Ho-Ho-Ho [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Evidently the elves had a bit too much nog and crashed the Wishing Palace into a tree. They must have been flying without a license since they seem to have crashed-and-run, leaving the Palace wedged into a tree with one runner missing. Will Santa be pissed? I’m not sure. Is jolly ole St. Nick capable of being cross? I imagine the sudden loss of The Wishing Palace during an drunken-elfen-joy-ride might raise his ire. In any event, I’d love to hear the whopper the elves tell Santa to explain the crash. Ho-Ho-Ho!

On second thought, instead of fleeing the scene, I’m not sure why the elves didn’t rush into the Palace and make a wish for an immediate full-Palace-repair. I mean, what good is a Wishing Palace if the wishes made in the Palace – especially wishes made by the elves that drive it – aren’t certain to come true? At the very least they could wish to keep the wreckage a secret from Santa – at least until they sober up and figure out how to repair the damage and return the Palace to its parking spot at the North Pole.

Apollo’s son, Phaeton, took the sun-chariot out for a spin and, like the elves, it was too much for him to handle. He couldn’t control the horses. Zeus had to strike Phaeton with a lightning bolt before the lad drove the chariot into the ground, scorching the earth in the process. If Apollo could enter the Wishing Palace he’d certainly wish to go back in time so he might prevent his son from taking his fatal joy ride.

The annals of time are filled with stories of incompetence at the helm.

The current administration, like Phaeton or the elves, have the reigns of the nation and have taken it out for a wild ride. Despite their bravado, despite the tale that they spin, it is increasingly clear that they are either too full of nog to hold democracy’s course or they do not have the fortitude to drive a constitutional republic.

In either case, we will very soon find ourselves lodged in a tree or can expect a lightning bolt that will end the joy ride. We can only hope that it’s merely a runner that we lose and that the crash sobers us. We can only hope that we have the wherewithal to repair what is broken. Since wishes seem empty at this point, we can at least hope for a republican party that remembers that governance begins with communicating with the other side. The art of compromise – the epicenter of democracy – begins with coming to the table willing to discuss solutions.

In any event, it’s not much fun listening to the whoppers that the republicans are telling, the fomenting of violence and division, their dedication to flying blind by hiding the economic indicators and jobs numbers. One thing is certain: to explain the crash they’ll no-doubt blame Obama or Biden or democrats. Taking responsibility for their actions is not in their wheelhouse. They’ll crash the Palace and run amok blaming everything under the sun but themselves. In response to their grand sham, I suggest we be like Santa and meet their reckless incompetence with a sober vote and a hearty Ho-Ho-Ho!

read Kerri’s blog about THE WISHING PALACE

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Above All Else [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

“Life is strange. You arrive with nothing, spend your whole life chasing everything, and still leave with nothing. Make sure your soul gains more than your hands.” ~ unknown

As a young artist Roger often asked, “What is sufficient?” If you solely choose an artist’s path – or an artist’s path chooses you – the odds of realizing a modicum of financial prosperity are slim. An artist in the USA necessarily makes peace with chasing a different kind of wealth. Soul wealth. Yet, the question of sufficiency is important to ask since it is the thin ice that many artists – especially as they age – disappear beneath. It is impossible to live on the bottom of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs indefinitely. Perpetually struggling for food, heat, and shelter will inevitably drown the muse.

What is sufficient to keep the muse happy and fed?

Kerri came home and told me of a conversation she had with Steve. Most people – including us – want nothing more than to live a simple life. We do not need to own yachts or mansions. With the disappearance of the middle-class, the stagnation of wages, the wealth of the nation running to the top 1%…more and more people in these un-United States are sliding to the bottom of the Hierarchy of Needs. It’s one reason why there is so much anger out there. Safety is further and further out of reach for more and more people. Sufficiency is nowhere to be found.

