If I Look For Them [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

If I look for them, there are signs of normalcy in these abnormal times. This week the striped squill popped up in the front yard. They are always the first comers, the flower-harbingers of spring. I am grateful that the plant life does its best to maintain nature’s routines. As far as the squill and day lilies are concerned it’s business as usual.

It’s a surprisingly powerful phrase: If I look for them. The striped squill would run amok in the front yard whether or not I decided to see them. They bring their promise of warmer times with or without my appreciation. Most years I look for them. I watch the patch of grass where they always first show themselves. I like to witness the pioneer squill, the early risers that poke through the winter grass and unfurl their striped-hope-petals. “Spring’s-a-comin’!” I sigh.

This year they surprised me. Lost in the daily crazy, the national nightmare, I simply forgot to look. In fact, I didn’t see them until the full striped squill chorus had arrived. There were so many that I couldn’t miss them. “Hello, old friends”.

This year, instead of being the augury of spring, they served a different purpose, perhaps a far more important purpose: a reminder of an age old lesson: I have the power to focus on hope just as I have to capacity to focus on all that is amiss in this nation. Both are necessary and it is far too easy to miss the hope in the onslaught of abuse. The assault on our democracy may be immediate but hope is by far more powerful.

If I look for them, I see the bearers of hope everywhere. I see them in the No Kings protesters, I see them in the volunteers at the food pantries, I see them in Marc Elias and Heather Cox Richardson, I see them in my friends and neighbors. Everyday I see multiple acts of kindness – but only if I decide to look for them. They are easy to miss, especially in the multiple acts of violence that dominate the media, the ubiquitous language of violence that permeates our politics. And yet, if I paid attention, if I counted and compared, the hope and kindness far outnumbers the ugliness.

The striped squill put me on notice: it is far too easy to get lost in the horror show. It is, indeed, important to pay attention to the arsonist’s fire burning through our democracy but it is equally important to keep sight of the many hundreds of thousands fighting the fire, the legions of people supporting the firefighters, calling out the lies, lending helping hands, stepping up to help in any way they can. They are everywhere, bearers of hope, believers in goodness, guardians of decency, heralds of the coming spring.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SQUILL

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What It’s Made Of [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

I had to ask. What is a Peep made of? The main ingredient is sugar (no surprise). Corn syrup is the second ingredient and I read it provides sweetness and texture. Evidently there’s a lack of sweetness with so much sugar so corn syrup takes up the slack. Rounding out the top three ingredients is gelatin which gives the peep its bunny and baby chick shape. There’s wax for coating and potassium sorbate for freshness preservation. The Peep-particuilar color is due to food dye.

I am not a fan of Peeps but Beaky loved them. I am a fan of peanut M&M’s and therefore I refuse to read the ingredients. I don’t want to know.

Yesterday I wrote a harsh post about the willful blindness of the republican congress. And lest I leave the plank in my own eye while removing the speck from the peeper of congress, I thought I’d better confess my willful ignorance of the innards of an M&M. Where snacks are concerned I am quite capable of looking the other way. I don’t think I could or would consciously look the other way as the-arsonist-in-chief sets fire to the Constitution and burns down the nation. It’s one thing to eat a Peep in blissful ignorance. It’s another thing to knowingly consume the lies of a monster and enjoy it.

It is Easter season, the celebration of new life. The return of spring. The egg is an ancient symbol of new life so we dye them and hide them and delight in the hunt by children to find them. It is a ritual of renewal. A basket full of colorful hope. It is the season that Peeps and pastel candies rise in prominence in the grocery store. In my Easter egg hunt I am looking high and low for the resurrection of integrity, the adoration of humanity in all its wild and beautiful colors, the rebirth (or perhaps the first birth) of a fearless diverse nation unafraid of its history and dedicated to vibrant inclusivity. It is, after all – and in truth – what our nation is made of.

read Kerri’s blogpost about PEEPS.

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Ready For It [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

For a bit of context it’s important to note that last week we were pummeled by ferocious winds and freezing rain, followed hard upon by a blizzard and icy cold. And then, for a few days, the temperatures rose. Stepping out the front door we were surprised to find Day Lilies poking their tiny green fingers above the ground. How is that possible?

Yesterday, driving home from the trail, Kerri said, “It feels like spring is trying hard to punch through.” During our hike the sun was warm but the breeze still carried the winter cold. Not so long ago the winter cold was dominant but yesterday the spring sun definitely took the match.

“I’m ready for it,” I responded.

I sighed with relief when I saw the tender green Day Lilies break through. This winter’s siege has been metaphoric as well as actual. ICE. Epstein. A war of choice. Nonsense tariffs. The ugly return of 19th century imperialism, the whitewash of history, the eye-rolling invocation of the man-o-sphere and equally brain-numbing summons of the return-of-the-tradwife. An icy wind. A hard brain freeze. A fantasy fit for the stunted mentality of middle-school-bullies or white nationalists (same thing).

With the sun, sense is returning. Eyes dedicated to being closed are at last blinking open. Lies are fragmenting. Truth is breaking through the crusty soil and reaching for the warm air. It is a promise, a hope, that will one-day-soon blossom, a vibrant garden of veracity. The people have had enough of winter’s nonsense.

