A Symbol of Hope [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

There is no more appropriate symbol on the first day of the new year than the pine cone. It is an ancient symbol that reaches across cultures and religions. Spiritual awakening, inner vision, new growth, enduring spirit.

When we were married, Joan gave us a box of pine cones. We’ve followed her suggestion and each year commit a cone to fire to release the seeds. New life. The symbology also includes resilience because fire is often required to free the seeds. Fire transforms.

2025 was like a forest fire in these un-United States. It is my hope, our hope, that the hot authoritarian fire of 2025 released the seeds of democracy’s renewal, that we awaken – reawaken – to the enduring spirit of our diverse nation and the promise of equality under the law, the expectation of liberty and justice for all. It is the epicenter, the aspiration-seed planted by our founders and protected by our Constitution.

On this, the first day of this new year, 2026, there is no more appropriate symbol of hope for our future than the pine cone.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE PINECONE

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If We So Choose [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

We had a debate about the painting on my easel that was so passionate, so intense, that Dogga thought we were having an argument and fled to the his safe-spot in the bathroom. We were startled out of our vehemence, laughed at ourselves and loved on him, reassuring him that all was right in the world.

We celebrate the return of the light. Depending upon the tradition, the celebration-of-light’s-return takes many forms and expresses through beautiful and unique rituals and symbols. The lighting of candles. The exchange of gifts. The sharing of a meal. If you think about it, each of these rituals, across all of the various traditions, are meant to bring us together. Light’s return is a symbol of hope, an annual call to the possibility of unity. Many paths, one mountain.

It is the time of year that we are for a moment capable of acknowledging the impact of our vehemence and actions upon others. It is the time of year that we at least pretend to desire peace on earth; it is the time that we sing songs of goodwill toward others. We ask it of our gods but know deep down that it is a wish that only we can grant if we so choose.

We first must choose it.

Our choices on this day? We will walk a snowy trail and revel in the quiet. We will come home, laugh at ourselves, share a meal and love on our Dogga, his unconditional love reassures us each-and-every-day that all is right in the world. Grateful, we will light our happy-lights, and crawl under a blanket.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BLANKETS AND SOCKS

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The Ever-Green [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

As we sat down to write, she said, “Who knows what will happen in a week.” It sparked a minor revelation for me. We are writing this post a full week ahead of publishing, which is unusual for us. We generally write a day or two ahead but rarely in our Melange writing have given ourselves this much of a head start. In fact, we’ve maintained our seven day lead for the past two weeks. My minor revelation: In these divisive times, when we write a day or two before posting, we are more likely to focus on the latest outrage. We are reactive. When we write several days ahead, we are more likely to focus on something generative, positive. We are intentional.

Standing in the present we are often overwhelmed by the brutality of the current regime. We wonder at the people who voted for and continue to support such mean-spirited-immorality.

Staring into the future we see and believe in the inherent goodness of people. We are often taken by the beauty and generosity that surround us.

It hasn’t always been this way. This time-related-split-focus is unique to this age of attempted authoritarian takeover of our nation. Prior to this monstrous administration we generally focused on the goodness, the people and places that inspired us – whether we were writing a single day or a week ahead.

Kerri and I are not religious (well, she comes from a Lutheran tradition and I must have been a mashup between a Druid and Buddhist in a past life) so the two symbols that populate our home during the holidays are trees and lights. Trees with lights. There are little trees popping up everywhere. There is a tiny tree in my studio and one on her piano.

Last night, staring at the tiny tree that sits on the bistro table in our sunroom, I thought it a perfect symbol for our times. The evergreen is an ancient symbol, associated with the solstice, the return of the light. The tree and its boughs represent – and have always represented – the end of the dark times. It once represented the healing of the ailing sun and its return to health. It proffers a promise of good times ahead.

The little tree on our table helped me grok my minor revelation. Metaphorically – and literally – we are currently standing in darkness. It is immediate and necessary to write about the monsters that plague us. It is heartbreaking to watch the rapid decline of our ailing nation.

