Magic Things [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” ~ W.B. Yeats

Standing at the back of the theatre watching a performance of a play that he’d directed, Roger whispered a frustration that most artists whisper at some point in their career: the audience will never get all of the layers of story. Very few will appreciate the totality of the hard work, the heart, the intention, the nuance…So much goes unseen, un-felt.

There is, of course, only one response to his whispered frustration. They may not get it all but you – the artist – does. Sometimes I think the skill of the artist is to slow the world down so that they can more fully see it. Or, more accurately, slow down so they can see the magic in the world. And then their work is to help their community see it, too. The great gift of artistry is that the work is never finished. The process – the capacity to perceive and share more of the magic – is never ending.

I regularly ponder the impact of the pace of work and life in the age of the internet. It’s a raging river of information that never slows. In fact, “progress” is understood as an increase of speed. We worship at the business alter of efficiency-and-effectiveness; people are rewarded for striding at an ever faster pace – so anything, like artistry, that suggests slowing down might be beneficial, is radical. There is a reason that an audience might not “get it”.

I’ve been aware this week, as we deal with the impacts of the snow and cold on our house and car, that we’ve mostly unplugged. Necessity has made us present. It is not an accident that the prompt-photos for this Melange week are mostly close-ups. Detail. We’ve been staring at the miracle of the icicles. The patterns in the snow clusters on the Adirondack chairs have captivated us.

Yeats knew only pen and ink. He stared at blank pages and not at flickering dynamic screens that pulled his attention this way and that and filled his mental bucket with information. He did not sort through hundreds of emails each day or navigate the mind numbing onslaught of social media. Yeats took walks and stared out windows to clear his mind. He sought other poets and thinkers, he spent time with them so he might challenge and expand his ideas, his perceptions, his capacity to see and feel.

The world of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper, knows that our senses are so inundated with information and noise and stimulus that we are less and less able to sense anything at all, especially the magic things. We are distracted, often misinformed and thoroughly entertained – and less and less capable of sustaining a span of attention, let alone sharpening our senses.

Sharpened senses – otherwise known as presence – opens the door to the ubiquitous magic things, things that patiently wait for us to slow down enough to fully appreciate them.

BLUEPRINT FOR MY SOUL © 1997 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about SNOWFLAKES

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Incessant Musing [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

grasses. winter. snow. root. energy. fallow. aging. relevance.

I am ever so slowly working on a painting. In my mind it is a political statement which is why my movement is glacial. I sit in my rocking chair staring at the work-in-progress and wonder if what I want to say needs to be said. I wonder why I need to say it. I wonder if paintings that “say it” are worth painting at all. My teachers and mentors, all of them, taught me that great art happens when you “say it without saying it”.

Dogga stands in the middle of the snowy yard and barks. These are test-barks. Nothing is happening in the neighborhood and he wants something to bark about. In the absence of a meaningful bark objective, in the absence of other dogs barking in the neighborhood or the neighbor starting his car, he barks, “Is anyone out there?” Is my painting akin to Dogga barking?

Tom told me that when my beard was grey I would have a crisis of relevance. My age-peers would read my rough drafts and consider my work viable but the younger artist in my life would not. I have found that to be true. When Tom was in his middle 60’s he was arguably at the peak of his abilities yet the many, many artists whose careers he’d informed and shaped simply stopped responding to his calls. So he simply stopped trying. That was his last and perhaps greatest lesson to me: do not place your relevance in the hands of others. Follow the muse until your legs will no longer carry you. Bark and see what comes back at you.

Michelangelo sculpted his most prescient work in the last chapter of his 88 year life though he kept them under wraps since his patrons would have thought them to be irrelevant. It took the world 450 years to catch up to his Mannerist pieces.

And then there is this timeless bit of advice from a younger version of Tom: A writer writes. A painter paints. The rest is not really relevant. It’s always at this re-membrance that I stand up from my chair, put down my incessant musing, and grab my brush. A painter paints.

relevance. aging. fallow. energy. root. snow. winter. grasses.

a work in progress: Polynices & Eteocles

read Kerri’s blogpost about WINTER GRASSES

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Tacit Teachers [David’s blog on Not So Thawed Wednesday]

“Rilke recommended that when life became turbulent and troublesome, it was wise to stay close to one simple thing in nature.” ~ John O’Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings

For my one simple thing this winter, in these turbulent and troublesome times, I choose icicles. Or, perhaps it is more accurate to say that icicles have chosen me. We are spending an inordinate amount of time together.

When one is as up-close to icicles as I have been in these past weeks, it is impossible not to notice their unique self-expression; each has an individual personality, a beauty all their own. They are sculptural wonders. And yet, follow them back in drip-time and they originate from a single formless origin.

