimes laughter is the only path through despair to find hope.

Charles Dickens could not have created a line-up of more despicable characters. A president and an oligarch ravaging social safety nets to give billionaires a tax cut. A Director of Homeland Security infamous for shooting her puppy in the face.

Prior to Pete Hegseth, the Secretary of Defense né fox television personality, spilling highly secret attack plans on a social media platform, my favorite evil-stupid-award was held by Howard Lutnick, the billionaire Secretary of Commerce who said, “Let’s say Social Security didn’t send out their checks this month — my mother-in-law, who’s 94, she wouldn’t call and complain,” Lutnick told All-In Podcast host Chamath Palihapitiya. “A fraudster always makes the loudest noise, screaming, yelling, and complaining.” The Secretary of Commerce must not know that, “Based on a fact sheet published by the Social Security Administration, more than 7 million Americans 65 and older receive at least 90% of their income from benefits checks.” Since they paid into Social Security their entire working lives, it’s safe to assume the fraudster and crook in the equation is the billionaire attempting to take away their Social Security.

Socrates or Plato suggested that humor is often derived from the misfortune of others. The man slips on a banana peel. The woman walks into the glass door. Laughter based on the pain of others. Humor is also invoked from shared pain. We need to laugh at our communal misfortune: a rapist, felon, liar, grifter, lover of autocrats, tv personality, dancing to Rupert Murdoch’s fiddle, is elevated to the seat of power by the mega-rich and is surrounded by Congressional apologists and Supreme Court enablers.

If we stacked the malicious stupidity manufactured in just two months, it might reach to the moon and back. It’s too easy to lampoon. Baskets and baskets full of nonsense.

There are a few signs of hope. The thousands upon thousands of people attending Bernie Sanders rallies – people who do not find malice and ignorance funny – give me hope. The very few Republicans breaking ranks with the silently-stupid-and-complicit-republican-congress give me hope. May my rough drafts bring you a smile and, perhaps, the tiniest ray of hope:

Watershed on the album AS IT IS © 2010 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about HOPE

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Naturally [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Before sleeping we usually watch thru-hikes, video journals of people walking the Pacific Crest Trail, The Continental Divide Trail, or The Appalachian Trail. The Hayduke. Early in their journey the hikers experience the unnatural aggression and excessive pace of regular life drop away and a more natural rhythm emerges.

They become different people as they begin to see other people differently. The steely individuality of their urban identity dissolves. The hikers realize that they need other people. They realize that they are dependent upon the kindness of strangers. In fact, they come to understand that without the support of others their trail-walk would be impossible to complete. They begin to rely on – to count on – kindness.

And they are rarely disappointed. The kindness that they hope for always appears. And, as they enter the reality – the necessity – of their interdependence, they more freely offer their support to strangers. They become the kindness others hope for.

Periodically the hikers come across trail angels; people who come to the trail with the sole intention of making life better for the hikers. The angels prepare food or snacks. They offer shade, a cool drink, a place to sit and rejuvenate. They give rides to town. Other angels make sure there is water available at caches across the desert. Others provide places to stay. Almost all of the trail angels were themselves hikers who were recipients of the extraordinary generosity of angels. So, they became angels for others. Naturally.

The hikers always speak fondly of the culture that exists on the trail. A culture of support. Most hikers, after they finish their months-long adventure, remark that their walk was made memorable, transformative, because of generous people they met along the way.

We watch thru-hikers because they give us hope. In a time of national darkness punctuated by ill-intention, self-serving oligarchs, the celebration of mean-spirits, cowardice…it is heartening to know that there is a community of people out there who’ve stepped into nature and out of the unnatural aggression of our nation, and what they find there – and find in themselves – is a natural reliance on others. A feedback loop of generosity. Kindness. People helping people, not for gain, but because they know the value of helping. It’s called humanity. They know that their walk in this life is made better – made more meaningful – by the dance of giving and receiving support, helping others and accepting a helping hand from others. Naturally.

