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

Until today, I’ve never been compared to a good english muffin. For that matter, I’ve never been compared to a bad english muffin. In the end, whether a good english muffin or bad, I am a festival of nooks and crannies and plan on celebrating each new addition. When you’re falling, dive!

You may have noticed an appearance change in this addition of smack-dab. Unlike me, it’s not new nooks and crannies. We are having technical difficulties at Smack-Dab International. Namely, Kerri’s computer died mid-Smack and took this week’s cartoon with it. While I was readying a post of apology for our smack-dab-hiatus, she produced this strip in record time on her ancient iPad mini! Moral of the story: while I look more and more like breakfast food, she is rapidly becoming the queen of the work-around. She never ceases to amaze me.

read Kerri’s blog post about ENGLISH MUFFINS

smack-dab © 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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

“The distinctive human problem from time immemorial has been the need to spiritualize human life, to lift it onto a special immortal plane, beyond the cycles of life and death that characterize all other organisms.” ~ Ernest Becker, The Denial of Death

We waited until the oppressive heat of the day passed to take our walk. The air was thick and still but it felt good to be outside, moving. Because the humidity teases forward every former injury, we talked about our ubiquitous aches and pains. My back. Her wrists and fingers.

Kerri stopped and said, “I get it now.” We laughed at the memory:

One day, years ago, Beaky looked in the mirror and declared, “I look like an old woman!”

Kerri said, “Momma, you’re 93! You are old.”

Beaky stared at herself in the mirror and added, “But I don’t feel old!”

“I get it now.”

As we walked we talked about feeling young in a body that hurts when it’s humid. A new experience on our path through life, a growing dissonance between body and spirit. The spirit steps a few feet away and looks back at the body, declaring, “What the heck! That’s not what I look like!” It is certainly not what I feel like.

There’s a surprising gift in the dissonance. Perhaps, like all good paradoxes, within the discord, the first real harmony of life becomes available. The “supposed-to-be” drops off. The social face is less useful and set aside. The striving to be somewhere-else-in-some-imagined-future-achievement ceases, becomes so much dust. Suddenly, the miracle of life is not somewhere else. It is found in the here-and-now. Flexing achy fingers. The evening sky made pastel by humidity.

The growing realization that this ride is limited makes it all the more precious. Grounded.

Life – spirituality – becomes uncomplicated. Unapologetic. Authentic. Spirituality that requires no cathedral or book of rules. No incense or intermediary. No searching or appealing prayer. Spirituality that is borne of the simple appreciation of the moment. Feet firmly planted on the ground. In the Buddhist tradition: joyful participation in the sorrows of the world. Here and now.

In joyful participation, holding hands with achy bodies on a humid evening, for a moment at least, we get it. We arrive at uncomplicated, unapologetic, and authentic.*

(*thanks to the Heggies Pizza truck for the post inspiration!)

read Kerri’s blogpost about UNCOMPLICATED, UNAPOLOGETIC, AND AUTHENTIC

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

This is what I am learning. It doesn’t happen all at once. It’s a slow erosion on the outside while the inside maintains a healthy denial. “One weird thing after another,” IS the process of aging. It’s not really weird; it’s a direct challenge to the delusion that IT happens to other people…not us. Not me!

“Things don’t work like they used to…” I say to myself, after trying to race across the street “like I used to”. That other part of myself, the sassy part that is always right, responds, “They’re not supposed to work like they used to. Be grateful that they work at all!” Sassy, realistic, but with little or no bedside manner. I can’t wait for THAT part of me to hit the surface. People will think I’ve grown cranky but I will know that my aging body facilitated a weakening social editor. My new-old motto: If your body is going to hurt non-stop then you might as well give the world a piece of your mind! If, then.

Of course, I can only give the world a piece of my mind because, in keeping with the theme, a piece of my mind is all that I have remaining. DAD-GUMMIT! Now, where did I put my sweater?

Jes’ kidding. I’m as healthy as a horse! Out to pasture. Nibbling on grass. Lolling in the meadow grasses…(see? Denial, denial, denial)

read Kerri’s blogpost about ACHES AND PAINS

smack-dab © 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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Never Say Never [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

Never say never.

I used to wonder how my elders could “just sit around and talk” – or not – and marvel at the appearance of the crabapple blossoms, revel at the appearance of some bird or another. “There must be something more interesting to do!” I’d say and silently huff, “I’ll never-ever just sit around and stare at stuff.”

Well.

We spent hours the other day watching the crow babies in their nest. The cardinals’ arrival always gets a rise out of use. The day the peonies bloomed was cause for celebration. Now I think, “The world would be a better place if people could just slow down long enough to notice all the miracles happening around them.”

Now I know. There is nothing more important or interesting to do than be fully present where I am.

I’m so glad that the younger version of me was so utterly wrong.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BIRD WATCHING

smack-dab © 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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What if? [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

A few months ago Horatio told me that I needed to paint. Lately I’ve been mostly writing. He suggested that it would be good for me to get back into the visual part of my brain, the part that isn’t reliant on words. Horatio is wise. This morning I went down stairs and spent some time in the studio. As is usually the case, he was right.

Weeks ago I sketched a painting on a canvas. It’s been sitting on my easel. Waiting. For today.

It took a few minutes for me to let go. Standing and staring at the sketch, I felt locked up. I grabbed a small brush which is always a signal that I am thinking too hard. I was trying to “solve” the image through a linear sequential process. I put down my little brush, opened a jar of paint, and dunked my fingers in the jar, and began to spread the red paint just like I did when I was 5 years old. I used a rag to smear and pull and shade some of the globs. I reminded myself that I didn’t need to know where I was going. In fact, I needed to “not know” where I was going and dance with the image.

