Reason The Random [on Two Artists Tuesday]

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It’s cold and getting colder. Alaskans might call us namby-pambies but the wind chill is racing for -52 degrees, so I’ve decided warmth is a much more valuable commodity than pride. DogDog agrees. He’s definitely more interested in a belly-belly than his usual Rin-Tin-Tin backyard run-around fantasy. Usually when I say, “Do you want to go out?” he jumps and yips and races me to the door. A few moments ago I asked and he rolled on his back and yawned. Never underestimate the power of circumstance to influence your choices and change the arc of your day/life!

We chose this image of snow on Sedum long before we knew that the next ice age would begin today.  After last week’s big snow, Kerri called to me from the porch, pointed to the Sedum and said, “Doesn’t that look like ice pops?” Pour Kool-Aid into Tupperware molds and put them in the freezer. The popsicles, ice pops, are shaped just like the snow on the Sedum. A good treat for a hot summers day. A good image to invoke good memories. A good image to invoke even more powerful yearning for a hot summer’s day! From snow on Sedums to ice-pops to the desire for summer sun on my face! I delight in how mind works! Random associations. Color my life rich.

Right now, as I write about the randomness of life and the power of circumstance, Kerri  is sitting next to me. She’s snickering, using a Snapchat filter to send a message to her niece, Wendy.  Amidst a sudden blaring polka, she just smiled and said to her phone in an impish little voice, “Here’s what I look like with a nose ring, lipstick and pink hair!” She laughed, sent the chat and showed her new pink doppelganger to me.

Cogito, ergo sum. Yeah, right! Someone should have told Descartes that thinking has almost nothing to do with it.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about ICE POPS

 

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Play Your Part [on Two Artists Tuesday]

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It is our grocery store ritual. We wander up and down the tissue aisle and Kerri disparages the box designs. “Ugly!” she exclaims. “Who designs this stuff?!” she howls as frightened shoppers turn their carts and flee.

My role in the ritual is to suffer silently, to feign agreement. “Yes, it’s horrible,” I say. Inside, I wonder why I’ve never noticed or given any thought to the design of tissue boxes. “We should get a box cover that you like,” I suggest in ritual male fix-it-mode.

Kerri huffs in disapproval. “They should let me design the boxes!” she mutters as she rejects another design. I imagine the layers of security assigned to prevent her from gaining access to the tissue box design studio. A kind of tissue TSA. I turn away to hide my smile. This is serious stuff!

True to our ritual, on the third pass down the aisle, after each box has been considered and rejected at least twice, she pulls two from the shelf and thrusts them in my direction. “Which of these is least offensive,” she glares, making the decision mine. “Hmmmmmm,” I respond in a desperate attempt to stall. I’d be a fool to express a preference, especially since I don’t have one. I pretending to scrutinize the boxes. I stroke my beard, “I don’t know. What do you think?” I ask in ritual male-avoidance-mode.

“It doesn’t matter!” she frowns, tossing a box with a happy phrase into our basket, handing the losing dot pattern box to me. I gently place the second least offensive design back on the shelf.

“You’d think they’d design more attractive boxes,” she says, completing this ritual and heading for the laundry detergent aisle. Pushing the basket, I prepare myself for our next custom: opening bottles of fabric softener and huffing scents to find the least offensive smell.

As I roll toward this ritual assault on my sense of smell, I always think, “Well, at least the tissue ritual doesn’t give me a headache,” and I wonder how I lived so long without thinking about or at least considering the scent of fabric softener.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about TISSUE BOX DESIGN

 

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Take A Walk In The Snow [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

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I just wrote a post about global warming and then I cut it. In truth, I spent a about an hour reading and researching and cross-checking things. We’ve been measuring the ocean temperatures everyday for decades. We’ve been recording levels of human carbon emissions into the atmosphere for decades. The data is there. The science is there. The evidence is there. So, too, is the counter-narrative. A Chinese hoax? The Deep State? So much conspiracy! And, really, what does that have to do with a photograph of snow at night? Delete!

The embrace of the counter-narrative fascinates me. The committed belief in what is demonstrably false -led me to read a bit about denial psychology. Here’s the dictionary definition: “a defense mechanism in which confrontation with a personal problem or with reality is avoided by denying the existence of the problem or reality.”

So, then, I started writing a post about the denial psychology run amok these days in the USA. If you don’t know what I’m writing about then (to borrow a phrase I read today) you are either a Martian or a watcher of Fox news. I cut that post, too. I suspect you are as sick of the lazy-minded debates, entrenchment and ever-present fearmongering as I am. Even I am bored by what I wrote. Nothing new! Nothing new! And, what does that have to do with a photograph of snow? Delete!

It is not uncommon for Kerri and I to take late night walks in the snow. Especially, when it is actually snowing. There is peace. There is quiet. We hold hands and listen to the sound of our feet crunching the new snow, the whisper of wind through the trees. Peace. Quiet. Listening.

We haven’t had one of our late night walks lately. There hasn’t been any snow. A dusting here and there but that hardly qualifies. And so, we wait for the return of the snow. The return of the listening, the quiet, and perhaps, too, the return of the peace.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about SNOW ON THE LAKEFRONT

 

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snow on the lakefront ©️ 2016 kerri sherwood

Sometimes it is inconvenient to see all of life as a metaphor. Forever exercising the capacity to make the familiar strange and the strange familiar. Everything referential to something else. It’s no wonder people avoid me at parties!