Yet, moving through the solstice in its various forms of celebration, when we look into the future we hold out hope for the inevitable return of the light. It beckons, like the little trees, and promises the return of kindness and the restoration of health to the hearts of the people and to the nation. And, when that day arrives, we will no doubt retire our split focus, leave the darkness and dark days behind, and re-establish a singular focus on the generative, the light, the ever-green.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE TREE

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Reach For The Wind [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

“And we can love and respect the extraordinary quality of stillness that even a candle can express, of how the chaos of fire is not in contradiction with the understanding of the flame.” Peter Brook, The Quality of Mercy, Reflections on Shakespeare

We walked the trail on a very breezy day. As she crouched to snap a photograph of the open seedpod I watched the tiny feather-sails flutter and strain, responding to the siren call of the wind. Two weeks ago the seedpod seemed so contained, all was in order. Held. Now it had burst. Its purpose was revealed. Success was totally reliant upon the chaotic wind to carry the seeds into the unknown future. The next generation completely dependent upon the fickle swirl of the wind.

The dance of order and chaos.

It occurs to me that we are not so different from the seedpod in our dance with order and chaos, in our attempts at trying to predict and keep-in-order our destiny. Our belief that we can somehow contain or control our future. How little we understand the forces of circumstance in shaping our path and reaffirming our need for the perception of order. It was a seeming collapse of my world, a hurricane of circumstance, that blew away what I knew as stability yet opened a pathway to a new life with Kerri.

Aren’t we currently living through an era of chaos that is blasting our nation to bits? An ugly white supremacist subterranean order has once again been unearthed and brought into the light. The seedpod of democracy has burst. The seeds of our future are ready for the launch. Aren’t we the swirling wind that will carry those seeds into the unknown future?

I encourage you to take 20 minutes and listen to an interview with Maryland’s new senate candidate, Bobby LaPin. Listen all the way through; it is the hopeful sound of democracy’s seedpod bursting, the seeds of our future reaching for the wind.

read Kerri’s blog about THE SEEDPOD


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Open Space [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

“In individuals, insanity is rare; but in groups, parties, nations, and epochs, it is the rule.” ~ Friedrich Nietzsche

We awoke this morning to a foot of snow and a mountain of disappointment as 8 Democratic senators betrayed their party and their constituents, joining the Republicans to end the shutdown and any hope of affordable healthcare in the foreseeable future.

And so we sink ever deeper into the insanity of our times.

Insanity (noun): extreme foolishness or irrationality.

We are transforming rooms in our house, repainting rooms, cleaning out cabinets and repurposing old shelves. It is a balm for the insanity. It is to exercise a modicum of control in the only place we can: our home.

Heather Cox Richardson suggests that the same thing is happening in our nation. We are witnessing a changing of the guard. A cleaning out. A new generation of ideas and leaders are emerging as the old guard – on both sides – seems more and more inept. Hers is a message of hope.

Here’s how hope sounds: I urge you to take 20 minutes and listen to Bryan Tyler Cohen’s interview with Michigan senate candidate Dr. Abdul El-Sayed. It is the most coherent, clear-eyed conversation about healthcare that I’ve yet heard. It is the sound of a new generation of leaders. Dr. El-Sayed is one of many well-intentioned believers in democracy, capable of debate, willing to fight for the good of the people of the nation, eschewing corporate money so those leaders are not beholden to the corrupt take-over of our government.

During COVID we transformed rooms of our house into sanctuaries, spaces of intentional peace. Our isolation became a retreat. Now, we are opening space, creating spaciousness. Spaciousness is our response to the airless insanity, the utter cowardice and incompetence at the helm of the nation.

And, to our expanding spaciousness we welcome the quiet that the snow brings. Rather than dwell in the disappointment of betrayal/capitulation, we’ll turn our eyes to the vast hope that open space and a new generation of bright lights promise to bring.

Greet The Day, 48″x48″, mixed media on canvas

read Kerri’s blog post about SNOW

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Golden Hour [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.” ~ Plato

We’ve planted tall grasses in both our front and back yards. This is our favorite time of year to watch the magic dance of the grasses. They put on their suits of warm autumn colors, yellow, orange and purple, and during golden hour, they literally glow while swaying in the breeze. It is sometimes shocking how beautiful they become in the golden hour.

I just learned that there are two meanings to the phrase “the golden hour.” The first refers to the quality of diffused warm light in the period shortly before sunset or just after sunrise. The second is new to me: “The term also has a separate, critical meaning in emergency medicine, referring to the first 60 minutes after a traumatic injury during which time is of the essence for surgical intervention.” (Wikipedia) The chances of survival are greater if treatment begins within the golden hour.