We watched a conversation between two people who make their living on social media. Their discussion revolved around the cancer that social media has become. They explained that the algorithms sort to the extremes. The middle ground is nowhere to be found in social media conversations. Extremist views are elevated while moderate voices are minimized. In their conversation, they asked their substantial viewership to turn off their screens and go outside and sit with real people. Real connection is only possible when sitting face to face with real people – and that’s the only place where we might reclaim our common ground, our communal sufficiency, our safety – especially with those whose opinions differ from our own. Middle ground is a shared space.

Craig enticed me into a long text conversation about artistry. It made me reflect on what I believe and how many great mentors and teachers I have enjoyed. In my life I have been rich in life-guides. I still am. I told him that all of the great artists I have known – or who have been inspirations for me – have wrestled with their demons and, therefore, were fearless at asking hard questions of themselves and of others. Their hard questions, in the form of lyrics or images or dances or compositions or characters that they played…ultimately transformed their demons into teachers. They walked toward their fears and made them into something beautiful.

I lost three of my guide stars in the past few years. They created lives of sufficiency. They thrived beyond any measure that money could bring. Simple lives marked by a real connection with real people. Lives lived in conscious – and joyful – support of other people. Three rich souls who gained in their lives more than a mansion or piles of money that they would have never been able to spend. They brought people together.

The single thing that I remember about these three artists – above all else – above all that they taught me – is their abundant laughter. Isn’t that the sign of a good life well-lived? A life to emulate?

read Kerri’s blogpost about SOUL GAIN

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The Number One Need [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Recently we wrote about the ubiquitous question, “What can I do?” We-the-people are under assault by a government racing toward fascism and often find ourselves frozen in disbelief. John Pavlovitz’s answer to the question is to look local. Find a local need and fill it. A million small acts of kindness and support add up to a tsunami of good will across our injured landscape. It’s the Butterfly Effect.

It is also important to look nationally. Though we’re not hearing about it in the mainstream media, the Supremes are poised to strike a death-blow to democracy. They are hearing arguments to strike down Section 2 of the Voting Rights Act which prohibits racial discrimination in voting. It is, as Mark Elias says, “A Five Alarm Fire” for our democracy.

On the list of needs, raising awareness of the importance of this assault on voters rights is urgent. It, too, is the Butterfly Effect. Erase protections from racial discrimination in voting and there will be no constitutional prohibition on the republican gerrymander. A tsunami of republican political manipulations will sweep across our land and essentially end free and fair elections for all of us. Pushing back, protesting, ringing the alarm on this assault on minority voter protection…is utmost on the list of needs.

The republicans are attempting to push through their SAVE ACT that places limits on voting rights. The repeal of The Voting Rights Act would essentially be the nail in democracy’s coffin.

Number one on our national list of needs: a republican party that actually believes in democracy. They work to restrict voter access to free and fair elections while openly scheming to rig elections so they will forever remain in power.

Perhaps the number one need is mainstream news sources that actually report the news. Where-oh-where has the free press gone?

With a corrupt Supreme court doing the bidding of the wanna-be-king that they made, with a goosestepping republican congress and a largely AWOL democratic congress, it seems that the buck stops with us. A million tiny actions, like ringing the alarm or taking to the streets…can lead to very large consequences. After all, democracy, a government of, by, and for the people is, in practice, The Butterfly Effect. Every single individual act – every individual vote in a free and fair election -when combined with millions of votes – can send a tsunami of good will across our injured land. But first we have to actively protect the integrity of our right to vote from a deeply rotten Supreme Court and a republican party that serves a corrupt man rather than the oath they swore to our Constitution.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE LIST OF NEEDS

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What’s In A Name? [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

When at long last the humidity and heat broke, when the evening air was cool, we took a slow walk along the lake. It was a reprieve from the heavy air that seemed to me a metaphor for the state of the nation. Oppressive. Incessant.

Walking is for us an act of re-balancing. When it is “all too much” we walk to re-enter the present moment. For me in particular, walking gets-me-out-of-my-head or at the very least slows the pace of thought to something graspable. These past many weeks we’ve rarely walked. The heat and humidity was too much.

