Love Is. [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

I’ve decided love is like the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle. The more we try to nail it down, the less we actually know about it. We know it when we feel it yet it is impossible to describe. If we know its location we cannot fathom its momentum. And vice versa. Poets and priests have been trying to wrap their fingers around it for centuries to no avail:

“All we need is love,” ~ The Beatles

“Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude…” ~ 1 Corinthians 13: 4-7

If you want to jump down an bottomless rabbit hole, consider the religious views on love as articulated by the world’s many, many, many religions. As a boy I read and reread a thick book on comparative religions. It was my dad’s from a course he took in college. It left me with the impression that the more the religious try to lay claim to love the further away from it they travel. Carl Jung famously wrote, “One of the main functions of organized religion is to protect people against a direct experience of God.”

It does seem to me – especially now – that people not only seek protection against a direct experience of love but actively erect fortresses against it. The word “love” is often used to justify its opposite. For instance, the “love” of country is currently the go-to rationalization for the brutal rejection of others. Hurting others has nothing to do with love of country or love in any sense of the word.

The more we try to nail it down, the less we actually know about it. The more rules and laws passed to define it, the more “moral authority” is proclaimed to own it, the more the bible – or any religious text – is used to parse it…the less love is actually understood.

The message painted on the window read, “Love is. Love.” It’s not so complicated. Not really. Love is. It has no opposite. That’s what makes it so hard to grasp. There is no separation, no capacity for comparison, no black-and-white, no division from love that is not manufactured. Love is all inclusive. No law can slice it. No poet can contain it. No priest can claim it.

Love is. The rest – what we do with it – is of our own making.

read Kerri’s blogpost about LOVE

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Hearts In The Sky [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Today we light a candle for Beaky. Today marks ten years since she passed. When looking for the right photo for this observance day in the Melange, Kerri thought this one was perfect. A heart in the sky. Since Kerri and I met late in life, I only knew Beaky for 18 months though I feel as if I knew her for years. She was a warm, bright light. On more than one occasion, even while in great pain, I watched her uplift the spirits of her caregivers. The patient healing the healers.

She gave me essential lessons in being human. She could have taught our present world a thing or two about kindness, about what really matters; about creating a better world.

Although I never met him, I sometimes have conversations with Kerri’s dad. He was quite the handyman. I am not. When faced with a home repair that seems out of my league I regularly say, “Okay, Pa. Give me a clue.” To date he has never failed me. I’ve fixed the washing machine, the stove, the refrigerator, broken chairs and a table; I’ve plugged a hole in the wall, stopping a flood in the basement. Mostly, his clues are cautions to slow down. He reminds me that I can do anything if I take my time and do not rush. I do, however, have one small gripe with Pa’s advice-giving: when I am in the doghouse with Kerri and in desperate need of a repair, when slowing down seems dangerous, he is noticeably silent. I imagine him laughing, his silence saying, “I’m staying out of this one.”

We spent the past few days cutting back the grasses, raking the leaves, cleaning up the yard, replanting the front garden, repairing and filling the pond. Not only were we taking care of our sanctuary-home but I felt as if we were preparing for this day of remembrance. Cleaning out the old. Opening space for the new.

The work brought to mind a sweet memory: in college, my work-study sent me to the rose garden to help Brother Patrick tend the gardens. He was a quiet man, a gentle soul in the twilight of his years. The day was New Mexico bright and warm. I followed along behind him, digging a hole when he needed one dug, gathering the leaves and branches from his pruning. There was no rush, no thought of “getting it done”. He worked to enjoy the work and when I fell into his ethic, when I let go of the idea of working for achievement, he looked at me with bright eyes, as if there was nothing better on earth to be doing at that moment, and said, “This is good for the heart and good for the soul.”

Lighting a candle for Beaky. Communing with Pa. A moment of appreciation for Brother Patrick. I am filled with gratitude for the life lessons that continue to come from my very wise elders. Hearts in the sky.

read Kerri’s blogpost about HEART IN THE SKY.

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It Is Something [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Dogga yawned, stretched and rolled accidentally off the bed. He landed on his back and we knew he was hurt. All the news of the day, the stresses of our life, our list of to-do’s…flew out the window. Nothing else mattered but to care for our aging, crazy Aussie pup.

20 needs to have a surgery that requires a lengthy recovery. We are his support team. When we found out, everything on the calendar was instantly less important and was easily erased. Nothing else mattered.

This summer Craig will headline both Milwaukee and Chicago Pride. Nothing on earth will stop us from being in the audience. Kerri and I have both performed – we are artists, performers – we know to our bones the power of family support. We also know the hole created by the absence of family support.

Priority. It is instantly recognizable when necessity pierces foggy self-importance. Love is the light that instantly dissipates the fog. A truly undefinable word. Love. But isn’t it immediately recognizable? Beyond debate?

