Stir It [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Kerri explained to the woman at the shop that she rarely uses things for their intended purpose. For instance, we have a collection of old coffee pots that she uses as canisters in the kitchen. The end-table beside our couch is the drawer section of an old desk. It was sawed-off when she found it. Our walls sport old window frames and screen doors. We have a stack of old suitcases that we call “special boxes”. They hold the memorabilia of our life together: programs to performances, adventure day train tickets, cards from friends…

Things used as other things. It’s the hallmark of a creative mind. It’s the joy of her creative mind.

At the time, she wasn’t sure what she was going to do with the chunk of concrete. She just knew it had to come home with us. The woman at the shop had no idea what the chunk of concrete was originally used for – and the mystery made it more attractive to Kerri. It was signed and dated on the bottom. More mystery. More attraction. “What are we going to do with it?” I asked, wondering if I could actually lift it into the truck.

“I don’t know yet,” her eyes sparkled, the imagination-wheels turning. “Something.”

“Something,” I gasped, hoisting the chunk of concrete to the tailgate of the truck. I was grateful that it was round and rolled it the rest of the way into the bed. “You are something. You will be used for something.” I sat on the tailgate, catching my breath as Kerri and the woman disappeared into the shop to look at things-used-for-other-things.

I remembered once, running a spotlight for a show, the light broke mid-performance and I fixed it between cues with a frostie cup from Wendy’s, duct tape, and the sleeve of a jacket. It’s a valuable skill in the theatre: things used as other things. Ask any prop-master. The entire art form is recognizing the multitude of potential uses inherent in the most mundane objects.

My artist group once challenged me to explore beyond of my known art form so I sculpted crows from found objects. Wood, clamps and wire hangers. I loved it. It stirred my imagination.

Stirring the imagination. It’s what I appreciate about the home Kerri creates. Nothing is what it was intended to be. Everything is a wonder and can be transformed. Even a chunk of unidentifiable concrete. After a move into the house that made me appreciate the toil involved in building the pyramids, the chunk of concrete has now met its destiny. It is a side table and sports an old-school iPod sounddock. It couldn’t be more perfect. “I love it,” she says every day.

Me, too.

read Kerri’s blogpost about the CHUNK OF CONCRETE

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buymeacoffee is anything you can imagine it to be.

Share and Renew [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

As additions-to-traditions go, the bauble-on-the-tree is a relatively recent inclusion. People have decorated their dwellings with pine boughs, a symbol of renewal and rebirth (of the light), for many, many centuries. Placing ornaments-on-trees only began in the 1800’s.

We decided this year – for reasons that reach beyond words – to bring out Beaky and Pa’s ornaments. We are minimalists mostly so in the decade of my Wisconsin life these ornaments have lived in a box in the basement. We look at them every year but have never – until now - hung them on a tree. They are glass and fragile so we worked slowly, placing them with care.

Having them with us this season has been more powerful than I imagined. Having them with us this morning is more meaningful than I thought possible. Family is with us. And, isn’t that, after all is said and done, the point of it all? Given family and chosen family. To feast our long line of belonging and celebrate our brief time on this earth together. To honor that we are, as Jean Houston wrote, “…the burning point of the ancestral ship.” To gather, adding to the rich bank of shared memory. We reach back in time with gratitude. We live forward through our children and their children and their children…

This morning we sit quietly, sipping our coffee, sharing stories, hanging out with Beaky and Pa, in our recognition and deep appreciation of this time of life’s Renewal.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BAUBLES

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buymeacoffee is…

Trance Dance [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Our son is an artist. He composes EDM – electronic dance music. The proper term is “DJ” but that doesn’t begin to describe the art form. He does more than select tunes and spin discs. He builds layer-upon-layer of sound to create new and uniquely styled pieces. A surprise weave of repetition and pounding rhythm; it is a master class of tension-and-release. Improvisation meeting intention. Storytelling in sound.

His artistry is a pure root reaching into trance traditions, ancient impulse colliding with modern technology. To me, it is an invocation of ecstatic dance, freeing human bodies of their inhibitions so they might give over to the rolling wave of music. It is an invitation to ecstasy. It invites full-body surrender allowing the music to shake free the spirit. Earplugs are the only requirement.

I love the juxtaposition, the music composed by the mother and the music composed by the son. Kerri’s piano compositions are meditative, they turn the eye inward. They slow the pace like a rich memory. She eschews vocal acrobatics preferring a simple line. Craig’s EDM compositions thump every thought from the noggin, assault the senses, accelerate the pace, tossing bodies into the movement of the moment in a fête of complexity. Both mother and son induce a type of trance; one gently, the other with ferocity.

I’ve watched him watch her play. I’ve watched her watch him play. There is wild respect both ways. On the surface it would appear that their artistry – their music – is worlds apart but, like all things, surface impressions miss the greater depth of the human spirit. There is harmony in their appreciation. There is a shared center in their impulse to make music.