Bridge on the album AS IT IS © 2004 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE TRAIL

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Our Mistake [David’s blog on KS Friday]

I was grateful for the unseasonably warm day. I needed it. Earlier in the day we positioned Adirondack chairs for maximum sun and we literally soaked it up. I felt the marrow of my bones sigh with warm pleasure. We took a very slow late afternoon hike.

It was the kind of day that beckons presence. We knew it was coming so we cleared the calendar. We purposefully lost the to-do list. As evening set in we sat on the deck while Dogga pranced around the yard. The neighbors tree glowed orange. I was so captivated by the color that I didn’t see the moon above the tree until Kerri showed me her photograph. We agreed, life does not get better than this.

Earlier in the day I’d sent Yaki an email. He’d been the conductor/music director of The Portland Chamber Orchestra for years and I saw that the company announced a new music director. It concerned me since the last time we spoke he told me of his cancer diagnosis. In my email I wished him well and hoped he was in good health.

The temperatures were dropping so we came in from the deck. I was telling Kerri about my collaborations with Yaki, what a pleasure he was to work with. She asked a question about his age so I pulled up his Wikipedia page. It showed a birth date and a death date. Yaki had passed away.

It was the kind of moment that beckons presence.

Today I grieve my friend. Grief is a great giver of perspective. It is a reminder not to make assumptions. Not much bothers me today since relative to his loss everything seems minor, insignificant.

I was supposed to do a performance with him in the spring of 2023. The script was already written but a contract snag tripped up the process. We agreed to find a future date. We both believed that there would be a future date. That was our mistake.

Isn’t it always our mistake? Passing up what life offers us today, delaying it until some imagined future date?

Today I am grateful for Yaki. And, I am so glad that yesterday Kerri and I cleared the calendar, lost the all-important to-do list, and held hands while we soaked in a rare day of sun.

My performance of The Creatures of Prometheus with the PCO, Yaki Bergman conducting. 2008
You Make A Difference © 2003 Kerri Sherwood

Kerri originally wrote this piece for breast cancer research, cancer survivorship. It generalizes to any fight against darkness: “Fight for others, even if they don’t know who you are.”

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE ORANGE TREE

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Face It [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“Reality is one of the possibilities I cannot afford to ignore.” ~ Leonard Cohen, Beautiful Losers

Given the collapsing farm markets with the annihilation of USAID, tariffs imposed on our allies, with Medicaid, Medicare, and Social Security in the DOGE crosshairs, the dedication of tax dollars to prop up crypto-currency, the Department of Education on the chopping block…the folks in my bubble ask this question each and every day: “How bad does it have to get before they realize they’ve been had?”

I, myself, have often asked this question. Today, on our trail, as we watched the sun struggle to burn through the clouds, I came to a blindingly obvious realization: consistently discarding reality is the single requirement necessary to support the despot-wannabe. Consider all that had to be ignored: rapist, felon, insurrectionist, an estimated 461,000 excess deaths from a bumbling response to the pandemic, pathological liar, twice impeached, rated among the worst presidents in our history…This is a short list of a very long, long catalogue of reality-to-disregard. In other words, the red-hats will never realize that they’ve been had because they would rather swallow a fire hose of “alternative facts” than plug into substantive reality.

I understand the desire, the hope that our family members and fox-hypnotized community members will reclaim their capacity to discern fact from fantasy but I am now convinced that we should stop waiting or hoping or investing any energy in trying to reach them. We need to stop ignoring the reality that they have no interest in fact or data or verifiable truth. They simply do not care. They simply do not want to care. To borrow a phrase from Stephen Colbert, they are so far down the “stupid hole” that no amount of rope will reach them.