It was the phrase “willful ignorance” that stopped my scroll, landed me on Plato’s quote. It made me laugh. It is a phrase that, for me, now encapsulates the republican party, maga, and anyone who daily consumes fox news. It is one thing to be ignorant. It is another to choose ignorance. We are witness to the path of destruction wrought on our nation by people who are willfully ignorant, people who fear the light.

The results of the recent election read like both definitions of the golden hour. The injury to our nation has been substantial but our chances of survival just increased with a just-in-time intervention. And, what felt like a rapid descent into darkness just entered a golden hour. Time will tell if this period of warm, diffused light is a sunset or a new beginning: sunrise. My hope is for the latter, a new day guided by people who are not afraid and who welcome the light.

HOLDING ON/LETTING GO on the album RIGHT NOW © 2010 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE GRASSES

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An Affirmation[David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

We crossed paths with a praying mantis. Otherwise perfectly still, it glanced in our direction. Its glance brought us to perfect stillness.

It’s hard to beat a praying mantis encounter if you are looking for good omens. They are associated with good luck and divine guidance. In these dark times we’ll take all the good omens we can get. We are open to positive guidance, divine or otherwise.

We played look-at-me-look-at-you for several moments. I wondered if it felt the same awe for us as we felt for it. I imagined it felt awe for everything; we were one of many awesome moments in its day. It was a rare moment of awe in ours.

It was graceful enough to hold its pose for the duration of the photo shoot. Spiritual contemplation is another of the traits we assign to praying mantis so I wondered while posing for its picture if it contemplated our obsession of capturing a moment in time, our need for memory aids to help us remember awe.

After the photos it returned its gaze to some distant place or meditation. We continued our walk filled with the notion – or the hope – that this giant universe had just placed a small yet potent affirmation on our path.

read Kerri’s blog about the PRAYING MANTIS

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Recognize The Real [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Dan has lived his whole life in this town. He told me that, when he was a boy, there were thousands upon thousands of monarch butterflies. Their habitat is mostly gone. We delight watching them each evening, the three or four that flutter through our backyard sanctuary. I’ve always appreciated the appearance of these vibrant orange wobbly fliers, these harbingers of fall. Now, I see them with different eyes. These few are intrepid survivors, the carriers of a flickering torch into the future.

An enormous black wasp flew in hauling a long blade of grass. It pulled the grass into the tubing of the chair in which Kerri was sitting. Thinking that it was odd that a wasp was going it alone – and being reactive against a potential sting, we did some quick research. We discovered that it was a Organ Pipe Mud Dauber. They are not aggressive. The females build individual nests either by creating or finding an appropriate tube shaped hole. Thus, the name, Organ Pipe. They are great for a garden. We watched her during the evening as several times she flew away and returned with more grass to pull into the pipe for the nest. We marveled at our wrong assumptions and the mountain of things that we know nothing about. Our initial reaction, based on wrong assumptions and absolutely no information, nearly made us miss the miracle.

The first day of September. En route to refresh the water in the birdbath I startled a tiny frog. It leapt and plopped into the pond, disappearing. We’d given up hope that we’d have a frog this year. They usually show up in early July. In the middle of August we stopped checking, accepting that it would be a frog-less season. “FROG!” I shout-whispered to Kerri and she came running. We sat by the pond for several minutes. “Are you sure you saw it,” she asked.

“I’m sure.”

We’ve come to understand the arrival of a frog as an affirmation. A bringer-of-hope. It’s remains a mystery how frogs find their way to our tiny backyard pond. This little frog is evasive and has become something of a metaphor in these fraught times: hope is present but hard to see. We hear it plop into the pond but have not had a second sighting. I’m certain our neighbors think that we are deranged as they watch us carefully tip-toe to the pond. “Are they sneaking up on their pond?” Michele wrinkles her brow and asks John. He shrugs. He’s grown used to our peculiarity.

