More Than Enough [David’s blog on KS Friday]

The wind arrived late last night shaking the leaves free from their grip on the limbs. They are late to fall this year. The chimes rang, announcing the leaves parachute-esque descent to the ground. Dogga played the role of sentinel, sitting on the deck, watching, making sure nature dropped her color in an orderly fashion.

Their was laughter in our house last night. In a surprise last-minute announcement, Craig and Justin arrived for Thanksgiving dinner. We couldn’t have been more pleased. Luckily, we’d made a big pot of Guinness stew and mashed potatoes so there was more than enough. Warm bread, too. And wine. Salted caramel ice cream and blueberries for dessert.

More than enough.

Roger used to regularly ask, “What is sufficient?” For him it was a meditation on how to live a good life. Sufficiency. Knowing what is ample is necessary in order to recognize abundance.

Crawling beneath the quilt at the end of the day, Dogga asleep at our feet, we sighed, “What a great day.”

“Beyond sufficient,” I thought, a gratitude wrapped in a memory of my now distant friend. It was much, much more than enough.

Grateful on the album AS IT IS © 2004 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about LEAVES

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Lean Into The Lull [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“I’m trying to immerse in the lull,” Kerri said and smiled.

We find ourselves with a square or two on the calendar with nothing written in it. A wise friend suggested we embrace the lull and cultivate a bit of quiet mind. We have some big decisions looming but not yet pressing. Fortunately, we have a trip up north that meshes with our empty calendar. There’s a canoe calling our name.

“Nothing needs deciding today,” our wise friend suggested.

Krishnamurti wrote that no problem can truly be solved until the mind is still. Constantly chewing on the question rarely leads to anything but more problem creation. Panic. Or blindness to possibility.

Usually “letting go” for a day or two is a difficult task but we’re finding exhaustion is a great helper. “I don’t have a thought in my head!” I said this morning, staring into space.

“Good!” Kerri said. “That’s the whole point!”

Actions for leaning into the lull: Hug the exhaustion. Send the weighty decisions to sleep-away-camp. Keep the calendar space as empty as the mind. Paddle the canoe. Take a nap.

Peace will find us there.

Peace on the album As It Is © 2004 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about PEACE

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Sing A Love Song [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“Watch for all that beauty reflecting from you and sing a love song to your existence.” ~ Rumi

Deep in the night the thunder rumbled and shook the house. The rain came in buckets and reached through the open window. She leapt out of slumber to close it and then retreated beneath the blankets. She was almost as quickly fast asleep. A leap both ways. I counted the space between the flash and the boom. One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand…Sky’s grumble.

Needless to say, I was awake and on a mind-wander. I remembered students who were invested in the belief that something was wrong with them. Young artists and visionaries desiring to fit in. When young, it’s hard not being one-of-the-crowd. My job at the time, I now believe, was to help them recognize that they were unique in all the world. To flip their perspective. To love in themselves that which made them stand out, that which they feared and rejected.

I understood them because I had walked their path. At this age, I continue to walk the path.

In my mind-wander I reviewed my day. Once, I thought a love song to my existence was somehow a product of achievement. I’m no longer confused about that. Twice today, the dogga came to find me and I was moved to tears. Kerri and I sat on the deck watching the cardinals and she took my hand and I knew to my core that I was the luckiest man alive. She showed me the photo of a daisy drinking in the sun. I am surrounded by generosity and friendship. Rob sends a daily pun in an attempt to keep our spirits high. Dan brought a plastic bin with all the fixings for Southern Comfort Old-Fashioneds – and seed for our lawn because he had extra.

Watch for the beauty.

The lightning flashed. The sky rumbled. I reveled in the sounds of my love song, marveled at my existence.

In A Split Second/As Sure As The Sun © 2002 Kerri Sherwood

Grateful/As It Is © 2004 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE DAISY

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Look-At-Me-Look-At-You [David’s blog on KS Friday]

It struck me that as the crowd gathered to watch the family of foxes, the foxes, in turn, gathered to observe the rabble of humans. Look-at-me-look-at-you. I wondered if they thought of us as wild, uncultivated. I know they were delighted that a makeshift fence stood between us and them.

The mother fox leapt onto a stone and seemed to pose for photographs but I was certain she was drawing attention away from her brood. Look-at-me-not-at-them. She knew how to make her frolicking children disappear. And they did. Once safe, she stepped off her platform, no rush, and also disappeared.

A local woman walking her dog saw the crowd and asked, “Is it the foxes?” I nodded. “Thought so,” she said and nonchalantly continued on her way. A family of foxes in the center of town. Nothing new. For her it happens every day. For us, passers-through, it was a surprise. A delight. A family of foxes have never rollicked on our street at home. I may never see this again. She will see it again on her stroll tomorrow, just like yesterday. Thus, the power of perspective.

I read that foxes are observers. They easily meld into their surroundings. They vanish so they can watch. So they can see. “If Fox has chosen to share its medicine with you, it is a sign that you are to become like the wind, which is unseen yet is able to weave into and through any location or situation. You would be wise to observe the acts of others rather than their words at this time.”