As Kerri took photos of the pastel sky, I breathed in the cool evening air, breezes from off the lake, and I thought of The Crucible.

Arthur Miller’s play, The Crucible, was written during the hysteria of the McCarthy era. At the end of the play, John Proctor has a choice, to sign his name to a lie, or to be executed. Wrestling with the untenable choice, he ultimately cannot bring himself to sign away his name:

“Because it is my name! Because I cannot have another in my life! Because I lie and sign myself to lies! Because I am not worth the dust on the feet of them that hang! How may I live without my name? I have given you my soul; leave me my name!'”

He could not live with himself if he signed his name to a lie that was being used to justify the murder of his neighbors and friends.

It is a play as relevant today as in 1953 when it was written. Joseph McCarthy eventually lost all credibility – he lost his name – when much of what he claimed was proved to be false.

Call it witchcraft. Call it communist hysteria. Call it woke socialism…Every single horror enacted in the past several months is built upon a lie. There is no national emergency at our borders. The crime in Washington D.C is at a 30 year low. The voter fraud in the United States is statistically zero. Mail in ballots are among the securest ways to vote. There was no emergency necessitating the president to take away congress’ power of the tariff. The 2020 election was not stolen. Democrats are not rabid socialists attempting to ruin the nation. “Waste, abuse and fraud” was – and is – a straw man for gutting our government and our standing in the world.

It’s all a lie just as McCarthyism and the communist hysteria was a lie perpetuated to justify political repression and a power grab.

It is bracing that so many willingly sign their names to the lies that are now being used to justify the murder and abuse of our neighbors and friends – here and abroad. Looking at the pastel sky, grateful for the return of the cool, I wondered how long it will be before the heavy lie catches up with those so eager to sign away their names.

It always catches up. Lies collapse on themselves: they eventually turn and feed upon the very people who perpetuate them. Just ask Rudy Giuliani. Witness what he did with his name. The only question is how many people of integrity, how many John Proctors or Kilmar Abrego Garcias will be disappeared, how many decent people will be vilified, their good names smeared and erased, before the heat breaks, before the manufactured hysteria retreats, before cooler heads and competent minds reclaim the democratic ideals and the power of the nation?

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE PASTEL SKY

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More Than A Little Hippie [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

If conformity is what you seek, you need look no further than the Texas republicans – or republicans from any corner of the union. However, their lock-step compliance has nothing to do with the rule of law or adherence to standards or traditions – or any other conservative value; it has everything to do with obeisance to one bully-man. They bow low. Although they swagger and loudly proclaim their cowboy culture of independence, in action, they grovel in abject subservience.

Stephen Miller called protesters in Washington DC “aging hippies” and suggested that they go home and take a nap. It made me laugh; those aging hippies, exercising their first amendment right to protest, were refusing to grovel in the face of an authoritarian takeover. Unlike the swaggering-yet-toothless republicans, the aging hippies are resisting the militarized takeover of their city by the dictator-wanna-be. Those aging hippies are upholding a longstanding American tradition of protesting; they demonstrate to protect our freedoms from a lawless leader. They are standing up with courage and dignity.

Dignity and courage: two values – among many – that the toady republicans have apparently abdicated.

You know the world is upside-down when the cowboy-hat-wearing-guys-in-traditional-suits mewl and betray every single bedrock value that this nation holds dear, while the aging hippies stand tall and take to the streets to protect democracy. When the once unconventional hippies stand as the last firewall of democracy against those who claim to be conservative yet crumble and pule while working to make fascism the convention of the land.

There’s more than a little hippie in the original fighting spirit of this nation. By Stephen Miller’s definition, George Washington was a hippie. Abraham Lincoln was a hippie. Frederick Douglass was a hippie. Elizabeth Cady Stanton was a hippie. Every soldier who has ever fought for our democracy was a hippie. Every person who marched for civil rights was a hippie. Martin Luther King Jr. was a hippie.

