Follow The Rules [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

“Do you remember when you used to stand up without sound effects?” she asked. We burst out laughing at the truth of her question. A gathering of friends comparing the aches and pains of simple movement.

Kerri and I have initiated a few new roadtrip travel rules. First, we stop before the sun goes down. The days of seventeen hour long-hauls are over. Diminished night-sight made that rule necessary. Next, we stop every few hours to stretch our legs. We’ve found that if we don’t stop, the only way out of the car is to roll off the seat and crawl to the curb. Social grace and the aesthetics of aging made the stop-every-few-hours-rule essential. People at rest areas get nervous when our car door opens and I fall groaning to the ground, crawl with my elbows around the car, reach up to open Kerri’s door, and pull her moaning to the pavement.

Let’s face it. It’s not pretty. It’s always a better idea to stop while there’s still some feeling in our legs.

read Kerri’s blogpost about LONG DRIVES

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smack-dab © 2023 kerrianddavid.com

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Burst [David’s blog on KS Friday]

If there is a metaphor for Kerri and me, it is this. A seedpod filled to bursting, ready to release into the world an abundance of the new.

We write more than most people care to read. I’ve calculated that, at this point, we’ve written the equivalent of ten full length novels. We have readers all over the globe – yesterday someone in Mongolia showed up. “Why would someone in Mongolia want to read what we write?” we asked, delighted. No matter. It’s what happens when you love what you are doing.

Yesterday, in a fit of no-duh, I reformatted the Smack-dab page on our site so it might be readable (I’m not sure what took me so long…) and I was astounded at our output. I fell into it. Smack-dab joins the comic canon of Chicken Marsala, Flawed Cartoon, At the Door, Flip, and the KnowNow series.

We love to share what we love. Sometimes I see-just-for-a-moment that our ordinary is extraordinary.

We have the third of Beaky’s books to produce. Kerri’s written a children’s book that someday she will allow me to illustrate. I have new ideas every day that get written on slips of paper and tossed in a bin called Someday.

Our Roadtrip is ready to roll and join The Lost Boy in our canon of plays performed together. I am working on a draft of a new play that I’ve been thinking about for years. I allow myself an hour of space away from the job hunt to write or work on a scene. One scene a week. I’m awaiting the decision whether or not my Last of the Old Gods will be rescheduled into the PCO season. It’s a timely story. It needs performing and I need to perform it.

Kerri stares at her piano. There is so much more music to make. I know it. She knows it. I can personally attest to the fact that some of her best vocal pieces have yet to be recorded. I am the sole recipient of such riches.

Each day I stand in my studio and close my eyes and feel the pulse. There are so many more paintings to paint.

Years ago, Joyce, staring wide-eyed into my future, said to me: You express what is true. You reach people through their hearts. You help them to believe.

It’s not a career. It’s an imperative. Seedpods. Ready to burst.

That Morning Someday/The Best So Far © 1995/1999 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about SEEDPOD

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See Hope [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

The sun had set. The pond lights aglow. The night was quiet with occasional bursts of the cicada chorus. We were exhausted from the day. I saw its silhouette when Dogga ran his usual circuit by the pond. It leapt across the light and plopped into the water. A frog.

“What are you doing?” Kerri asked as I jumped from my chair.

“But it’s late September!” I said. She narrowed her eyes, my reply too random for synapse connection. “I just saw a frog!” I announced and she was instantly by my side. We stayed by the water for several minutes, searching, but saw no further sign. “I didn’t imagine it,” I whispered. “I saw it. We have a frog.”

“I know.”

I’d like to say that we didn’t need some sign of hope, some whisper of encouragement, but it would be a lie. This unlikely frog, coming so late in the season, seemed like a sign or at least we decided to make it so. “Things are going to change for the better,” she said. I nodded. I was so tired I wanted to blubber with giddy-frog-inspired-relief.

“I’ll take my hope anyway I can get it,” I said.

“That’s what we should name it!” she replied. “Hope.”

Yes. Hope. A silhouette flashing across the light on an otherwise quiet dark night. A leap. A glimpse. And suddenly, anything is possible.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE FROG

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Rely On It [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

Our old window AC unit weighs a ton. On the day I haul it up from the basement and heft it into the window, Kerri retreats to the bedroom. “I can’t watch!” she says, fleeing. It’s part of our ritual. For some reason we always wait until the last moment to resurrect it. We wait until we’ve sufficiently suffered before we look at each other and say in unison, “I can’t stand it any more!” That, too, is part of our ritual.

We can’t afford to replace it with something made in the current century though, truth be told, I’m not sure we would if we could. It’s a workhorse! It comes from a time when planned obsolescence was not yet on the plan. It’s like our stove and will likely outlive us all. Built-to-last.

This week, while firmly under the heat-dome, with temperatures soaring to the ridiculous, our too-heavy-not-pretty-waaay-too-loud-ancient-old-AC was not only up to the task, it was a champ. We knew it would be. We’ll take steadfast over fast, dedicated over disposable, any day of the week. Loyal. Committed. Dependable.