We should also stop waiting for members of the Republican party to honor their oath to the Constitution. They, too, are engaged in a fantasy world of “hear no evil, see no evil.” They are studied apologists for every outrage. If rape was not a bridge-too-far, if colluding with Russia is not a deal-breaker, if the tyrannical boast about “getting things done” without the participation of Congress doesn’t set off every constitutional alarm bell in their caucus, then there is no desecration that they will not swallow, excuse or justify.

A few nights ago, in commencing his tariffs on our allies, a move that will further wreck the farm economy and our alliances, the tawny tyrant tweeted for farmers to “Have fun.”

“Of course he wrote that,” I thought. Amidst all the fun that farmers are about to have, I am certain of one reality: when they lose their farms they’ll blame Biden or Obama or the woke or the Democrats or DEI for their pain because they’ll never turn away from the fox-cult and face the fact that they’ve been had.

“Been had” is an informal idiom that means to be tricked, cheated, or deceived by someone.

reality (noun): the world or the state of things as they actually exist.

Taking Stock on the album Right Now © 2010 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about REALITY

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The Interim [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“You are in this time of the interim/ Where everything seems withheld./The path you took to get here has washed out;/ The way forward is still concealed from you.” John O’Donohue, Benedictus

Persephone has returned to the Underworld. Demeter, her mother, mourns and so the earth is cold. Nothing grows. It is the time of waiting. According to the bargain, after six months, Persephone will return to the upper world, Demeter will rejoice at the homecoming of her daughter, plants will flower, trees will bud, life will be restored.

It is not an accident that Persephone, the goddess who presides over death is also the goddess of fertility and new life. One complete cycle. It’s an archetype found in many cultures across our tiny planet.

This winter we’ve descended into a an especially dark season. With the firing of the military leadership, replaced by nincompoops loyal to a man rather than the constitution, the authoritarian takeover is nearly complete. Yesterday, by executive order, congress lost its power-of-the-purse. The last traces of democracy are being summarily scrubbed. The way forward?

History has taught us that these authoritarians are stuck in their adolescence. They have a bottomless hole where their hearts should be. They attempt to fill the the hole with sex or money or power or fame or alcohol or clothes or cars…It is a void that only maturity can satisfy. Maturity comes with the revelation that service to others rather than self-aggrandizement fills the hole. True to pattern, they will ultimately be consumed by the dark void in their chests, turning their power-lust on each other in a festival of self-destruction, perhaps taking our democracy with them.

And then Persephone will return.

We are in the interim. The path forward is unclear. Yet, it is still not too late to wrangle these child-minds into containment and return mature adults to the hill. Or, we can stay silent and let the children run the show. Lord of the Flies.

Either way, as order follows chaos, courage will reemerge. A new generation of leaders will find their moral center, value decency and join together, connected by service to the nation rather than self-interest. They will set about cleaning up the wreckage, sweeping up the mess. Persephone will return, Demeter will rejoice, life will bud, and perhaps our fragile democracy will be rekindled.

Connected on the album Released From The Heart © 1995 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about ICE

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Be Peace [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Coming over the pass, the first glimpse of the lake seemed a mirage. It beckoned.

I always travel with my sketchbook though I rarely take it out and draw. I am more of an “intuitive” artist – feeling my way forward – so the impulse to draw scenes from nature rarely occurs for me. Rather than capture images I more often write ideas or capture snippets of conversation. I capture interesting shapes. I draw images that come to mind. Like the lake, the images first appear as mirages, calling me closer.

Rooting around in my bag, my sketchbook fell open to the very first page. I was surprised by the notes I found there. I’d forgotten a conversation Kerri and I had months ago about the difference between being-at-peace and keeping-the-peace. This is a bit of my note: All my life I have tried to keep the peace – which means to keep silent – to NOT say – to not stir the pot – to be more concerned with how others feel than how I feel. Being at peace is different. It means being solidly in my center and giving voice to what’s vital for me; not swirling in circumstance like a ‘Peacekeeper’ does. And then I captured a quote from Kerri: “To be peaceful is not about keeping other people’s peace, it is keeping my own.”