With hot water or Dan’s heat gun I attempt to alter their form and they laugh. I call myself an artist but am no match for their sculptor. That is why it is wise to stay close to them. They are tacit teachers. They put me and these troubled times into perspective.

They are a temporary map of the path of least resistance. And they are gloriously impermanent. Even in seeming stillness, they are moving, changing. Worthy reminders and ample reasons to keep them close. I am glad that they chose me for remedial instruction.

read Kerri’s blogpost about ICICLES

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The Full Promise [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Our basement archeology has unearthed a bin of old world decorative plates dating back to the turn of the 20th century. All are hand painted. Some of the hands that did the painting are Kerri’s ancestors. We know this because the back of each plate sported a fading post-it note, written by Beaky, Kerri’s mom, tracing the lineage of the plate. For us, the notes are more precious than the plates.

“What do I do with these?” she asked. The notes are personal, immediate, while the plates are more complicated.

It is a poignant coincidence that while we are cleaning out our basement and discovering objects from the family tree, important messages from the past, the current leadership of the nation is tearing down the White House, otherwise known as soiling-the-symbol, while also disregarding the important notes from our ancestors, namely the lengthy note known as the Constitution. Our national legacy, our family tree, discarded.

It is hopeful to witness people like Mark Elias pull our legacy from the trash bin. It is heartening to see people take to the streets to protect their neighbors, to protect their rights, to demand respect for their inherent freedoms currently being dismissed; people actively protecting and stewarding their legacy.

The tug-of-war in our history is and always has been over who we mean when we say, “We the People.” Are “We the People” exclusive, white-male-Christian-landholders only? The wealthy few? Or, are “We the People” inclusive, all people equal under the law? Our post-it-note from the past, written by hand, more enduring than the building under assault, certainly more personal and directly connected to each of us, is very clear in the amendments we’ve made as the nation has matured. Our legacy is inclusive. Our laws apply equally to all or they are rendered meaningless.

Perhaps this current abomination of an administration is bringing to light the ugliness of exclusivity that has plagued our past and will once-and-for-all prompt us to clean our house of the scourge of white supremacy and male superiority. Perhaps we will have the courage to see and accept our history, all of it, the good, the bad and the ugly. Perhaps we will write into our sacred document, our post-it note from our ancestors, protections against The Epstein Class, the oligarchs who would (once again) attempt to place themselves above the law and rule like feudal kings.

Perhaps then we can write a note to our descendants, tracing our shared legacy, including a message about the battles we waged against our inner demons, finally purging ourselves of this schism, so that they might carry forward – without resistance – the full promise of democracy.

read Kerri’s blogpost about LEGACY

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Circulate The Good [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

The imaginary editorial board at Melange International is becoming impatient with me. They think that I have over-complicated the given assignment. What is so complex about focusing on the good?

To begin, I’d be a hypocrite to claim that I only focus on the good. I do not.

A quick read of my blog since inauguration day will provide ample evidence of my capacity to focus on the negative though I believe it is important, when the house is on fire, to alert others of the fire, to call out escape routes. It’s also helpful to try and put out the fire. Is that or is that not a focus on the good?

Isn’t it a relevant question – a good question – to ask, “Where can we focus our eyes and our energies to beat back and put out this fascist fire?” Sometimes a focus on the good seems dark.

Focus is a powerful thing. The power of focus is more than a cliché uttered by contemporary motivational speakers. It’s an age-old-concept. We will find what we seek. People who make gratitude a practice will end each day with a bucket of gratitude. People who make blaming a practice will end each day with a bucket of blame. People who make division their focus will live in – or more accurately – create divisive communities. People who make inclusion their focus will create inclusive supportive communities. People who focus on democracy will create (protect) democracy.

And then there’s the question, “To whom will we give our focus?” Our media makes it far easier to focus on The Arsonist. Ratings do not favor a focus on the Fire-fighters.

We are inundated with so many daily outrages that we are having a challenge sustaining a serious focus. Where do we focus with ICE kidnapping people off the streets, extrajudicial murders in the Caribbean, presidential grift, an inept and mostly absent congress, a Supreme Court that ignores the Constitution to expand presidential powers, the dismantling of education, collapse of healthcare, government protection of pedophiles…the dismantling of democracy. Sometimes it is hard to sustain a focus on the good through the forest of daily atrocity. It takes some effort, some dedication, to sustain a focus on the good.

Circulating the good is, of course, a team sport. It’s easier to sustain a focus on the good when surrounded by others who have the same dedication.