A message to Stephen Miller and his fellow whining republican sycophants: no one – especially we hippies – and there millions of us – are about to go home and take a nap.

read Kerri’s blogpost about HIPPIES

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The Welcome Stone [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

“There is no greater remedy for helplessness than helping someone else, no greater salve for sorrow than according gladness to another.” ~ Maria Popova, The Marginalian, August 3, 2025

“We are due for a win,” I said.

She said, “You can stack up the losses and focus on that or you can recognize that we are winning all the time.” She began to list the many, many, many bounties that we experience each and every day. I laughed. A teacher teaching me one of my favorite lessons to teach: One of the most potent choices we enjoy is where we place our focus. The bounties comprise a mighty stack.

She climbed on the rocks to catch a photo of the waves crashing. The lake was lively and sending waves toward shore like an ocean. Her photo captured a surprise pictograph. “Hi.”

“Oh. Hello,” I said to the picture of the pictograph greeting.

“I don’t agree with spray painting the rocks,” she said, and added, “But this made me smile.” Me, too. It evoked a chuckle.

I imagined some distant future archaeologist discovering the “Hi” on the rock. A sign left by the ancients. The team of researchers will decode the marks and marvel. They will discuss the meaning of the scrawl left on the rock. Perhaps this spot was once the portal to an ancient city? Papers will be published. It will become known as The Welcome Stone. People will travel miles to see it. They will buy tickets and speculate.

It will live as a reinforcement of the message deciphered on a large statue discovered with a similar sentiment: Give us your tired, your poor…

“Who were these people?” they will ask.

It amused me to imagine that they would probably never know that, at the time of the making of The Welcome Rock, we – the people – were asking ourselves the same question.

read Kerri’s blogpost about HI

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A Very Real Question [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

In the hiker/outdoor community there is a fundamental principle articulated in two similar mantras: First, “Leave no trace”. Second, “Leave it better than you found it”. Tom used to say it this way: “Take care of your own trash; don’t leave it for other people to deal with.” He was speaking about more than plastic bottles and candy bar wrappers. All variations of the theme are good rules to live by.

We are merely visitors to this planet. We do not own it or control it. Ours is to care for it and leave it better for those who follow. Ideally that is what it means to live in community: care for others, care for the environment. Consider the long and short-term impact of our actions. We are stewards.

Consciousness of impact. Acting with care and intention to “leave it better than we found it” requires a simple fundamental skill: the capacity to address what is actual, to discern between what is real and what is blind-belief.

This is what is actual:

“Ten of the eleven U.S. recessions between 1953 and 2020 began under Republican presidents. Of these, the most statistically significant differences are in real GDP growth, unemployment rate change, stock market annual return, and job creation rate.” Wikipedia: US Economic Performance by Presidential Party.

The operative word in the wiki post is “real”. Real numbers. Real growth. Real job creation. Real science.

Our current leadership (I use the term loosely) on every front is waging a war against what is real. It is the reason US Bureau of Labor Statistics (BLS) commissioner Erika McEntarfer was just fired; she reported real employment numbers and the sitting republican president, rather than deal with the actual impact of his real policy failures, killed the messenger.

With stock market losses, free-falling jobs creation rate, a shrinking economy, a historic shift of wealth from the poorest to the already morbidly wealthy, the tariff tsunami about to hit…in only six months the bustling economy that the republicans inherited from the previous democratic president, called the Envy of the World, is rapidly disintegrating.

In the real world it would seem prudent to buckle up for yet another recession engineered by a republican president, eleven of twelve. This one bodes to be a whopper. It does not take long for trash to foul an ecosystem.

Not only will this republican administration not leave the nation better than they found it, in their war against what is real they seem singularly dedicated to looting it with nary a concern for those who will follow. Like all republican administrations in the past 80 years, they will leave the messy trash from their gluttonous party for others to clean up.