Driving toward the lake I thought about what I’d written.

Peace-full means to take responsibility for how I walk and speak in the world, regardless of circumstance.

Peace is amorphous when looked at from afar; it is a mirage when it is an aspiration. In the heat of the moment, when lived, peace is a solid center, immovable like a mountain, as clear as the crystal waters of the lake.

A mantra I learned long ago rolled through my mind: Peace is not the absence of violence. It is what we do in the face of violence. It is Gandhi and MLK. It is a mass of people joining together and walking in peace toward violence, refusing to be silent, refusing to hide, refusing to become violent.

We are now living in a violent time. White supremacy is once again rearing its ugly head. The fascists have the reins. With a rapist in the white house, a cabinet unique in their lack of experience and rejection of the constitution, an oligarch dedicated to self-interest and to destroying democracy…misogyny, racism and hate are having a moment. This is no time to keep the peace. This is a time to be the peace: to join. To give voice and call out the lies. To root firmly in our shared belief in equality and tradition of the rule of law.

As JB Pritzker just wrote, “Tyranny requires your fear and your silence and your compliance. Democracy requires your courage.” It takes courage to be peace in the face of hate.

The Republicans having lost their spines, minds and their moral compass and the Democrats having lost their rudder and will-to-act, we find ourselves called to show the courage and commitment that believers in peace not-so-long-ago showed on the Edmund Pettus Bridge.

Peace is a solid center, immovable like a mountain, as clear as the crystal waters of the lake. Our democracy demands that we link arms, be peace, and take responsibility for how we walk in the world and for our democracy before it swirls down the drain.

Peace on the album As It Is © 2004 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE MIRAGE.

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Constant Companions [David’s blog on KS Friday]

It’s rapidly becoming folklore week at The Direction of Intention. I blame The Brothers Grimm for inciting a deeper dive into their collection of ancient tales. I somehow missed – or forgot – that the moral of the folk tales is to honor your commitments. Take responsibility for your actions. The stories are driven by transactions-gone-awry. The daughter makes a deal with Rumpelstiltskin: she will give him her first child if he will save her and spin straw into gold.

In another tale, The Pied Piper is hired by the people of Hamelin to save the town from an infestation of rats. He plays his magical flute leading the rats to the river where they drown. Since the town is no longer overrun with rats the leaders decide there is no reason to honor their commitment. They refuse to pay the piper. The Piper once again plays his magic flute and leads the town’s children away. The children are never to be seen again.

Honest dealing. Gratitude. Consequences of actions and choices. Morality tales are told – and have been told across cultures and generations – to instill in the young and affirm in the old the necessity of a moral center. When the moral center collapses, the consequences are far worse than imagined.

We’ve placed a coneflower sculpture in the garden. We can see it while doing dishes, looking out of our kitchen window. I’ve always loved our little coneflower but in the past month I’ve grown to appreciate it as a reminder, a daily nudge to stand closer to love than I do to fear. Coneflowers are symbols of resilience and strength.

The collapse of decency. The disregard for morality. So many toxic and ill-intended transactions swirling around us. It is only a matter of time before the Piper demands payment. Folklore meets the news of the day.

The coneflower reminds me that this too shall pass. Resilience. Out of the now-inevitable loss-of-our-children will someday arise a renewed commitment to responsibility to the common good. A moral center, after all, is nothing other than attentiveness and concern for the needs of others, and a dedication to ourselves to walk in this world with integrity decency, fairness, and an internal compass – reinforced by the stories and symbols we’ve inherited – that serve as constant companions showing us the way.

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE CONEFLOWER

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Focus [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Although it might not be immediately apparent, this is a photograph of a fork in the river. A junction of choice or perhaps, if caught in the current, a junction of chance.

Choice or chance?