We check-in each night with Carl Blanchet. Last year he completed a hike of the Pacific Crest Trail (2650 miles) in less than 90 days. It was a personal challenge and a titanic effort. This year, he’s back again though this time he’s going slow. He’s enjoying the hike. We were drawn to follow him because of his positivity. Even in the worst circumstance, when confronted by an impossible obstacle, he finds the beauty in his day. He focuses on solutions or the kindness of trail angels, the generosity of other hikers, the awe of each sunset. And, although it might be possible to roll your eyes at such dedicated positivity, the truth is that he is a pragmatist. He is not denying the difficulties. He is dealing with them by focusing on the good. He’s done his research. He is prepared. He is not flying blind. He practices a focus on the opportunities, seeing the positive, choosing from the possibilities available in each moment.

He is a serious person and that is precisely why he doesn’t take any of it too seriously. He doesn’t get fixated on the problem or the pain. He intentionally circulates the good because he intentionally focuses on the good.

In these times, Carl serves as balm to clear our eyes from the smoke of rampant misinformation and preponderance of lies. He serves as a daily reminder that what we focus on is what we will, in fact, become. And what we become is what we will circulate.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE GOOD

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Holding On. Letting Go. [David’s blog on KS Friday]

The story of the BabyCat chair is the story of the tides of human emotional life. Holding on. Letting go. Holding on. Letting go.

After a titanic struggle with all that it represents to us, we let it go. We took it to the curb where it sat for a few days with no takers. We discussed chopping it up but couldn’t bring ourselves to do it so decided to wait. We decided to not-know what to do with it. We placed it in a spot beside the garage, like a memorial bench on a trail, it seemed an inviting place to sit and ponder the driveway.

And then the birds found the chair. We hadn’t considered the chair’s proximity to the bird feeder when we placed it by the garage so we were delighted when we looked out the window and discovered a score of birds enjoying the BabyCat chair. They were chattering, hopping armrest to armrest as if testing the comfort of their new chair.

“I guess the B-Cat chair has found a new life,” she said. “Perfect spot.” Keep in mind, we have a piano in our backyard so a chair in the driveway is not completely out of character.

The birds scattered when the workmen came up the driveway following the cable lines to the pole behind the garage. They had to move the chair to gain access to the pole. They were clearly puzzled by the chair since it was so obviously placed – rather than dumped – in that spot. They looked around before carefully moving the furniture-in-the-driveway.

With the snows, we’ve discovered that critters other than the birds have enjoyed a respite along their way. We’ve seen squirrels occupy the chair and found evidence of raccoons napping or at least pausing in their daily maraud.

Holding on. Letting go. Holding on.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE CHAIR

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The Principle Applies [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Steve-across-the-street said that we’ve already had more snow than all of last year. “It’s not even the middle of December!” he exclaimed. I haven’t researched snow totals but it certainly feels like we’ve had more snow. I barely touched the snow shovel last year or, for that matter, the year before. This year the shovel and I are getting daily workouts. It’s possible that I could be snow-buff by the end of this season. It’s also possible that I could be snow-broken.

(note: Kerri tells me to “be careful” each time I lace on my boots and put on my gloves to go shovel. That is a relatively new development. During my last teeth cleaning the dental hygienist spoke to me in an extra loud voice; my greying beard led her to believe that I was hard of hearing. I admit that every time I look in the mirror I ask myself, “Who the hell are you and what have you done with my face?” But I don’t shout my question since I’m not having problems hearing my inner voice).

The excess of snow is producing an abundance of icicles. They are magical if you remember to appreciate them from a safe distance and not stand in awe beneath them. They are beautiful if you refuse to consider what they are capable of doing to your house. We have a special collection growing just outside our backdoor. I’ve learned not to smack them away as they will take the awning and any vinyl siding with them. Dan loaned us his heat gun and I am looking forward to melting them away between bouts of snow shoveling. Melting them is not a solution since I know that they will inevitably come back in a few days but I consider it akin to mowing the grass: I do not expect my mowing to be one-and-done since grass-grows and the same principle applies to the icicles. Plus, they are fun to melt.

Even at my age.

read Kerri’s blogpost about ICICLES

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Low Cost Hilarity[David’s blog on Not So Thawed Wednesday]

“The fear of appearances is the first symptom of impotence.” ~ Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment

“Never pay for car repairs again!” the spokesperson beamed. “Coverage is available on all vehicles less than 20 years old! Call now!”

“That leaves us out,” she said. “None of our vehicles is less than 20 years old.” Recently, she calculated that the combined age of our cars this year is exactly 100 years. We might not qualify for coverage but you may have noticed that we’re constantly whooping it up these days; our combined-car-centennial is reason to celebrate so we’re having 365 days of raucous festivities.

Craig once told us that LBS had “Milwaukee rims”. The faux chrome has long since peeled off and LBS now sports a mostly rusty-rim-look. “Are you staring at my car?” Kerri asked the young attendant at the recycle center who was clearly horrified with our rims. The poor guy sputtered. “We love our rims!” she smiled, putting LBS in gear and driving away.

