Load The Snacks! [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

We wrote a play entitled The Roadtrip. It is comprised of the many months of emails we wrote to each other before we actually met. Like Love Letters only with a happy ending. In it, as is true-to-life, Kerri is the wise character and I am the character without a clue. Note: the best part of being clueless is that you don’t know it.

If we were to write a sequel there would be less words and many more snacks. As the audience, you’d have to watch us eat. Kerri is a Twizzlers girl and I am a peanut M&M man. The snacking begins before we hit the end of the driveway. It doesn’t end until we arrive at our destination – and even that is a momentary pause.

There’s usually plenty of room in Little Baby Scion but you’ll not be surprised to learn that when we pack for a road trip, after the snacks are in the car, there’s barely any room for our clothes, which is a good thing because after all those snacks we can’t fit into our clothes.

Let’s just say that we have our priorities straight.

read Kerri’s blogpost about ROAD SNACKS

smack-dab © 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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Pioneers [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Never in my wildest dreams did the younger version of me imagine that I would someday research fun facts about wildflowers. But, because Kerri has a camera attached to her right hand and because we walk trails surrounded by meadows and because we use many of Kerri’s photos as prompts for our Melange, wildflowers and not-so-wild flowers have caught my attention.

Inevitably, one tidbit of information captures my imagination and today’s tidbit about Daisy Fleabane is this: it’s considered a pioneer species which means it is among the first plants to move into an area that has been disturbed – by natural disasters like fire or man-made like plowing or construction. They improve the ecosystem by accumulating nutrients and breaking up compacted soil, opening the way for other less hardy species to follow. Sub tidbit: because they are the first, some people treat pioneer species as weeds, invaders.

It is never easy to be the first. Ask Rosa Parks or Jackie Robinson.

Ask Barack. Ask Kamala.

People who know what they are doing, people attempting to restore health to devastated ecosystems, purposefully introduce pioneer species into a devastated landscape. They know the value of the pioneer in preparing the foundation for healing, breaking up hard-packed-minds and closed-angry-hearts. They know the necessity of the first, of the pioneer, to rehabilitate and nurture a healthy, unified ecosystem.

Ask Joe.

Grateful on the album AS IT IS © 2004 Kerri Sherwood

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

Bonus and fitting for new beginnings. This is the song Kerri wrote and performed for our wedding. It makes me cry every time I hear it:

And Now © 2015 Kerri Sherwood

read Kerri’s blogpost about DAISY FLEABANE

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Arrive Again [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Deadheading the day lilies, the afternoon sun pouring through the branches, I realized that I’ve walked a circle and arrived again at the starting point. After fourteen years, I’ve returned to the origin-thought of this blog.

I started writing the direction-of-intention after a conversation I co-facilitated. It was a day exploring and discussing diversity, equity, and inclusion. The group’s conversation veered into questions about power. That day I realized that I had an overabundance of thoughts and questions that I needed to study. My very first post was almost a thesis statement; it was an attempt to capture the essence of what I shared with the group: power-over others is not power at all. It is control. Power, real power, is something that is created with others. Control over. Power with.

I did not return to the beginning without help. The current political reality has drawn me like a moth to a flame back to the topic of power. Our two parties live on opposite sides of the line. The red hats are a case study in Control-Over. The Democrats operate on the principle of Power-With.

Control-Over is distinct in the necessity to blame. It is a victim’s game. It is an abdication of responsibility. It demands lock-step adherence and fears counter-point-perspectives. It evades giant swatches of its history. It pretends to hold all the answers and doesn’t tolerate questions.

Power-With is distinct in the necessity to choose. It seeks responsibility and participation. It thrives on counter-point-perspectives and demands collaboration and compromise. It needs to consider and reconcile with its full history, the good and the bad. It asks many questions and eschews the notion of a single answer.

Control-Over is essentially hierarchical. Caste. Fixed. Rule by one.

Power-With is essentially egalitarian. Relational. Fluid. Rule by the many.

It turns out there’s never been a better time to return to the root of my original inspiration. It is, I’ve learned the original root of our nation’s nearly 250 year conversation. The essence of the democratic ideal.

Today we stand squarely at the crossroads:

One choice continues to follow the complex path of power-with.

The other is a hard right onto the powerless path of control-over, not a step back in time as it pretends.

It’s our choice. It is our direction-of-intention.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SUN THROUGH TREES

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Connected As The Cattails [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

I read that cattails have been useful to humans for as long as…there have been humans. They are edible. Medicinal. Weave-able into baskets or clothing… The tidbit of information that I found most interesting is, that when harvesting them, it is best to leave the cattails on the perimeter intact. They are different than the cattails in the center. They serve a specific purpose facilitating the interdependent health and well-being of the cattail community. It begs an as-yet unanswerable plant-question: Do they know? How do they know?