I am the lucky bystander. The proud husband and father. I am in awe no matter which way I look.

figure it out/right now © 2010 kerri sherwood

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

Listen to Craig’s music here or visit his site here

read Kerri’s blogpost about EDM

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buymeacoffee is a full body ecstatic dance of appreciation for the artists who get you there;-)

Welcome Jacob [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

For reasons that I cannot explain – even to myself, these Honeysuckle berries bring Jacob Marley to mind. Ebenezer Scrooge’s deceased business partner, “…doomed to wander without rest or peace, incessant torture and remorse!” Jacob’s ghost visits Ebenezer in the dark of night to issue a warning. “BUSINESS?” Mankind was my business!” (sound effect: irate ghost rattling chains)

We know the rest of A Christmas Carol story. After a long night of life review and literal soul-searching, Ebenezer changes his miserly ways.

This season is rife with ghosts of the past. It’s the brilliance of Dicken’s Carol. We sat at the table and told stories of Christmas past which made us yearn for those loved ones we’ve lost along the way. We revisited childhood. Kerri told me of being a young parent and planning the magic of the season for her children (now our grown children).

We talked with 20 who said, “I’m becoming my dad!” More and more jaded by the rampant commercialism, he’s finding it hard, like Ebenezer – like his father, to reach into the deeper meaning of solstice, return of the light and the hope of renewal. I understand. I’ve spent more than one holiday season repulsed by the Walmart stampede. My revulsion has always driven me to quiet walks in nature. A deeper appreciation of dinner with my friends.

If I could give one gift to the world this season, it would be a visit from Jacob Marley. “Stop messing around!” he’d rattle his chains and roar, “YOU’RE FOCUSING ON THE WRONG STUFF!” Humankind is our business.

This year, I’m especially moved and delighted by the ghosts that are visiting. For the first time we’ve hung Beaky and Pa’s ornaments on our living room branch. They are here. I can hear Columbus’ laughter. My heart aches for old friends, just as it should. Most nights, to finish the day, we turn off the all the lights except the “happy lights” on our many branches and e.e., our holiday tree. We sit in silence and appreciation, welcoming the ghosts to visit. It’s a moment to cherish the abundance of holidays-past and enliven this season, a quiet nightly invitation to the ghost of holiday-present.

read Kerri’s blogpost about HONEYSUCKLE

like. support. share. comment. welcome jacob

buymeacoffee is a welcome site for visiting ghosts meant to offer appreciation for their wise-less insights and the musicality of their rattling chains

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

It’s a simple math equation relative to years-on-the-planet. The numbers go up so the choices go down. Or, perhaps, the choices become more refined. We are, after all, high performance machines (a metaphor a-la la Mettrie) and, over time, require a finer food-tuning. A raised consciousness of how interrelated I am, we are, to all things – like the food we eat: what’s in it, where it came from, and what happened to it before it was packaged, transported and plated.

Mostly, in the midst of raising my consciousness relative to my/our numbers-on-the-chart, it’s really really good to have another day of life. It’s really really good to have another day of life with Kerri. I’ll start there.

read Kerri’s rant about NUMBERS-IN-HEALTHCARE

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buymeacoffee is an ancient calculating device similar to an abacus but requiring electricity and computer technology to make the beads move this way or that.

Look Closer [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

It is not in my nature to look closely. I more easily jump into the sky and see clearly the lay of the land. It’s why I am drawn to metaphor and appreciate the universal stories. It’s what made me useless as a consultant: no one really wants to know where they are going or what icebergs lurk over the horizon. They particularly resent it when you tell them that the big horse is filled with Greek warriors. Ask Cassandra!

Detail, on the other hand, has been an acquired skill that I am and will be forever acquiring. Kerri is a master teacher. Detail is her forte’.

What I am learning at this phase of my life: the real riches come in tiny packages. The miracle of a snowflake. Holding hands. 20’s laughter. The sound of crunching leaves. A hope held close. Savoring the broth. A gesture of kindness, like a smile or holding open a door. Expressing appreciation to the bus driver or the wait staff. Sitting still inside a poem to fully taste the sound of words.

Paying attention. I know I write about this often. It’s a part of the learning…

Of course, the tiny doors (a closer look) always open on infinite passageways so there remains great worth in jumping into the sky to see how vast is the landscape of the heart. Both/And. Beautiful either way.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE SNOWFLAKE

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buymeacoffee is a snowflake of infinite possibilities if you choose to see it.

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

Kerri and I walk arm-in-arm. We have since the moment we met, held hands, and skipped out of the airport. While walking in our neighborhood people regularly stop us to say how much they enjoy seeing us walk by. We appreciate their kindness. We do not take for granted the great gift of our second chance in life.

Appreciation takes time. We rarely fast-walk a trail. As a rule, we slow walk so we can see and appreciate what is all around us. Arm-in-arm, we take it in. The color. The smells. The feel. The sounds.The critters. The movement. The changes. We often walk the same trails yet they are never the same.