We are now faced with a very real and sobering question: will our democracy survive this reckless trashing?

read Kerri’s blogpost about LEAVE IT BETTER

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Sanctuary Creation [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

“I don’t think of all the misery, but of the beauty that still remains.” ~ Anne Frank

We began thinking of our backyard as a sanctuary during the early days of COVID. Since at the time sheltering in place was a necessity, why not create a space that evoked calm and inspired peace-of-mind? We planted tall grasses along the fence, hung happy lights and prayer flags, we made special seating areas and placed a table on the deck where we ate our meals, painted rocks and listened to records on a suitcase record player. We were gifted with a beautiful chime. We hung bird feeders and installed a bird bath.

Our sanctuary filled us with light and sustained us through a very dark chapter.

Now, finding ourselves once again in a very dark time – and getting darker by the day – we’ve returned to the original impulse. We are consciously reinvigorating our backyard sanctuary. We are amazed each day as the sweet potato plants spill out of their pots. Tending the herb garden grounds us and we delight that it thrives. The jalapeño harvest is eye-popping. We cook each night with basil or rosemary or cilantro or parsley that we clip from our garden. The tomato plant is almost as tall as I am.

For us, sanctuary-creation is more a process of finding than a design-and-installation game. We evolve as we go. We are not flush with resources – and, thankfully, our aesthetic leans to raw wood and peeling paint – so we wander through antique stores or restore discards that, to us, look like treasure. Half the fun is in the finding. It fills our sanctuary with serendipity stories.

We stopped at our favorite antique shop to pick up a piece of old ladder. The moment we stepped out of the truck, a small garden table called out to us. It was tucked into an unlikely spot, a few yards from the chicken coop. Kerri, always the master bargainer, asked the shopkeeper, “What’ll you take for it?” We bought it for half-price and loaded the little table into the truck with the piece of old ladder.

Both are now fixtures in our haven, our safe space. The ladder is adorned with a purple sweet potato plant that is already exploding out of its pot and draping toward the lower rungs. The little table is nestled on the end of deck and looks like it was made for that particular spot. It is home – and also provides a home to a licorice plant.

“I love it,” she said. Me, too.

Our sanctuary once again inspires quiet. It is like a magnet that pulls our minds and hearts out of the darkness. We sit in our safe haven, breathe deeply, filling ourselves with goodness that is as big as the sky itself, alive with growing things, grasses that wave in the breezes, an aspen tree that joy-quakes, cardinals that sing to us, and is now home to a little table that called our name.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE TABLE

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What Makes Us Beautiful [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

When I tell Kerri that she is beautiful she deflects or minimizes my words. She tells me that I am biased or acts as if she didn’t hear me. She is not unique in her response. How many of us have long ago shielded ourselves against the idea that we are beautiful?

Peel back the layers.

Many years ago a student came to my office. He was sobbing. He had recently revealed to his family and peers that he was gay and their overwhelming message back to him was that he was broken and needed to be fixed. He was vulnerable in revealing his truth – his beauty – and was slapped. The message: you are ugly. In his despair he could not see that the ugliness was in how he was being treated. At some point he cried, “I just want to break something!” I thought that was a very good idea so we went outside and hurled ceramic plates at a brick wall. We laughed and laughed until he could hear the words, “You are not broken”.

What I didn’t say to him was this: They want to hammer you into compliance because they fear your difference. Fearful people are threatened by difference. They label it as ugly. Your difference is what makes you unique, beautiful and special.

Isn’t it interesting to you that we-the-people, inhabiting the most individualistic nation on the planet, buy our clothes from the same retailers, worship hallowed brands, with the express purpose of fitting in? We express our individuality, judge our beauty, by conforming to a fashion image.

It is one of the reasons why Kerri cannot possibly allow my admiration of her beauty. She doesn’t fit the magazine-model-ideal. She is a blue-jeans-and-boots wearing, black thermal shirt girl (thank god!). It creates a split. On the one hand, she is an artist, a woman wrapped in difference who easily lives on the margins so she can more clearly see and reflect the society in her music, writing, and photographs. On the other hand, she cannot allow the notion that her difference is the very thing that reveals her beauty. She doesn’t fit the norm. She doesn’t match the magazine ideal or wear the right brands. She compares herself to those who do so she can’t possibly allow that she is uniquely beautiful.