In the late fall, when the sun sets early, if we time it just right, on the drive home from our trail, LBS casts a remarkable shadow on the road ahead: our silhouettes seated in a toaster-shape that seems to have enormous ears. Kerri always enthusiastically slaps my shoulder, “Can you see it? Can you see it?”

When I moved to the midwest I was amused by the ritual of the windshield wiper. When the storm is a’ brewin’ people run outside and stand-upright their windshield wipers. I learned the hard way that windshield wipers in the midwest, unlike windshield wipers in Colorado where I am from, freeze to the windshield. Now I have joined the custom. If you’re looking for me I have probably raced outside to spare the wipers from imminent freeze-ation. When LBS is covered with snow, the upright wipers make it look like a bug with cute antenna.

Milwaukee rims. Funny shadows. Winter bug cosplay. We might not have high priced insurance to protect against repairs, but we’ve mastered low cost hilarity and loyal love of our LBS, Big Red, and the ’71 Beetle nestled into the garage that will someday ride again.

read Kerri’s blogpost about UPRIGHT WIPERS

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Survival Tips [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

MM asked if we had any snow yet. He lives in California but entered the earth in Iowa so he knows snow. We swapped tales of cars sliding on ice and other seasonably appropriate tips for survival.

As I write this it’s in the single digits outside. We have more than our feet under a quilt. Consider “write while buried in blankets” a winter survival tip.

Our ice-damming issue is not yet resolved but it’s so cold outside that the water is not flowing. The heat of the house is no match for the polar freeze so nothing is melting. Here’s another survival tip: When there’s nothing to be done about the problem then it’s a good idea to do nothing. Get under the quilt and write. If writing is not your thing then just get under the quilt.

We are fans of Life Below Zero. All too often the people in the episodes ride their snowmobiles down frozen rivers or across the icy tundra when the temperatures are minus-fifty-degrees. It never fails, at the same moment we say, “I couldn’t do that.” Which, as it turns out, is another survival tip: know your limits.

We discovered our ice-damming issue in the middle of the night which meant I was climbing a ladder in the cold-dark-night with pitchers of boiling water to open the gutters and downspout and give the water a path that did not include the inside of the house. After a few hours the aluminum ladder was covered with ice (former boiling water that splashed); my gloves – also wet – were sticking to the ladder. Sometimes it is not enough to know your limits; you must act on what you know. Consider this an important survival tip.

If you know your limits and honor the limit you know, then your chances of living another day are greatly increased. Here is perhaps my best survival tip: when you find the limit but are tempted to cross it with delusions of grandeur or inflated feelings of importance, imagine a mug of hot coffee, pumpkin pie and warm quilts – the simplest joys of survival, the epicenter of thriving. When standing at the bottom of a frozen ladder at 2am with yet another pot of boiling water, it will help put things into perspective.

Having some perspective is, perhaps, the most awesome survival tip of all.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SNOW

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

Twice in the past few months we’ve made a pilgrimage to the local Ace Hardware to seek the wise counsel of Kevin. He is not in a hurry. He listens. He commiserates with the odd issues that arise in a house built nearly 100 years ago. He invokes laughter and settles nerves. He doesn’t view his job as selling stuff. He views his job as helping people like us who come through the door with anxious faces betraying a single truth: we have a pressing problem and don’t know what to do or where to begin.

We returned from both pilgrimages with the magic solution: Backer Rod.

I did not know about Backer Rod prior to our sessions with Kevin. At first glance I doubted Kevin’s guidance, however, after following his instructions, our seeming impossible problem met a very worthy solution.

Our latest pressing problem was the new water feature in our sitting room. There’s a strange phenomenon in the midwest called “ice damming.” Ice overwhelms a gutter while the heat of the house simultaneously melts the underlayer, transforming the ice back into water that has nowhere to flow but inside the house. We first heard the drip, drip, drip at 11:39pm and worked through the night to melt the ice, clear the frozen gutters and popsicle downspout.

And still the water came.

Kerri and I are master improvisers, our solutions are often temporary, triage solutions, that work until the real fix-it-masters can come. In the case of our water feature, the fix-it-master, the gutter man and the electrician (a failed outlet is the real source of our pain, rendering the heating cable in the gutter useless), cannot come until the current ice age retreats and the ice encasing our house melts. Keep in mind that the ice melting is the source of our troubles since it has nowhere to go but into our sitting room.

So we ran to Kevin. He sent us home with Backer Rod, some words of wisdom, and some borrowed confidence that our band-aid solution would get us to the warmer weather while minimizing the river running into our home.

I’m heading out to follow his instructions. If this works, if Backer Rod stems the flow, then I fully intend to elevate Backer Rod to the high status of duct tape, baling wire and hot glue. I will elevate Kevin even higher.

We’ll keep you posted.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BACKER ROD

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