Tom Mck told me that as he aged he felt that he grew invisible. I feel much the same way these days though my encounter with the foxes has made me realize that I have mostly lived my life as an observer of others. Like the wind. I much preferred coaching people over the phone: I could listen purely – no negotiating of image – and easily hear the message behind the words. Perhaps I have not grown invisible but am only now fully realizing the truth of one of my gifts. Weaving through any location or situation: Look-at-me-look-at-you.

Every Breath/As It Is © 2004 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE FOXES

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Ding! [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Inspiration rarely looks like we think it ought to look. It rarely comes from the direction we expect. This little bell throws Kerri into advanced fantasies about her “store.” Her imagination is unbridled; her internal space is large enough to hold more than one store. For instance, she has visions of a food truck called And Sauce. Hungry people come to the window and order her special pasta sauce on a variety of delivery options. There are many variations of craft and clothing shops, art stores, there is a series of online products that follow The Little Pillow world-wide explosion. This composer, singer-songwriter has a heart for retail. It’s why she owns her own label and mourns the onset of the age of streaming: selling CD’s was too much fun.

The little bell also makes an appearance (in her mind) each time she sells something unearthed from the basement. “Ding!” she sings with excitement, when the folding screen or the bag of books find a new home. Sometimes, as we sort through the next layer of stuff in the basement, I hear her sing, “Ding!” Another sale made in her mind.

To be clear, we do not own the bell. We saw it one day in an antique store. “I have to take a picture!” she said. “To remember.” It’s among the many lovely quirks that she developed through her life as an artist. Wanting does not necessarily mean possessing. When we first met, showing me a magazine of women’s clothing, she explained, “If I stare at the picture long enough I don’t need to have it.” The yearning is satisfied by the yearning, not the having.

And, the yearning inspires new ideas, clever combinations of what’s already in her closet. This little bell works on the same principle. Retail mania in many configurations rolls out of her yearning for the bell. You’d be amazed at all the clever combinations on the menu of And Sauce. You’d be be delighted – as I am – with the joy-feels that ripple across the house every time the sing-song imaginary bell rings. “Ding!”

Another sale.

Unfolding/As It Is © 2004 Kerri Sherwood

Kerri’s music is available on iTunes and streaming on Pandora and iHeart Radio

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE BELL

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Mind The Deer [David’s blog on KS Friday]

We don’t always see them but we know they are present. The deer. We note their tracks and have learned where they usually cross the path. They follow careful pathways, game trails that are visible when we are walking slow enough to spot them.

As a symbol, they are heart-centered. They are associated with gentleness and it’s easy to understand why. They are gentle creatures. Even when bounding away, their leap is graceful and quiet, as if they are careful not to disturb the grasses and ground. They are mindful of their impact on the world.

We feel fortunate when we see them. It sometimes feels as if they show themselves to us. They seem to know when our hearts are hurting so reveal themselves, even for a moment, to help fill us with peace. It’s always true that we stop all movement, all thinking, all worry, all despair…when they show themselves. They are like magical makers of space, instantly turning tumult into vast acres of serenity. They look at us with large black eyes to make sure our spirits are calm, our hearts refreshed, and then they disappear as quickly as they appeared. “What were we talking about?”

“I can’t remember.”

The calm stays with us as we become like the deer, filled with their intentional spirit, quiet and innocent. Present, that special place beyond our future worries and past regrets.

watershed/as it is © 2004 kerri sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE DEER

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Be In Cahoots [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“I’m making old guy sounds,” I said. All morning I’ve been extra-moaning-and-groaning. Clearing my throat. “I’m making the sound my dad used to make!” She laughed. We are in cahoots, partners in this aging thing.

The temperatures are dropping and my inner weather station is alerting me to the changes. Achy joints. Sinus headaches. I’m not sure why an inner weather station is necessary. I can see the snow on the ground. The cold wind is hard to miss. The back door is sticking. There are plenty of indicators that the seasons are changing. “I know! I know already!” I say to my buckling knees. They seem to think that I missed the temperature plummet. “As if I didn’t already know.”

She laughs.

Sometimes when I walk across the parking lot toward the grocery store I pretend to be really old. She punches my arm and whispers “Stop it!” And then she looks around to make sure no one is watching my antics. “What! I’m practicing!” I say. “Practice makes perfect.” Another punch. “It’s the only way to Carnegie Hall!” I shout, defending my self. A third punch. And then she laughs.

Mission accomplished.

The view is near. The view is far. The day we met we climbed out a window onto the roof, drank wine, and shared life stories. The wind was cold off the lake so we wrapped blankets around ourselves. When it was too cold we came inside, sat in front of a fire, and shared more life stories. She read a story to me, something she’d written. She wanted me to know. She played the piano for me. I wanted to know.