It’s a lot of pressure, this need to fit in. In fact, it is a basic survival instinct to a herd animal like a human being. That is the real beauty, the magic of these United States. It is a society that, at it’s best, when it is in its right mind, strives to create the inclusion of difference, intends to celebrate the unique, make a safe home for diversity, a safe place for all to worship as they choose, love who they choose. In the ideal, difference – sometimes called “freedom” – is protected equally for all under the law.

We wrestle with the split. We need to remember that we are unique in the history of the world. We are a democracy comprised of people from all over this gloriously diverse planet, a nation of immigrants. This latest attempt by the morbidly fearful to scrub ourselves bland, straight and white, to bludgeon us back-in-time to some fantasy uniform past, is ugly and destructive. They would bully us into conformity, a one-size-fits-all mentality. We need only remember that our difference, our diversity, is precisely what makes these United States of America unique, beautiful and special.

This is not the time to deflect. What makes us truly beautiful is worth owning and vigorously protecting.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BEAUTIFUL

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Active Gratitude [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

I think we have it all wrong and that’s why we are now in trouble. Even in the dictionary this word, “community” gets an antiseptic scrubbing. Community is so much more than “people living in the same place,” or “people having a particular characteristic in common”. It is so much more than “a feeling of fellowship,” or “sharing common interests, attitudes, and goals.” All of those aspects are certainly important but they are superficial.

These definitions omit the soul of the communal body.

I found a startlingly simple yet profound definition of community in Martíin Prechtel’s book, Long Life, Honey In The Heart. I discovered my definition of community in his definition of “adulthood”. In his village, adulthood is not something that just happens. Adulthood is not simply a product of aging. It is not a legal definition. It is something that is learned and earned. One is not considered an adult until they embody and live each day from a real-to-the-bone understanding of mutual indebtedness.

Mutual indebtedness. People who are accountable to and for each other. People who are responsible for the well-being of their neighbors. People who know without doubt that their neighbors are accountable to them and responsible for their well-being. Reciprocal generosity.

No one walks this path alone. No one is truly independent. Everyone is reliant upon the gifts, skills and labor of others. Take a walk through a grocery store and try to try to grok how many people, how much labor and love it took to get the potatoes to the shelf. Or, if that’s too abstract, consider how many people were involved in the making of the screen you are presently using; how many generations of thought and imagination, how many hours and hours of someone else’s labor did it take for you to scroll and click? How many people all over the world did it take to mine the minerals and make the chips and manufacture and assemble the components and ship the unit across seas and over roads before you powered on and individualized your device?

Are we or are we not denying responsibility for the well-being of the people who each and everyday serve our needs? Or, as I fear, as is apparent in our current hubris, are we so deluded that we think we can exploit the lives and labor of others without the inevitable blow-back and ultimate societal collapse that “every man for himself” necessitates?

Bullies occupy playgrounds and make deals using big sticks – evidence of a childish mind. Adolescence is self-serving and simplistic.

Our current republican government’s dedicated enemy-creation and fact-free-demonization of others is the antithesis of community. It is, in fact, the intentional destruction of community.

Adulthood comes with the dawning recognition of interdependence. Mutual indebtedness. Responsibility to and for others. Labor as service. Governance as service. Artistry as service. Life as service. As the Beatles sang it, “The love you take is equal to the love you make.”

Community is an action, a verb and not a noun. It is a practice rooted in service to others. It is the adult recognition that a better world for me is only possible when I dedicate myself to the betterment of others. Well-being is a shared intention, something we owe to each other. I eat the food you grow and pick. You use the technology that I develop. We enjoy the fruits of each other’s labor. We survive and thrive because of the efforts of others. We are indebted to each other.

The soul of community is active gratitude.

“Indeed, I don’t believe you can practice love and be in community with folks without an incorporation of accountability as an ethic and a practice.” ~ Tarana Burke, Unbound

read Kerri’s blogpost about ACCOUNTABILITY

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