Sneaking up on hope. Making sure we don’t miss the miracle. Recognizing the real value of the few intrepid monarchs fluttering by.

perhaps finished? Title: 66 & 19, 31.5″x36″ mixed media on canvas

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE MONARCH

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Hummingbird Hope [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Hummingbirds bring to mind my great aunt Dorothy. Outside the door of her tiny mountain home, precariously perched – and tilting slightly – on the hill above the Central City Opera House, she maintained a festival of brightly colored hummingbird feeders. She was a no-nonsense woman who cooked her meals on a cast iron wood burning stove. She loved her hummingbirds.

I felt Dorothy hanging out with me when I planted the cardinal flower in the huge rusty-ancient-fire-pit that we placed near the hummingbird feeder to help attract more hummingbirds. Kerri loves her hummingbirds.

For weeks the cardinal flower was flowerless. It did a fine Jack-and-the-Beanstalk imitation, growing tall, reaching for the sky. “Where are the blossoms?” she asked. I shrugged. This was my first cardinal flower so I was clueless. I was, however, mightily impressed that it had grown taller than me.

Hummingbirds, like us, are not fans of very hot and incessantly humid weather so they abandoned our region and sought fairer climes. Their absence has been palpable. There were so many zipping about earlier in the summer that their disappearance is magnified.

Unusually, because of the heat-smoke-and-humidity-combo-platter, we’ve mostly been inside, staying close to “the cold box”. We’ve abandoned our usual outdoor living and make only quick forays into the yard to water plants, pull weeds, and harvest basil or jalapeño peppers. As the weeks passed we’d mostly forgotten about the flowerless cardinal plant. We stopped refreshing the hummingbird feeder.

The first pop of color nearly knocked us over. The red was electric against the viridian ivy slowly covering our neighbor’s garage. Within a few days, despite the persistent heat and humidity, a single hardy hummingbird visited and drank deeply from the blossoms. Kerri quickly whipped up a new batch of sugar water and refilled the feeder.

We’ve not yet seen another. I imagine the lone hummingbird was a scout for the hummingbird clan and reported that although it found a brilliant cardinal plant and a fresh batch of sugar water, the conditions remained unfavorable. The smokey heavy air was not ideal for flight.

And so we wait.

Dorothy used to stand at her kitchen door, watching the hummingbird feeders in her tiny mountain yard. “They give me hope,” she’d say.

We watch our feeder and towering cardinal plant from the kitchen window. “Do you think they’ll come back?” she asks.

“Of course,” I say. “We can only hope.”

read Kerri’s blog about THE CARDINAL PLANT

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Special Delivery [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Iris is a goddess in Greek mythology. She is like the postal service, delivering messages between the gods and humans. In ancient Greek, Iris means rainbow. ‘Iris links the gods to humanity.” She links humanity to the gods. Tease that tidbit of symbolism apart and she provides the connective tissue linking people to wisdom, human beings to truth.

Although rainbows appear as an arch from the ground, they are actually complete circles, light refracted and reflected through water droplets. The ancient Greeks would never have been able to see the full circle since it takes an airplane to see the whole of Iris but I bet they had no problem seeing the circular nature of truth; the end-less nature of wisdom available if one can climb high enough to see it.

Kerri tells me that it is not unusual to find a single iris all alone in the field. One messenger carrying one message at a time! This messenger stopped us in our tracks because it seemed so out of place. It was a surprise akin to the discovery of a frog in our little backyard pond. “Now, how did you get there?” I ask.

Later, I allowed myself to entertain the notion that Iris was bringing us a message. Her missives are always encouragements. Have hope. Keep the faith. Draw on your courage. The wisdom is within you. I liked the idea that Iris brought us a letter and that the envelope contained a morale-boost, a heartening. Her timing was impeccable. Her simple beauty inspired awe.

Today, as I write this, the nation is alive with Good Trouble protests. I wonder what it will take for the republicans, so dedicated to keeping their heads firmly planted in the sand, to receive the messages from Iris? I wonder what it will take – what they and we will lose – for them to climb high enough to see the circular impact of their actions? Can they possibly believe that undermining their constituents and driving them into poverty will not bring a tsunami to their shores? Do they not understand that turning their backs on the truth to protect a liar transforms them into tissue-paper-fools, too?

In a time that they have lost their collective spine, eschewed their moral compass, it is my hope that they receive a special delivery from Rainbow Iris, a single flower in a field: Find your courage now.

GALENA on the album RELEASED FROM THE HEART © 1995 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about IRIS

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