“Knowing” implies consciousness. If you want to jump down an interesting rabbit hole, the “debate” surrounding plant consciousness is worthy of your time. There are plenty of studies with plenty of interpretations. Be forewarned: this rabbit hole may challenge the notion that we human-beings are above it all. It may suggest that we are much more interdependent than we believe.

Consciousness: the state of being awake and aware of one’s surroundings.

The consciousness of interdependence. It is what the red hats fear the most. The loss of privilege. Popping the illusion of elite-exclusion. Not being above it all.

We live in a vibrant diverse nation. A nation of immigrants. A place where people from different cultural backgrounds have for centuries mixed together, worked together, fought together, loved together, to grow into a more perfect union. In this nation, the ideal, the intention, is to embrace differences. Not to stratify them. We are above all an intentional crossroads, a meeting place of the many, optimal for the sharing of new ideas borne from divergent perspectives. A celebration of interconnected diversity.

Interdependence. We are as deeply connected as the cattails. Like the cattails, our network of connection may not be readily visible on the surface but our very survival is reliant on each varied other. Thriving is the result of healthy, conscious interdependence.

read Kerri’s blogpost about CATTAILS

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It Takes Some Courage [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

I woke up this morning with this song running through my mind:

Her Majesty’s a pretty nice girl, but she doesn’t have a lot to say
Her Majesty’s a pretty nice girl, but she changes from day to day
I wanna tell her that I love her a lot, but I gotta get a belly full of wine
Her Majesty’s a pretty nice girl, someday, I’m gonna make her mine
Oh yeah, someday I’m gonna make her mine.

It’s the last track on the Beatles album, Abbey Road. A 23 second ditty. I haven’t listened to the album in a decade. So, why was Her Majesty running amok in my dream life? I don’t know. The rest of the dream faded so all context was lost. It’s enough to make me “gotta get a belly full of wine”.

Sense-making is a product of context. For instance, this photograph of the sun piercing the clouds is nice but becomes much more meaningful when placed in context: we were under a tornado warning when Kerri suddenly grabbed her camera and ran outside. “Hope!” she said in response to my puzzled stare. Now, this is and always will be a photograph of unlikely hope.

Context is everything. For instance, the election-was-stolen-lie only gains traction in the red hat community if the context is ignored. Context: 62 lawsuits were brought contesting the results of the election and nearly all were dismissed due to lack of evidence. Liars routinely attempt to insert a fabricated context in place of an actual context. “The election was stolen,” is on the same eye-rolling-level as “The dog ate my homework!”

It only takes a question or two to pop the wildest fabrication.

Of course, one must first want to pop the fabrication.

We are witness to the greatest pathological liar of our times spinning new and fantastic contexts for his question-free believers. If the actual truth doesn’t match their group-hallucination they cry in unison, “Fake News!” Fake news is a go-to context akin to “The dog ate my homework.” It covers a lot of missing homework. It stops the most basic questions. It’s intellectually and spiritually lazy.

We are under a metaphoric tornado warning. I hold a small hope that a few of the red hats might one day wrinkle their brow at the outrageous baseless assertions they are fed and wonder if the dross they are eating is actually true. In that moment, it’s possible that they might ask a question or two. It’s possible they might seek context beyond the group-lie.

It takes some courage to ask questions, especially when it is unpopular to ask them.

It’s never too late to pop the fabrication of a pathological liar. It’s never too late to come back to your senses. It’s never too late to ask yourself, “What was I thinking?” It’s never too late to find your courage. I imagine it would feel like the sun piercing through threatening clouds.

An unlikely hope.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SUN THROUGH CLOUDS

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

Master Marsh once asked me why I was compelled to run and jump off every edge I found. His question was rhetorical which was a good thing since I had no answer. I wasn’t really aware of the compulsion he was asking me to consider. I knew I was a restless soul. Most of my life I felt as if I was a suffocating man in a desperate search for air to breath. His question served to slap some consciousness into my wandering nature. His question introduced the idea that I might actually catch my breath if, instead of moving, moving, moving…, I sat down and took a breather.

Edges are invitations into the unknown.

Paintings, writing plays or this blog- any creative process – is an invitation into the unknown. To see what is as yet unseen. To open to something beyond. I’ve come to understand that opening-to-the-unknown is the essential practice of an artist. It is air-to-breathe. And the opportunity presents itself every single day, on the move or sitting still.

I thought of Master Marsh and his question the moment we stepped beyond the caution sign into the water. After so much rain the river spilled out of its banks and onto the floodplain, it overwhelmed portions of the trail. We could have turned around and returned to the car. We could have kept our feet dry. We’d walked this trail many times and could see that the water crossings were not dangerous. Calf deep with a smidge of current. And so we looked at each other, smiled a “why not” smile, and stepped.