Filled with so much appreciation for the trees, we can only imagine that the trees feel the same way about us. We believe life is like that. As MoonJuice Hikes likes to say, “What goes around, comes around.”

read Kerri’s blog about THE TREES

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smack-dab © 2023 kerrianddavid.com

buymeacoffee is a walk of appreciation. nothing more. nothing less.

Hope Is Like That [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

A project has me spending some quality time inside Thornton Wilder’s play, Our Town. Grover’s Corners. Emily, after her death, takes the opportunity to revisit a day in her life. It’s not what she expects. Returning to her grave on the hillside she says of the living to Mother Gibbs, “They don’t understand, do they?”

“No, dear. They don’t understand.”

She learns, as another character in the graveyard, Simon Stimson, says, “Now you know! That’s what it was to be alive. To move about in a cloud of ignorance; to go up and down trampling on the feelings of those…of those about you. To spend and waste time as though you had a million years. To be always at the mercy of one self-centered passion, or another.”

I thought about Emily and Simon Stimson as we walked with Dogga along my favorite stretch of the DesPlaines River Trail. It’s an eight mile out-and-back section. Deer. Heron. Sandhill cranes. Hawks. It passes through meadow and grove, the river snaking close and moving away.

The day was brisk and clear. When we came to the small land bridge, Dogga’s delight filled me with delight. We always stop at the bridge to look for turtles and frogs. This late in the year it is unlikely to find them but we stop anyway. Hope is like that.

And, just for a moment, I stepped out of my cloud of ignorance. Kerri, holding Dogga’s leash, peering with great expectation into the trickling stream. “Do you see anything?” she asked. So overwhelmed at the beauty of it all, I could say nothing.

Had I been able to speak I would have said, “I can see everything.”

For a fleeting moment…

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE CREEK

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buymeacoffee is a moment in time begging you not to miss it. that’s all. that’s enough.

Catch-Up [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

It just took me awhile to catch-up. At least that’s what I tell myself. I’ve always had friends and acquaintances who kept herb gardens. They grew herbs in the yard, on roof tops, and in windowsills. They took great delight telling me the rosemary was from their garden or the delicious pesto was made from the basil growing in the pot “just over there.” I was too much a wanderer to commit to anything that needed soil and attention. It was enough for me to rub the leaves between my fingers, appreciate and breathe in the fresh smells of other people’s herbs.

Of course, now, that I have put down roots of my own I am more capable of tending things with roots. I have joined the ranks of herb growers. I have found the deep delight of making a meal delicious with something just clipped from the garden. Tomato soup with basil. Rosemary on potatoes. Chopped parsley with almost anything.

To be honest, Kerri is the primary herb farmer in our house. I carry pots, heft bags of potting soil. I am support services for the herb garden. I double as the substitute plant waterer when she is otherwise engaged. My role is to admire. To appreciate.

It’s a good role because I receive all the benefits of the garden. I even share the credit for the successful harvest. I carry the herb knowledge we’ve acquired. Yet, I rarely worry about the garden. I rarely think about how to improve it. As support services, my role is less about the health and well-being of the herb and more about the health and well-being of the herb farmer. I attend to the tender.

I suppose that is all of our roles in one way or another: attend to the people who attend to us. But, as I wrote at the beginning of this post, I am a slow study. It took me awhile to catch-up. I’m like a good soup. I needed to simmer for a very long time. Oh, yes. I also needed some fresh basil. Grown from the pot just over there. At least, that is what I tell myself.

read Kerri’s blogpost about HERBS

share. like. comment. support. attend to the tender. simmer. we appreciate it.

buymeacoffee is an herb garden where you can attend to the artists who attend to their imperative (and yours) so both can create more beauty and prosper

Color It Red [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Red is the color of anger. Unless it’s not. It’s also the color of Santa suits and fire trucks. It’s the color of embarrassed cheeks, burning bushes and carpet pathways for the glitterati when bubbling with the anticipation of receiving an award. Red is associated with the base chakra. It’s the lowest vibrating color-energy on the spectrum. It’s easy to see. Male cardinals want their perspective mates to see red.

Red is the color of fall. And orange. And yellow. We walk toward it on the trail. Sometimes it’s too much to comprehend.

Horatio just told me of a trip he took through Canyon de Chelly. Red Rocks. He told me that he always feels that something is “right” when he’s there. Like humans and this big universe belong together. Timeless. Ancient. Mystical. Impermanent. Not separate. Red is the color of belonging.

That’s how I felt standing before this sumac. A staghorn sumac on fire with the season. My only purpose: to appreciate. To witness. Red is the color of awe.

read Kerri’s blogpost about RED SUMAC

like it. or not. support it. or not. share it. or not. comment on it. or not. find your red. or not.

buymeacoffee is…