We are witness to so many people selling their souls for fluffy stuff – like the retention of an elected seat. Or for fame. Or for money. People turning their backs on common decency and common sense and the common person. Their gain? More “likes” or followers or attention or control. 15 minutes of media focus. We are down the rabbit hole. The Mad Hatter, The Cheshire Cat and Tweedledum populate our current predicament.

We did not arrive here by chance.

In “Don’t Believe Him,” Ezra Klein’s brilliant encapsulation of the first two weeks of this train wreck presidency, he said, “Democracies need focus”. Chaos is the current administration’s strategy to keep us off balance and unfocused. It is an entertainment scheme, like a roller coaster or a horror movie or heroin.

We need not believe, become enthralled or distracted by a thing the Mad Hatter says or does. He is, after all, mad. Focus: this chaos masks (barely) a power grab by the executive branch.

Although he’s accumulated record-breaking wealth, The Cheshire Cat’s wisdom is sorely lacking. His agenda is personal gain. Public service is not in his purview. His agenda has nothing to do with you or with me. Focus: this is meant to neuter the legislative branch.

The Hatter and The Cat have surrounded themselves with a bevy of Tweedledums. Onomatopoeia. ‘Nuf said. Focus: no competence is necessary when demolition is the aim. The target of the demolition: our system of checks-and-balances.

As we will learn soon enough, the entertainment factor of mayhem will fade as the reality of the havoc knocks on our doors. As soon as the loss of income or benefits or services or protections or liberties becomes personal, some red-hats will no doubt rub their blurry eyes and ask, “What happened?” The rest of us will sigh and say, “You chose it.”

We will shake our heads and remind them that it was their choice to unleash the world’s richest man – at the behest of a billionaire despot – to close preschools, cut medicaid, reduce veteran services, etc., etc., etc.(it is a very lengthy list and quite deadly for many human beings here and around the world).

We did not arrive here by chance.

But that does not mean that we have no choice. The Mad Hatter squeaked the election with one of the lowest margins in our history. 90 million people – more people than voted for either candidate – chose to stay home. The pain we are experiencing – and are about to feel – is not red, blue or indifferent. Pain does not discriminate. It’s a great eye-opener. It is an even greater motivator for action and change.

We need not pretend that we are in a too-strong current getting swept into a fascist future. This is not happening by chance. We still have a choice because we have voices. Lots of voices. We are – for now – the power behind our representatives. We still have a vote. Let us hope we have the focus necessary to preserve it and use it.

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE RIVER

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Basking [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Just now, even as I write this sentence, the sun cleared the neighbor’s roof, streaming through our window onto the exact spot where I am sitting. On a cold winter day there are few simple pleasures more satisfying than turning your face to the warming sun. I am basking.

Yesterday, late in the afternoon, we took a walk, our usual loop south through the neighborhood, turning east to follow the lake north. It has been bitter cold these past weeks so it’s been awhile since we strolled at sunset. The rocks along the lake were coated in ice. They looked like bad bakery rolls covered in gooey thick frosting. The sky was electric blue, orange and purple. “Sometimes I forget,” she said, “Look where we live!”

Rob asked us to read his play. He entered it into a 10-minute-play-contest. He is a prolific playwright and I marvel at his output. It takes me many many months to complete a draft that he could produce in a weekend. His play is a husband and wife reminiscing about their life. We learn in the final moments of the play that it is their last moments on earth. An asteroid? A nuclear explosion? They know that it is coming. The wife looks out the window. The husband tries to find ways to keep her distracted and buoy her spirits. It invited a conversation as I’m sure Rob meant for it to do. In our last moments, what might we do? What would be the heart of our reminiscence?

I recently read – I can’t remember where – that love is paying attention. Giving attention. To give.

I thought of that sentiment-of-love while we chopped sweet potatoes and onions, sipping wine, preparing for dinner. We talked of the day. We gave treats to the dog. There was nowhere else I’d rather be. It was like the winter sun streaming through the window. Basking.

Taking Stock on the album Right Now © 2010 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE SUN

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