After a while I stopped thinking and started responding. I sighed a deep sigh of relief. I lost track of time. I felt a wave of spaciousness roll in to my too tight mind. Energy restoration.

Horatio must have seen it in me. My grief.

It’s a question of balance. I have lately of my artistry been asking the question, “Why?” As I roll into the next phase of life I am revisiting my roots. Why did I start doing this anyway? Why, as a child, did I paint through the night. If you’d have asked the child version of me the question “Why?” I’d have answered, “Because I have to.” There was no choice. There was no “Why?” There was a driving imperative. A siren call to “What if?”

An aging Daisy. Kerri’s photograph brought to mind Tom Mck. He told me when he entered his sixties, he became invisible. He felt as if he was stepping into the prime of his creative years yet the people he’d mentored or directed or coached – the people whose careers he had informed, shaped and helped launch – the people he reached out to after retiring from his “real” job – no longer considered his artistry valid or valuable. They never told him that he was no longer viable in their eyes but he knew. They either didn’t return his calls or it was months later that he’d get a dodgy response to an inquiry or a question.

I am experiencing some of that.

Today in the studio I realized that I have been asking the wrong question. I already know why. Asking “why” is like picking up a little brush, it is to think too hard. The truth is that I’ve always known: Because I have to. The five year old version of me was not concerned with value and validity in the eyes of others. That version of me thought nothing of dipping his fingers into paint and swirling them across the page. Because it felt good. Because it felt right. This version of me – after I stopped thinking – knew just what to do. I “thought nothing” of opening the jar, dipping my fingers into the paint… What if?

My visibility or invisibility is, in fact, irrelevant. As Tom Mck drilled into me: A writer writes. A painter paints. The rest is simply out of my hands.

County Rainy Day. Underpainting the sketch with painty fingers

visit my gallery website

read Kerri’s blogpost about DANDELION

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Marking Time [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Marking time. I stood at the large window and looked at the crowd queueing to enter the concert hall. The evening promised a blast from the past, greying seniors reaching back to touch their youth, aging bodies dressed as they might have dressed 30 years ago – and loving it. Remembering. Posing for pictures. Then and now.

It was a birthday experience, a gift. The Queen tribute band – One Vision of Queen with Marc Martel. Close your eyes and you’d think you were present with Freddie Mercury, Brian May, John Deacon, Roger Taylor… It was hard not to be catapulted back to 1980. Where were you when you first heard Bohemian Rhapsody? I knew exactly. It was visceral. I remember thinking, “What’s this?”

Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality
Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see…

As time machines go, this was a great one. All the aging bodies danced and clapped, perhaps with a little less flexibility and grace but no less enthusiasm. Marking-the-time. Gratitude rippled up and down the aisles for this music that defined, informed, enriched and transported. There and back.

I see a little silhouetto of a man
Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the Fandango?

read Kerri’s blogpost about QUEEN

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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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Let The Show Begin [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

She only calls me “Schnuckums” in the cartoon. It makes me laugh every time, the nuance in this alternate-cartoon-reality of ours.

What is true in both realities is the delight I take in our fashion shows. She regularly asks my opinion about her clothes, “This or this?” Sometimes it’s about her shoes, “These or these?” It’s a riot when we are in the ladies clothing section of a store because other women stare in horror when Kerri asks my opinion – and then their mouths drop open when I actually answer with something aesthetic…style-informed…and not merely a caveman grunt.

Once, when we were shopping for new jeans, she came out of the dressing room and asked, “Do these make my butt look big?” and a women emerged from the next dressing room and said, “Girl! Big butts are in!”

Imagine my dilemma.

read Kerri’s blogpost about FASHION SHOWS

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None. Nada. [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

It’s not that we are inept or anti-tech. We are not. We are mostly savvy and can generally figure things out. When we can’t, we have a 12 year-old cultural-informant on standby who can guide us through the maze of complexity.

One of the promises of technology is to make our lives easier. Often that is true. Often it is not. I have found that being inundated in a 24/7 firehose of information with multiple competing channels, services and choices and changes and updates, password-password-do-you-remember-the-password, resets, google searches for clues, revamps and rolling technological improvements…life is not easier. Too much is too much. Too fast is too fast. And, let’s face it, much of what is out there is noise. It’s impossible to fill the belly of a 24/7 hungry ghost with brain-or-heart-nutritional substance.

We don’t watch much tv. But, when we do, we don’t want to spend an hour scanning or searching or retrieving or updating the app. I confess to fondly recalling the days of three channels, an on-and-off switch and a remote with a single button. I also like the feel of turning pages in a book and have been eye-rolled a time or two for saying it.

Here’s the bottom line: I have limited time on this earth and don’t want to lose it looking for something to watch.

read Kerri’s blogpost about CHOICES

smack-dab © 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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Amor Fati [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

A week ago there was snow. It came and went like a sacred Tibetan sand painting: between the initial pristine white blanket and its rapid disappearance, it passed through several glorious configurations. My favorite was the field of pocks sculpted by drips falling from eaves and branches. Nature is both an excellent painter and a sculptor.

An old friend sent us a message on Kerri’s birthday. “Don’t let the old woman and old man in.” We are lucky, we have young spirits and are given to exploration and play. Nevertheless, I took the message to heart, though with a subtle modification. I altered the message to eliminate the resistance. Rather than erect a fortress against aging, I want to feed the spirit in my life-sand-painting. I want to appreciate all the phases and beauty along the way as nature sculpts me. Amor fati. Love your fate. Love your face. Love your spirit and the day in which it dances.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SNOW POCKS

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