Keep The Embers Glowing [on Two Artists Tuesday]

If you encourage us to talk about porches of our past, we’ll tell a tale of sitting in the rocking chairs at our airbnb in the mountains of Colorado, one evening, watching the traffic go by, accidentally drinking the whole bottle of wine (at 10,000 feet), “walking” down the street to get a burger, and instead, finding ourselves at the center of what the locals called “experimental drink night.” I’m sure, to this day, they laugh at the two black-clad tourists who were too polite to turn down what came out of the bartender’s blender. We dialed 20 at 1am and too loudly told him the tale. Good friends will listen to anything that comes out of your mouth at anytime, day or night, and 20 is the best.

Last night, sitting on our airbnb porch in this North Carolina mountain town, sipping a glass of wine, watching the traffic go by, I “remembered” that night. This is our first venture out – just for us – since COVID washed over our lives. It’s become habit to plan our travel path – through an ordinary day or, in this case, miles from home – with minimal human contact as a top criteria. Watching the traffic go by, I thought about that, too. Now, we’d never stumble down the street to get a burger. We’d sit tight – as we did last night – and make ourselves a meal.

As part of our meal, we lit a few luminaria. We brought a few sacks and candles with us. I realized that we’re keeping a tradition going, however small, so that one day we’ll tell the tale of how we kept our holiday traditions alive – traditions that were once about gathering together, traditions that were meant to bring people into proximity to each other rather than carefully maintaining distance. Our tradition always includes candles. Luminaria. Fire and light. One day – someday – the light we place on the porch will include other people. For now, we keep a small flame to keep the tradition intact.

We’ve started a new tradition that I adore: pop-up dinners. We carry with us a small bistro table and two folding stools. They are lightweight and, in a moment, can appear anywhere. Last night – our last night here – they popped up on our porch. We made a special dinner, surrounded ourselves with luminaria, and watched the world go by. We greeted the people who walked by. We shouted greetings over the traffic across the street to the old guy who’s so beautifully decorated his house for the holidays. He loved our lights. We loved his. At a distance.

We keep the flame alive. We keep the embers of tradition glowing. We’ve established new variations on our adventure theme. Experimental drink night was a one-off affair. Pop-up dinners are here to stay. Be careful what tales you inspire us to tell. Someday, when we’re all together on the porch, we’ll give you an ear-full.

read Kerri’s blog post about LIGHT

Recognize The Riches [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

snowshoes with frame copy

I moved to Kenosha, Wisconsin with a truck load of paintings. Three canvases, a series I’d painted for The Portland Chamber Orchestra, were too big to fit in our house. “What will I do?” I asked Kerri. Without blinking, she said, “Let’s call Jen and Brad.”

When Kerri and I were developing our cartoon, Chicken Marsala, we needed some honest feedback. “Who will be honest with us?” I asked. The answer was immediate, “Let’s call Jen and Brad.”

When the world seems bleak, the winter too dark, the mountain too steep, the inspiration-well too dry, the wasteland too big, the one sure-fire-spirit-lifting-perspective-giver is a potluck with Jen and Brad.

When the adventure needs sharing, the mischief demands conspirators, the escapade requires companions, we can count on Jen and Brad for a hearty “Let’s do it!”

And so, it was no surprise that for Kerri’s inaugural stomp on snowshoes that our trek was with Jen and Brad.  For a few moments as I followed behind, listening to the laughter and conversation, the curiosity and questions, I was completely overwhelmed by the enormity of friendship.  There is nothing better in life than these two people; they make us rich beyond measure.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about SNOWSHOES

 

snowshoeing website box copy

 

snowshoes ©️ 2019 kerri sherwood & david robinson