A bar at the airport. Both the bar and the airport are liminal spaces. In-between places. Neither here nor there. Doesn’t this sound like the beginning of a detective story? Waiting for our flight at this gathering place of strangers, we decided to celebrate the beginning of our trip, some much-needed time off. A break from the grind. We ordered two glasses of wine. No sense jumping into space without sampling the airport’s finest red!

With multiple games of football playing all around us, awaiting the bartender to bring us our wine, Kerri asked me if I wanted to bowl. She was already placing the tiny yellow pins and blue bowling ball on the bar. Placing our wine beside the pins the bartender said, “Well, look at you!” Apparently we were not the first people to bowl at his bar.

I was first up. I rolled the ball. It hit the pins and bounced off. I caught the ball before it rolled off the bar. Now, as metaphors for my life go, this one is frighteningly accurate. Kerri cheered, “Do it again!” as if my direct-hit-with-no-result was intentional. My wife is hysterical. She pulled out her phone and set it up to record my ineffectual nature for posterity. I complied. I rolled. You can see the result. Kerri stopped recording before she howled with laughter. She packed up the pins before taking a turn. She promptly sent to video to many of our pals. “They’re going to love this!” she giggled.

Never, ever think that I do not serve a purpose on this earth, in this life.

In a world of metaphor, one pin falling is actually worse than no pins at all. It’s like a 25 cent tip or a 1 percent salary raise. Insult to injury. As Horatio would say, “Always the bridesmaid….” of course, it’s why people periodically sit with me at parties. Feeling good about yourself is often a product of relativity.

And, if all else fails, there is a healthy pour of the airport’s finest red. Have a good trip!

 

read Kerri’s blog post about BOWLING AT THE AIRPORT

 

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Park Your Potato [on Two Artists Tuesday]

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This week’s proof that life is an awesome, wacky, and a completely unpredictable affair: Someone parked their potato in the spot next to our car. There was no warning or precedent. I’ve never previously parked next to a potato or imagined that I ever would. Kerri hadn’t either.

And, this was no ordinary Idaho russet! This was the SUV of potatoes. It was very large. I wondered how many occupants could ride in such a large potato? I also wondered – since I’ve never driven a potato and, also, status symbols are generally lost on me – if this was a luxury spud or something more practical?

It’s the beginning of the holiday season so I suppose it shouldn’t have been such a surprise. I only wish I’d seen the driver. I’d have complimented their ride and asked a few of my many, many questions. What about insurance rates? Miles to the gallon? Stuff like that. I would have certainly masked my ignorance in the face of so many questions. Though, as a male, I’d have pretended that I knew quite a bit about potato rides. One can never let on that they know absolutely nothing about which they speak [you should see me talk to the mechanic! I nod my head, grunt, kick tires and everything!]

Didn’t I tell you! Wacky. Awesome. Completely unpredictable! Life.

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read Kerri’s blog post about PARKING SPUDS

 

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Land Safely [on Two Artists Tuesday]

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Two artists can get into a world of trouble. They (we) can also create our share of trouble. Our idea pile is mountainous. The word ‘reality’ requires more than a few footnotes.

If you’ve ever spent the time considering the melange (as I know you have…) you recognize that we lack the simple wisdom of knowing when to stop. In the corporate world we’d be known as constant content creators. In the mad mad realm of entrepreneurs, we’d be understood as being in a constant state of pivot. Our Two Artists designs were initially intended to be improvisational, gestural-let’s-see-where-this-goes statements. I dare you to find the bottom of that idea pool!

All of this is to say, you could leap from a very tall building and land safely – even comfortably – on the stack of pillows we’ve imagined and designed. There’s no need to test my assertion. Stay in your swivel chair. But, if you have impulse control issues, it might be a good time to buy a pillow. And I know just the place. Follow the link.

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THE LINK

 

read Kerri’s blog post about THROWING PILLOWS

 

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two artists designs/products ©️ 2018 david robinson & kerri sherwood

Look To The Odds [on Two Artists Tuesday]

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With every bizarre image comes a good story and that is certainly true of this odd affair.

A few hours after I dropped Kerri at the airport for her flight to Colorado I was cutting paper for a project. My x-acto knife wasn’t paying attention and rode up the ruler and through my left index finger. I bled so much that I decided NOT to tell Kerri. I didn’t want to worry her on her trip.

An hour later, walking around the house with my finger above my head, trying to get the bleeding to stop, a text came in from Kerri. She was cutting stems from daisies and the knife slipped. She cut a nasty gash in her left index finger. She was bleeding so much that she wanted me to know.

What are the odds? We calculated that our accidents happened within the same hour.

Our story is one of strange connectivity. We started paying attention to it when, long before we laid eyes on each other, we discovered that we had the same middle name.

What are the odds?

When we met, that first day at O’Hare International Airport, I stepped off the plane to find a woman dressed just like me (black sweater, jeans, boots,… The Truth: our closets are mostly identical – filled with blue jeans and black things though she has more variety in tops and waaaaaay more shoe choices).

What are the odds.

I won’t bore you with the now long list of weird coincidences and connectivity. Nowadays, when Kerri breaks her baby toe, as she does once a quarter, I immediately put on my steel toed boots and move slowly around the house.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about LEFT INDEX FINGERS

 

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