Sing A Love Song [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“Watch for all that beauty reflecting from you and sing a love song to your existence.” ~ Rumi

Deep in the night the thunder rumbled and shook the house. The rain came in buckets and reached through the open window. She leapt out of slumber to close it and then retreated beneath the blankets. She was almost as quickly fast asleep. A leap both ways. I counted the space between the flash and the boom. One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand…Sky’s grumble.

Needless to say, I was awake and on a mind-wander. I remembered students who were invested in the belief that something was wrong with them. Young artists and visionaries desiring to fit in. When young, it’s hard not being one-of-the-crowd. My job at the time, I now believe, was to help them recognize that they were unique in all the world. To flip their perspective. To love in themselves that which made them stand out, that which they feared and rejected.

I understood them because I had walked their path. At this age, I continue to walk the path.

In my mind-wander I reviewed my day. Once, I thought a love song to my existence was somehow a product of achievement. I’m no longer confused about that. Twice today, the dogga came to find me and I was moved to tears. Kerri and I sat on the deck watching the cardinals and she took my hand and I knew to my core that I was the luckiest man alive. She showed me the photo of a daisy drinking in the sun. I am surrounded by generosity and friendship. Rob sends a daily pun in an attempt to keep our spirits high. Dan brought a plastic bin with all the fixings for Southern Comfort Old-Fashioneds – and seed for our lawn because he had extra.

Watch for the beauty.

The lightning flashed. The sky rumbled. I reveled in the sounds of my love song, marveled at my existence.

In A Split Second/As Sure As The Sun © 2002 Kerri Sherwood

Grateful/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 THE DAISY

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Then And Now [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Then and now.

The moment we knew we were going to Aspen, we looked at each other and said, “John Denver Sanctuary”. It is a special place. A place of peace and quiet in an angry noisy world.

We first visited The Sanctuary In 2016, the year after we were married. John Denver has always been an inspiration to Kerri. Simple. Straight forward. Positive. A bard who dreamed of a better world. In music. We found the monument stone that carried his lyrics to Annie’s Song, – a special wedding song for us -crawled onto the stone and Kirsten took our picture. That was then.

Nearly a decade later, a wedding brought us back to Aspen and to The Sanctuary. In the middle of May we walked the paths and stepped over the streams all by ourselves. No one else was there. We found Annie’s Song, set the timer on the camera, and scurried to the stone to get into the frame. Now.

We lingered there, talking of all that had happened in the decade between the two photos. So many stories! So much life! Who we were then. Who we are now. Who we are becoming.

And, as is always the case, remembering that the sanctuary isn’t just a place, it is also a way of being. We always have the option of bringing the sanctuary with us – being it. That’s what we hope for our becoming. In our artistry. It’s what we’ve always hoped for – then and now.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE SANCTUARY

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Coming Home [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Eleven years ago today, on a Monday, I was flying through Chicago en route to a job, but had scheduled a two day lay over to meet a woman named Kerri. We’d been writing daily emails to each other, an ongoing exchange that sprouted spontaneously six months earlier. During the flight I cautioned myself to have no expectations, to make no assumptions. And then I stepped off the plane…

It’s almost impossible to describe what happened over the following two days. I’ve written about how we laughed, held hands, and skipped out of the airport. I’ve told the story of climbing out the second story window onto the roof, wrapping in blankets against the cold, and sipping wine. Later, sitting before a fire, she read a short book that she’d written – a life chapter that she needed me to hear. She played her piano for me and I was stunned by the full-force-of-nature that came through this diminutive woman. That first night disappeared in a conversation that felt like a few moments; we were literally surprised by the birdsong announcing the dawn. What followed made day #1 seem like a warm-up band for the main event.

Kismet. When attempting to describe our first meeting I’ve used the word ‘mystical’ which is a word that I do not use lightly. It’s the only word that comes close to describing the 48 hours between my flights.

And, so, an anniversary: today is the day, after a lifetime of wandering, I felt for the very first time that I was finally coming home.

read Kerri’s blogpost about MAY 13th

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NoDoubtAboutIt [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

If a picture is worth a thousand words, take a look at our website box below. NoDoubtAboutIt. None at all.

Happy Mother’s Day.

read Kerri’s blogpost about MOTHER’S DAY

smack-dab © 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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Drink It Up [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Although they are rare, yesterday we had what Kerri calls “a very negative day”. It was so pronounced that while out on the trail we made fun of ourselves, “What else can we be negative about?” she chirped.

“I don’t know but I’m sure there’s something!”

As usual, following a very negative day, I was awake most of the night having a chat with myself. “What was that about?” I asked. A question, I know, with no answer. Some days simply go off the rails. Still, the question has to be asked.

What I appreciate about my particular orientation to the world is that, instead of an answer, I never arrive at answers, a song floated to the top. Something better than an answer. Something more immense than a solution. A heart-call rather than a mind-pleaser. Like a poem. Last night, the deep response to my discord, was Danny’s Song, by Jim Messina:

Love the girl who holds the world in a paper cup
Drink it up
Love her and she’ll bring you luck
And if you find she helps your mind
Better take her home, home, yeah
Don’t you live alone
Try to earn what lovers own

I lay in bed through the dawn, listening to the birds awake and sing, the chimes call me to presence, feeling the cool morning breeze through the windows, knowing in my bones that I have absolutely nothing to complain about. Not really.

And even though we ain’t got money
I’m so in love with you, honey
And everything will bring a chain of love, oh, oh, oh
In the morning, when I rise
You bring a tear of joy to my eyes
And tell me everything is gonna be alright

Better than an answer: “love the girl who holds the world in a paper cup.” I do. “Drink it up.” I am. “And in the morning when I rise/ You bring a tear of joy to my eyes/ And tell me everything is gonna be alright.”