I marvel at how much of my time on this earth has been consumed by the pursuit of what I might achieve. Somewhere out there. While, all along, the only thing I’ve ever actually needed was – and is – immediately recognizable, always here, when circumstance shakes me from my hazy focus, when necessity peels back the superficial and exposes the essential.

I can bring nothing more potent than my presence. My love. My attention. And, presence, love – I am learning – is not something I attain or get. It is not a pursuit. It is something I offer. A helping hand. A hug when there is hurt. A cheering witness to courage (as all true artistry is frighteningly vulnerable).

It is something that has always been there, something that will just be there. Always.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE SKY

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The Many, Many Things [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Although I see signs of spring everywhere, it wasn’t official until we received a text from The Grass King that the reality of the earth’s orbit set in. He’s monitoring the ground temperature and will let us know when it’s the perfect time to seed and fertilize. Like all of the plants, we yearn for some time in the sun.

For her birthday six years ago I gave her a paint bucket containing 60 slips of paper: 60 things I love about her. There were – and are – many more than 60 things so I had to edit. A few years after the bucket, among other things, I gave her a piano tuning. She has yet to cash in the tuning but I have hope that this is the year. True confession: my gift of tuning was selfish since I love to hear her play. Broken wrists et. al. has made those opportunities few and far between but I see signs…This truly may be the year.

Today she completes another lap around the sun. It’s her birthday. Dogga and I will spoil her to the degree that she allows (she generally resists being coddled). The day promises to be beautiful so we will take a nice walk. Perhaps a small adventure will beckon. 20 will come for dinner so there will be abundant food and laughter. Our celebrations are mostly low key – rather than fill them with events we tend to clear the space and follow our hearts.

13 years ago I followed my heart and stepped off an airplane to meet in-person this woman named Kerri. I’m so glad I did. Now, I could fill hundreds of paint buckets with slips of paper telling her of the many, many things I love about her.

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read Kerri’s blogpost about TULIPS

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After All [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

When all is said-and-done, he just wants to be by our side. Nothing makes him happier than our happiness. We are his purpose, his reason for being.

From Dogga I am learning the art of simple appreciation. I am learning that exuberance comes from the elementary. Love need not be complicated. Joy need not be complex. Each time he bounds out the door he leaps from the deck, greeting the day, as if for the first time. When I leave the house my mind is usually encumbered with a list. I assume I know what is out there. Would that I might bound out the door to greet the mystery-of-the-day with unbridled enthusiasm, each moment new.

Lately, when we attempt to go on errands, we put on his red necktie (his leash), he races toward the car, we open the car door as we always have, and he shrinks, backs up, ears down. Frightened by…something, his zeal drains. Puzzled, we lead him back to the house, take off his necktie, and leave him behind. Going on errands used to be atop his list of desires. Occasionally, we give it another try and the pattern is the same: verve until the car door opens; a retreat from the car to the safety of the house. He is an old dog now. He is also wildly empathic. I wonder if he feels the rising aggression in the world and would rather stay safely at home. I understand that. He listens to his intuition without doubt. I could learn a thing or two from his clear communication, his self-certainty.

We made 20 dinner last night for his birthday. He is Dogga’s favorite. All we need say is, “He’s comin'” and Dogga bounces with excitement and races to sit at the front door. He barks and runs circles at 20’s arrival. After dinner, with Dogga asleep at our feet, we admitted to each other that he is slowing down, showing his age. We had to stop our conversation, choking up.

When all is said-and-done, we just want him to be by our side. Nothing makes us happier than his happiness. Perhaps his lessons about love are sinking into us after all.

read Kerri’s blogpost about DOGGA SMILES

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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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Get Your Snowman [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

From his position on the raft he can look out the bedroom window and see the Dachshunds in the yard next door. He knows he’s not supposed to bark so he moans and twirls, groans and suffers, stifling his natural impulse, until a single bark escapes from his muzzle. That’s our cue to feign shock and to say with mock disapproval, “Get your snowman!” Dogga dutifully jumps from the bed and returns moments later with his snowman in his mouth.

The theory goes, with snowman in his mouth, he’s incapable of barking. It mostly works. Well, until recently, it worked like a charm. And then, our too-smart-dog discovered a technical work-around. He retrieved snowman on cue, as usual, but when he returned, he stopped just shy of the raft to show us that he’d done as he was told. Then, he dropped snowman on the floor, leaped onto the raft, and barked with abandon.

Game. Set. Match. Dogga outsmarts us. Again. Were he a sarcastic teenager we’d hide our laughter but as a gray bearded Aussie who’s spent his entire life studying our every move, we’re certain there’s no hiding anything from him. He often knows we are upset before we do. We laugh and laugh as he barks and barks at the marauding Dachshunds.

We’re not alone in being outwitted by our pooch. 20 is Dogga’s favorite human. Dogga has thoroughly trained him to drop snacks on demand from the dinner table. When Dogga begs, 20 employs a stern voice, telling Dogga to “Lay down!” and then, as if he is suddenly hypnotized by Dogga’s compliance, 20 slips a bite of dinner into Dogga’s open awaiting mouth. When we laugh at Dogga’s command over him, 20 grabs his chest, suffering mock heart-palpitations and asks, “Why do I come here?”