I thought of Master Marsh and his question because this trail was known to us and, on this day, was completely unknown. We saw it again for the first time. Master Marsh is a great steward and studier of nature. His drawing of plants and trees and rivers and birds and…are first class. They’d make John Muir proud. For many years he cared for a stretch of the Calaveras River. Each day there was something new. Something previously unknown discovered.

The water crossings, I counted six of them, made us feel remote. Distant from civilization. We saw fish swim across the trail, heard sounds we’d never before encountered. The meadows exploded with color. A lone deer watched us and then disappeared like Merlin.

Edges come in many forms. On this day, it looked like water spilling over the trail. It was a welcome bonus to step beyond the sign, to spend some time in an unknown-known and have a quiet memory-walk with one of my favorite people.

read Kerri’s blogpsot about WATER ON THE TRAIL

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Ash On The Sills [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

I was excited when I learned that David Neiwert was living near me in Seattle. I was preparing to direct a play, a docudrama by Steven Dietz called God’s Country. The play explores the rise of the white supremacist movement in the USA. David is a journalist and has authored several books on domestic terrorism – one entitled In God’s Country. That’s how I became aware of him. He was generous with his time, asked many questions to better help serve me as I shaped my thoughts on the production. He was not only a valuable source of information, he was deeply caring, kind – a guide. I believe David, through his work, was-and-is trying to sound an alarm for the nightmare in which we now find ourselves.

One of his images has stayed with me. Ash on the sills. I hope you take the time to read it – if only the introduction that tells the story of the image. It will stay with you, too. It may prompt you to respond – with your vote for democracy and against white nationalism – to the alarm that David has been ringing for a long time. At least I hope so.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE NIGHTMARE

smack-dab © 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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Check Your Stems [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Wild Carrot. Queen Anne’s Lace. Throughout every season we find ourselves marveling at the aesthetic structure of the plant. The graceful curves and shapes. They inspire movement and floral symbols in my paintings.

Summoning the Oracle, Google, I learned that a common question asked is how to discern Queen Anne’s Lace from poisonous Hemlock. They are surprisingly similar in appearance. “Poison hemlock stems are smooth, while Queen Anne’s Lace stems are covered with tiny hairs…” The moral of the story? Check your stems.

Check your stems.

The verb form of the word ‘stem’ concerns origins. Comes from. Arises from. For instance, the stem of the word ‘democracy’ arises from ancient Greece. The word literally means the people (demos) rule (kratos). “Democratic government is commonly juxtaposed with oligarchic and monarchic systems, which are ruled by a minority and a sole monarch respectively.” Healthy disagreement, opposing points of view expressed without fear en route to compromise, is the beating heart – the stem – of a democracy.

The stem of the word ‘fascism’ comes from Latin and means, “bundle of sticks,” – the visual symbol evolved to include an axe at the center of the bundle, representing “a way of organizing a society in which a government ruled by a dictator controls the lives of the people and in which people are not allowed to disagree with the government.” Elimination of opposing points of view is the stem of fascism.

“Fascism’s origins are…ultimately centered on a mythos of national rebirth from decadence.” You could find no better or clearer tag line for a fascist intention than Make America Great Again. You could not pen a better blueprint for the fascist overthrow of democracy than Project 2025. The forcible suppression of opposition. Political violence as a necessary means of national rejuvenation, the demonization of the “other”.

As demonstrated in their gathering in Milwaukee, the reds are now a perfect expression of their symbol: a bundle of tightly bound sticks in lock-step – with an axe hanging over their heads ready to eliminate any voice of opposition. It turns out, like their sycophantic VP pick, many of these men and women, who once called their supreme red leader “America’s Hitler” and “a wannabe dictator”, were right. Sadly, they lack the courage of their convictions. They fear the axe. They lack a basic grasp of the necessity in a healthy democracy for genuine voices of opposition.

Is it rule by-the-people-and-for-the-people or a fascist autocracy?

How can we discern democracy from poisonous fascism? Check the stems.

Open your eyes and look, really look. The red hats have wrapped themselves in the flag so they might appear like the Grand Old Party. They are not. To anyone undecided or confused or jaded, I can only offer this advice: it’s important to check your stems before you ingest too much fascist hemlock believing you’re dining on democracy.

This Part of the Journey on the album of the same name © 1997, 2000 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about WILD CARROT

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Don The Hazmat [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Last night while Kerri, 20 and I were playing a game of Rummikub, Rob texted. He asked, tongue firmly planted in his cheek, “Wow! You’re so close to the (RNC) convention, are you going to swing by?” I responded without thinking, “Only if I had a hazmat suit.”

Protection from toxic waste.