It is a new day.

read Kerri’s blog post about CHOCO-FACE

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And What If… [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

A message of encouragement. A reminder of hope. I appreciate the sentiment yet, perhaps it is too revealing of my personality or my attitude of late, my first thought was, “And what if it isn’t figureoutable?”

What of the paradoxes and mysteries of life? Why do people do what they do? War? Hate? Lie? Can we figure out how not to horde resources? Can we figure out how to live this simple-yet-central word: equality. And what about caring?

I delight in the James Webb telescope looking deep into the galaxy to help us explain… I delight in our deep dive into the genome in our pursuit of healing and body-explanations. I marvel at psychology and brain science and… We sail at the horizon on all fronts. To know what is beyond is beautifully human.

Poets help us touch the universal. Dancers imbue us with grace. More than once, knowing there is no answer, I have asked a performer, “How do you do that?” I have asked myself, “Why did I weep at that moment in the story?” I knew it was coming…

Kerri and I have our share of dilemmas. I spend the majority of my days trying to figure them out. As if my action will create a solution. Sometimes it does. I’ve figured out how to keep our 50 year old stove going. There’s a piece I need to install in the refrigerator so it stops “tinkling” on the kitchen floor. I’m certain I can figure it out.

Sometimes I have no clue. I do not know how to fix her broken wrists. I do not know how to ease her troubled heart.

I do not know what to say when Dan sighs, “I don’t like growing old.” I don’t either but I am learning that the older I grow, the greater I appreciate. It’s a sentiment I heard from the elders who preceded me but I paid little attention. I thought, when young, that there was plenty of time for appreciating.

I know that good times, just like bad times, come and go so it’s best not to hold either too tightly. Last night, on an evening that was unseasonably warm, the house blocking the gusty winds, we sat on the deck, sipped wine and watched the dogga run, the birds enjoy the birdbath, the moths swirl, the chimes play the wind, the peonies reach for the sky, the sun disappear leaving subtle pastel traces…

How can I love so much? Last night, I wanted no part in trying to figure it out.

read Kerri’s blogpost about FIGUREOUTABLE

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It’s About Time [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

What more is there to say?

read Kerri’s blogpost about LOVE MORE NOW

smack-dab © 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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

In a surprise twist, Dogga now answers to the name, “Trouble”. It could that in his old age his alter ego is ascendant.

He’s always had two distinct personalities. During the daylight hours, in constant movement, running endless circles, we call him “Crazy Boy”. At night, he is distinctly different, calm and quiet; we call him “Sweet Boy”.

I can’t recall how we discovered his alter ego. One minute he was Crazy Boy and the next he was responding to Kerri’s call, “Trouble!” We performed a specificity-check and called him other names. He rolled his eyes and refused to respond. “Here Trouble!” brought an immediate running-wag-a-wag response. “I think his name is Trouble!” she said.

“What took us so long?” I asked.

We wondered if originally Farmer Don called him Trouble, and perhaps, after 11 years, we were just discovering his real name. Farmer Don needed to find a home for him and no one wanted him because he was, unusual for an Aussie puppy, mostly black. We imagined Farmer Don saying, “You’re my little Trouble-Dog!”

These days Dogga né Trouble complains when he doesn’t get his way. He groans (like me) when he lifts himself from the floor. He snores at night. He licks the achy joints on his front legs. He is, no matter his name, our Trouble, our Crazy Boy, our Sweet Boy, our Dogga-Dog. We are infinitely richer for the daily sweet trouble that he brings us.

read Kerri’s blogpost about TROUBLE

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Tiny Hands. Precious Gift. [David’s blog on KS Friday]

We’ve been writing our blogs together for so long (323 weeks and counting) that this post has become something of a spring ritual: the first dandelion.

Among other things, the first dandelion plucks Kerri’s parental heartstrings. Nothing throws her back in time like the first dandelion of the season. She is regularly contacted by wistful parents after they first encounter her song, Fistful of Dandelions. The power of the arts.

What those wistful parents don’t know is that her song, as well as the first dandelion, fills her cup with yearning for the days when her children freely played in the fields, rolled in the grasses, and ran to her with tiny hands clutching too many yellow dandelions.

Artists do not invent – they articulate what lives in the fields beyond language. They touch what we experience but cannot quite grasp. In her song, she reaches for what parents feel but can barely endure – what she feels but can barely endure: little legs racing across a field, tiny hands holding precious a gift: the new season’s miracle-pop of brilliant yellow. “Dandelions for Momma.”

Fistful of Dandelions © 1999 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about DANDELIONS

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All The Way To The Skin [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

The fortune read, “Sprinkles of joy will shower upon you in unexpected ways.” She stared at in disbelief. It was a whispered reinforcement from an old friend. A much needed affirmation of good things to come.

For me it brought a memory: she was introducing me to Lake Geneva. We were just getting to know each other. The skies opened suddenly and dumped buckets of rain on us. We laughed and laughed, ducking into a doorway for some cover. We were soaked and giddy. Showers of joy came upon us in unexpected ways. So much joy showered us that we had to put towels on the seats of the car to protect the upholstery.

Last night, walking by the cemetery, we talked about the hillside covered in headstones. “These were people with voices and dreams and desperation. Lives.” I said. “Like us. They had just so many days on earth. These stones for me are not an abstraction.” She agreed. We must not waste our precious days lost in the weeds. Railing against the weather.

When the deluge comes, it’s best to hold hands, turn into it, and laugh. Joy may sometimes come in sprinkles but for us it usually arrives in buckets that soak us all the way to the skin.

read Kerri’s blogpost about JOY

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