Rituals of laughter. Expressions of love.

Now more than ever, it’s important to remind myself each day, beyond the chaos and ill-intention swirling in the e-stream, that these are the real moments, the stuff-of-life that actually matters. The daily rite of the plastic snowman. Dogga manipulations. The tangible everyday moments to be savored and shared that make our life rich beyond measure.

(this post is my version of stuffing snowman in my mouth so I stop barking about the horror-story unfolding in our nation. Rest assured knowing that I am groaning and twirling and suffering as I stifle my natural impulse to bark – but I figured we could all use a break;-)

early work: In Dreams She Rides Wild Horses

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A Little Bit Of Light [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

The holiday around our house is like a daily treasure hunt. I never see her do it, I never catch her in the act, but each day, a bauble or bulb or ornament shows up on a windowsill or in a flower pot or hanging from a shelf in the kitchen. A little bit of light found in an unlikely place.

Today is the eve of Christ mass. It is also the eve of Hanukkhah. It is the eves-eve of Kwanzaa. A birth, the rededication of a temple of belief, a celebration of culture. Symbols and rituals of hope and renewal, showing up everywhere. A little bit of light popping up in kitchens and family rooms, places where people gather when they are seeking light and love.

A few years ago she wrote a song in what seemed to me only a minute or two. She needed another piece for a cantata she was rehearsing and couldn’t find anything that she liked. It’s called “You’re Here”. It exists only in the roughest of recordings. I caught it on my iPhone. This morning, while searching for another piece of music, we came across it and, as is true every time I hear it, I was saddened that this little bit of light is not known far and wide. A song of brokenness healed. A sunrise. A wish of hope.

I’ve posted it before – probably this time last year. But this morning, given the brokenness of our nation, the dedicated us-and-them-ness, the splintering of family, pundits and politicians fueling-rage-for-gain…I found it much more relevant now than when she wrote it.

If it is not of your faith tradition, you only need listen beneath the words to find the purity of her intention. A little bit of light found in an unlikely place.

Merry eve. Happy eves-eve.

You’re Here © 2018/2024 Kerri Sherwood

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Our Moment [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

At the top of the stairs on the second floor of our house is a bulletin board of photographs. We assembled it in 2019 when we took a job on Washington Island. We would be far away from family and friends and hoped the photo-board would help us stay connected to home. It’s funny to me now, I rarely looked at the bulletin board when we were on the island but five years later, firmly ensconced back at home, I pause on the stairs every single day and study it.

It’s the photos of my dad that stop me. In order to function on island we needed a second vehicle. My dad was no longer able to drive so he gave us his truck. The photos were taken when we flew to Colorado to get the truck. We call it Big Red. It was a blue-blue-sky day. Kerri and I were just about to begin the long drive back to Wisconsin. Kerri took some pictures of my dad and me standing next to Big Red.

He died in 2021. Those few photos are among the last I have of him. They are certainly among the last taken when he knew who I was; he was far down the road of dementia on that blue-sky Colorado day.

I stop on the stairs and study the photographs because I knew on that day that I might never see him again. I knew that his time on earth was short. I was fully and completely present with him when Kerri took the photographs. It was sublime and painful. And, I can access the fullness of his presence the moment I look at the photograph. It never fades.

I stop at the top of the stairs to hang out a few minutes with my dad but there is a greater gift in that blue-blue-sky photograph: it is a reminder that those moments happen every day. It is a reminder not to miss it, that these moments are also fleeting. Cooking meals together. The way the Dogga parading with his candy-cane-toy every time we dial the phone. Our slow cleaning out of the basement, playing Rummikube with 20, sitting under the quilt writing blog posts on a cold Wisconsin day, the chimes calling us back to this, our moment. It’s what we have. It’s precious. It’s all we have.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE NOW

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A Mutual Bond [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Among the many tiny treasures that Horatio dropped on me during our call was this: when it’s all said and done, love is paying attention.

That may not on the surface sound like an earth-shattering revelation until it’s pondered for a moment. To what or to whom do you give your attention?

Attention is something given.

Actors (and artists) mature when they understand it. The scene is never about them. It is always about the “other” and the relationship created when attention is given. In this way artistry is a potlatch, a gift-giving.

When Kerri stops on the trail, captured by something beautiful, a thistle, a pattern, a winter sky…there is palpable love in the attention she gives. I often imagine that the thistle or caterpillar first gave their attention to her. That was the call. The allure that drew her attention. That, of course, is the secret: giving attention is a magnet. It creates a mutual bond.

There is a profound power available when one learns that attention is not happenstance but intentional. A choice.

It may be the epicenter of all choices, the fundamental decision: where do you decide to place your focus? Where – or to whom – do you give your attention?

“Target what you love,” Horatio said. “Tap into the source.”

read Kerri’s blog on TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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