Confidently relying on the extraordinary relevance of age and experience. How odd! It’s something we increasingly identify with. It’s rapidly becoming part of our reality.

read Kerri’s blogpost on RELEVANCE

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smack-dab © 2023 kerrianddavid.com

Grow The Return [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

A lot of love and attention goes into Kerri’s garden. It may be small but it is a mighty source of pleasure and satisfaction.

I’ve found that there is no better antidote for feeling defeated in the world than taking a break and smelling the basil. OMG. The lavender makes me close my eyes and smile. The mint clears my mind. The tomatoes fill us with hope and renewal as we daily cheer them into existence.

What goes around, comes around. So much love and attention goes in to her garden and what comes around, what comes back to us, is nothing less than a miracle. Smells and tastes that affirm how great it is to be alive. Tastes and smells that can turn a dark day into something brilliant.

read Kerri’s blogpost about TOMATOES

smack-dab © 2023 kerrianddavid.com

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Bring It To Life [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

We’re staying put this summer. Circumstance requires it though that hasn’t put a damper on our capacity to dream. “If you could go anywhere right now, where would you go?” For us, it’s a daily game and fun to play.

Kerri and I are roadtrippers. New experiences feed our imaginations and our artistry. Kerri imagines composing with her piano firmly seated at the edge of the canyonlands. I imagine a series of artist-residencies providing stops along the way, taking us to beautiful places to create, stir the pot, meet new people, ignite ideas…

It’s a great dream. Our job, as we see it, one way or the other, is to bring it to life.

read Kerri’s blogpost about TRAVEL DREAMS

smack-dab. © 2023 kerrianddavid.com

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Write A Nasty-Gram [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

Here we are. Knock-knock-knocking on Medicare’s door.

First, I want to know who designed Medicare. I use the word “designed” loosely since this hot-mess-of-a-system is purposefully fragmented and filled with landmines meant to trip older people. It’s probably designed by the same team that orchestrated the tax codes. Daedalus, designer of the labyrinth that held the Minotaur captive, might have created something so stupidly complex. In government-program-design-school there must be a course entitled Over-Complicating Simple Systems.

Of course, the Supremes, in eliminating Affirmative Action, suggested that we already enjoy equal access under the law [insert eye-roll]. So, I want access to the same health program as Congress. I want to pay the same percentage of tax as the 1%. Or, I want them to pay the same percentage that I pay.

I’d write a nasty gram but I know there’s also a senior level course in government-program-design-school entitled, Tipping The Scales For The Few. You have to take it in conjunction with the class called Dumbfounding The Citizenry.

read Kerri’s more-pleasant-less-ranty smack-dab post.

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Bring It On! [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

My favorite Smack-Dab cartoons are drawn directly from our conversations. This one happened verbatim. We howled when Siri replaced our “wilty” with “wealthy”. I’m shallow enough to admit that I hope to someday experience the challenge of being un-hire-aable because I am too wealthy. “We’d hire you Mr. Robinson but you’re too stinking rich”.

I’m already familiar with the wilty part.

This is, perhaps, the only time I will suggest that you keep your comments to yourself. Unless, of course, you have suggestions about making me too wealthy to hire. In that case, bring it on!

read Kerri’s blogpost about WILTY

smack-dab. © 2023 kerrianddavid.com

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See Beyond [on Two Artists Tuesday]

Breck, the small aspen tree in our backyard, is beginning to change its colors for the season. Although we have yet in our neighborhood to smell autumn in the air, Breck is giving us a heads-up.

A decade ago I wrote that, in order to see beyond preconception (thought), artists and entrepreneurs need to master two skills: pattern recognition and metaphor. Look for patterns and you will eventually see beyond them. See beyond the pattern and, as Ash Bhoopathy said, “The familiar will become strange and the strange will become familiar.” What an amazing definition of metaphor.

In this pattern cycle, the green becomes brilliant golden yellow as Breck turns her summer attention from the sun and sends her focus into the root for winter nourishment.

Kerri’s photographs are often extreme close-ups. She has a bit of Georgie O’Keeffe in her artist’s eye. Often, when showing me the latest photo, she pulls the-already-close-up-image into a detail. I am always amazed at the pattern beneath the pattern beneath the pattern. The plumes of the grasses are a festival of pattern. The many feet of the caterpillar, perfect suction cups.

Despite our dedication to our perceived differences, we, too are a festival of pattern. The operative word is “perceived.” Pull the lens close-in and our divisions disappear as rapidly as our skin color. Pull the focus farther out and we move together in a sweet-and-sour ballet. Koyannisqatsi. History repeats, a pattern, like the cycle of the seasons. Order moves to chaos to order to chaos…mainly in our minds. Order is what we crave, so purblind are we to seeing the ubiquity of pattern.

The plumes explode pink and red on the grasses The chipmunks have picked up their foraging pace. The geese have reappeared. The miracles are in the familiar, strange and surprising when seen again for the first time. The feel of the hand of the one you love. The moon on a clear cold night. The yellow rim reaching through the green quaking leaves.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BRECK’S LEAVES