We don’t have decades of shared memory so we share stories. We want to know. Looking back as we move forward. Comparing newly discovered aches and pains. Dusting off old heartbreaks, roads not taken. We are in cahoots, partners in this life thing.

And, to my great delight, captive witness to my endless antics, mostly, she laughs.

[let me take you back will not only take you back but will also give you a lift]

let me take you back/as it is © 2004 kerri sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about NEAR AND FAR

share. like. comment. support. compare. dust off. read aloud. practice, practice, practice. we applaud every act.

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Feel The Sound [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Far into the sleepless night, the cold night air driving me deeper beneath the quilt, I heard the low song of the chimes and whispered a gratitude to Guy. There are few things in life that bring me an immediate sense of peace and well-being like the chimes.

A few months ago Kerri and I wrote of our yearning for chimes. Our “someday” wish. We wrote of the many times we’ve stood in stores, sounding the chimes-on-display, feeling and then discussing the tones. Guy read our post. His life is rapidly changing. He wanted to find a new home for his beloved chimes. Would we like them? Yes! Double-Yes!

They are magic. I feel the sound to my core. In the few weeks since we hung them from our spruce tree, more than once I’ve stood near when the breezes begin to blow, and closed my eyes so I can feel the full ripple of sound resonate through my being. It’s like a giant Tibetan prayer bowl. Instant calm. Instant presence.

Were I in charge of this contentious world, every person would begin each day with chimes. Eyes closed, resonating with the wind and their neighbors. But, since I am not in charge, I will drink in the peace and each time whisper my deepest thanks to Guy.

[this may be my favorite of Kerri’s compositions]

peace/as it is © 2004 kerri sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about CHIMES

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Unroll And Tune In [on KS Friday]

I did a stupid thing. A few years ago I rolled several of my canvases and stacked the many heavy rolls. Stacking them was my crime. The weight crushed the bottom rolls, potentially leaving ripples in the paintings. I know better. I’m unrolling each, one roll at a time, weighting the flat canvas so any potential wave is pressed. So far there is no damage.

I have opened three rolls. I have three more rolls to go. The opened rolls remain flat on the ground with the next roll layered on top. A new type of stack. Sedimentary paintings. Each layer provides weight to help flatten the previous roll. It’s slow going. I am being careful. I am treating the canvas – my paintings – with the respect that I should have afforded them long ago.

We took a walk on the road when we were up north. It was snowing and the world became snow-quiet. As without, so within. I became snow-quiet. The gang walked ahead as Kerri took a photo of the silent woods. I turned my face to the snow and felt the sting of each flake. Sometimes, when deep in the snow-quiet, the life-canvas is blank and affords the opportunity to discover the world anew; snow on my face for the first time. This earth is heartbreakingly beautiful.

Unrolling each roll of paintings is like turning my face to the falling snow. It makes me quiet. I am seeing paintings – my paintings – that I have not seen for a few years. I am afforded the opportunity to discover my world anew. I’m finding, as I carefully weight them, hoping the ripples are not permanent, that I have new eyes and new appreciation for my life and work. Unrolling the rolls, caring for the pieces, evokes peace in me.

I painted each of these paintings for the same reason. Standing before my easel quiets my mind and tunes me into something bigger than my tiny frets and future worries. It connects me – and that is whole point of the arts. It connects us. Unites us.

With each roll revealed, just as with each new painting, I become clear, if only for a moment. Like a walk through the woods on a snowy day.

[Peace is one of my favorites of Kerri’s compositions]

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about SNOWY WOODS

peace/as it is © 2004 kerri sherwood

Reminisce [on KS Friday]

Staring at a waterfall throws me into reminiscence. The rushing water pulls me into the past. I never know where I’m going to land, who I will remember, or what moment I’ll revisit. Waterfalls are time machines. They are also great reminders that time-does-not-stand-still.

While Kerri took photos of the falls, I was transported back to the ranch. A long time ago. Sunset over the fields. Tom and I sipped wine while he told stories. He was a great teller of stories. He was a great saver-of-lost-boys and it had only just occurred to me that I was among the lost boys that he’d saved.

Applying for jobs is akin to staring at a waterfall. Reminiscence without the romance. I was preparing material for a position that involved mentorship and, to stir my cover-letter-thinking, Kerri asked me a question, “What was the single most important moment you’ve experienced with one of your mentors?”

I responded with the first memory that came to mind. And, in truth, it didn’t come to my mind; it hit my heart like thunderclap. Tom came for a visit. I was living in Seattle and he flew in to spend some time with me. It was so simple. A visit. This man that I so admired went out of his way to hang out with me. I mattered. It altered the path of my life.

Time flows by. The waterfall of my life is rich beyond measure. I am now the age Tom was the evening that we sipped wine on the deck at the ranch. I am forever grateful that he altered the course of my life-river – by simply showing up.

Tom and me a long time ago.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE WATERFALL

[this piece reminds me of THE LOST BOY and Tom]

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

riverstone/as it is © 2004 kerri sherwood