Before dinner and before playing the game, 20 told me that earlier in the day, while he was driving, he caught himself pondering what he would do to survive if the red tide sweeps in, stains the White House, and reconfigures Social Security and privatizes Medicare as is promised by their conservative blueprint for authoritarian rule, Project 2025. I asked, “Did you ever imagine in your lifetime that you’d be worried about the overthrow of democracy by a populist dictator?” His dad was a WWII veteran, as was Kerri’s father. My mom was a little girl living in Pearl Harbor on the day it was attacked because my grandfather provided services for the navy. In a single generation, the very threat our elders, our “greatest generation,” fought to eliminate, has overtaken the minds and hearts of the Grand Old Party. They’re currently holding a convention in Milwaukee to forward an agenda that would appall Abraham Lincoln but Adolph Hitler would applaud. “Did you ever think…?”

It’s too late for hazmat suits. The toxin is already racing through our system.

In this past week we’ve repeatedly heard the phrase, “We need to tone down the rhetoric on both sides.” It’s not the rhetoric we need to tone down, it’s the reality we need to face. We’re pretending that this an election like any other election, that it is “systems usual.” It is not. Our two party system is now a one party system attempting to fortify our young democracy against a dictatorial leader and his followers who are filled with fascist dreams. The dialed-up rhetoric of Democrats is akin to sounding an alarm warning of a system-annihilating storm. The rhetoric of the reds is the storm.

Unlike the ideal outlined by our founders, this is not a party of conservative values debating with a party of progressive values to find a compromise path forward: a system designed to achieve balance from opposing points of view. This is an ultranationalist aggression attempting to dismantle our system of governance and replace it with one that forcibly suppresses – and eliminates – any form of opposition.

The body dies when the toxin is ignored and allowed to attack the internal organs.

We play Rummikub with 20 to unplug from the worries of the day. Last night while we played, a terrific storm roared through the region, shaking the house with wind and buckets of rain. Dogga paced as lightning flashed. It was hard to concentrate on the game. I couldn’t help seeing the storm as a metaphor (of course…). With so much toxic waste spewing just up the road, and potentially washing away democracy’s foundation, it is no longer possible to unplug. It’s no longer wise to unplug. Not if we want our good house to survive the red storm.

an image from the archives: House On Fire, watercolor

visit my gallery site

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE GAME

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Doodlebug It! [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Some words are just too yummy to ignore. For instance, doodlebugging! Who wouldn’t want to toss that delicious word into almost any conversation-salad or happy poem? “The poor man was doodlebugging to no avail!” I am surprised that doodlebugging escaped the keen word-eye of Dr. Seuss!

Doodlebugging means to dowse or divine for treasure or petroleum. I ask myself, “What would I rather find, petroleum or treasure?” Well, I guess I would need more information. What kind of treasure? I imagine myself diligently doodlebugging in the backyard, my “Y” shaped stick goes wild! I dig a deep hole. Kerri stands on the deck, none-too-pleased with my doodlebugging destruction, until I leap into the hole and pull up a hefty pirate’s treasure, complete with many gold doubloons!

And, if I don’t divine for imagined treasure, I need to know whether or not I own the rights on the land I am doodlebugging. There’s no sense in doodlebugging for oil if someone else gets the profits for my newly dowsed black gold, texas tea.

I’ve decided that our poor sad nation needs a good doodlebugging. Despite the rhetoric, petroleum won’t cure what ails us so I suggest we doodlebug for treasure. Specifically, we seem to have lost our most valuable treasure: our moral compass. It has to be out there in the grass somewhere. Perhaps if neighbors across the land, regardless of political affiliation, met in the front yard or on the street, each with a handy “Y” shaped stick, and began a serious doodlebugging project in search for that pesky compass, together we’d find what we seek. A common cause which, after all, forms the foundation for unity and provides the seeds for ethical decision-making. Ethics are usually surfaced – or resurface – when people decide to serve something larger than their own interests.

We used to have one. I mean a common cause. It was called the Constitution, a document that framed, guided and preserved our democracy. Toward a more perfect union. By the way, union means ‘joining’ or ‘uniting.’ It’s what makes our common cause, in the midst of so much rich diversity, more perfect. The challenge is that the Constitution is lost or in hiding. Parchment is notoriously hard to doodlebug. One person will never find it. So, maybe if we all meet together in the front yard, armed with a harmless stick and a good intention, shake hands, laugh a little, and work with the people we so dearly love to vilify, we just might find the medicine our divided-against-itself nation needs. It’s hard to hate someone once you meet them in person, talk for a spell about family, food and “So, what do you do for work?”

A little friendly neighbor-chat while doodlebugging together will do away with the abstractions, labels, and dial-down the fear-mongering. In our common search for the lost compass, we just might learn that we have more in common than we’ve been led to believe.

read Kerri’s blog about Y

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