I don’t know about you but I am ready for it.

read Kerri’s blogpost about DAY LILIES

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After All, Capable [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Like many of the seemingly random pieces in our home, this wood garland carries a story. It is imbued with specific memories that invoke hope and belonging. This garland lifts our spirits.

A few nights ago, when sleep evaded me, having recently exhausted all of the hikers we follow, I stumbled upon someone new. I thought I was about to watch a documentary about a hiker’s journey on a long trail. Instead, I found the story of a man who perseveres. Twenty years ago he was diagnosed with an aggressive terminal cancer and given only a short time to live. His story is an unintentional wake-up call. He reminded me to check my attachments to the transitory.

Recognizing how uplifted I felt after watching the documentary was also a wake-up call, a lesson I learn again and again. I regularly fill myself up with the news of the day and it is, as you know, toxic. It’s like eating too much candy. There’s no spirit-nutritional-value and it always comes with a downer-crash. I decided I need a more balanced diet if I expected myself to be mentally, emotionally, and spiritually healthy.

During the power outage I revived a practice from my boyhood. I thought it would disappear after the lights and heat came back but I’ve continued it because it makes me feel good. I am drawing pictures from books. I sit at the little table beneath the hanging wood garland with my sketchbook and a large coffee table tome from The Metropolitan Museum of Art: Thirty Centuries of the Art of Mexico. Right now my sketches are pre-Columbian. Funerary figures and stone reliefs. It is not an accident that I sit beneath the garland. Occasionally I put down my pencils and examine the curious pieces of driftwood stacked and strung together. It reminds me, just as the art in the book, that people are dedicated to making beauty. People are dedicated to connecting to life-beyond-boundaries and they do it as they have always done it by carving figures imbued with magical powers meant to guard the passage of their loved ones through death – or by stringing together bits of driftwood found on a special beach.

People are more capable of invoking hope and belonging than hatred and division. We are not only capable, it is a necessity, an essential, like food and shelter. We can live without hatred but we cannot live without hope.

We are, after all, capable of supporting each other, of recognizing how impossible and precious are these few moments of life we share together. We are capable in dark times of standing in beauty and instilling hope, we are capable of simple-daily-generosity intended to lift each others’ spirits.

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

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE GARLAND

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Ready To Drop [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

When Albert was discouraged about the state of humanity he’d say, “Just drop the bomb.” Although I haven’t seen him in years I heard myself whisper his discouragement-phrase this morning. How is it possible in a democracy that one of the major parties, after their gerrymander scheme backfired, would actually legislate to make it impossibly hard for citizens to vote? The news aptly reported, “It’s a solution looking for a problem.” Voter fraud is literally nonexistent in the USA. On the other hand fearmongering is alive and well. Lying has been elevated to an art form.

“They’ve lost the plot,” I murmured. “Just drop the bomb.”

That we are witnessing our government protect an international ring of pedophiles, bomb a nation to smithereens (kill people) without a reason, assault the once-free-press because they dare to report the news, isolate itself in a global economy (otherwise known as commit economic suicide), mountain-ize our national debt to give the morbidly-wealthy more wealth while simultaneously eliminating services and erecting obstacles for the citizenry, assault the very epicenter: our right to vote in a free and fair election…it begs the question: Did they ever really believed in government by, for, and of the people? This depth of depravity did not spring fully formed from the thigh of Zeus; it took decades of dedicated decomposition to achieve this degree of stink.

Last week, before the blizzard, before the power outage, before the impossibly bent power mast, the shattered roof shingles, the driving rain that found its way into the sun room, we sat in chairs on the patio and faced the setting sun. A rare day of warmth. We knew the storms were coming so we put off our work and banked some vitamin-D. The sun dropped behind the garage. It remained pleasant. In the waning light we ate dinner on the deck.

Those moments in the sun, the decision to delay work and take advantage of the precious warmth, gave us ample fuel to weather the cold and violent storm. It refilled our hope.

Albert’s famous phrase had an attachment. He’d follow “Just drop the bomb,” with, “We don’t deserve it.” When I asked him what he meant by “it”, he’d gesture, sweeping his arms in a wide arc. “All of it.” The beauty and majesty of life. The gift of each other.

After I heard myself utter, “Just drop the bomb,” I caught myself. “We do deserve it.” We deserve decency and honesty in our leaders. We not only deserve it but should expect it. We deserve media that does not whip up straw-men to intentionally divide us. We deserve a government that serves us rather than exploits us. They have, indeed, lost the plot.

Perhaps, as history suggests, we will survive this chapter when we recognize – when our government recognizes – that the people they are meant to serve ARE the bomb. They are in our sights and we are ready to drop.

We deserve better.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE SETTING SUN

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Our Moment [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Last night we heard a pundit say, “As Minnesota goes, so goes the rest of the nation.” It’s true. If the ICE gestapo brutalizes Minnesota into authoritarian submission without consequence, it will only be a matter of time before this ruthless regime wages war on the rest of the nation. Minnesota is our Ukraine.

As Minnesota goes, so goes the rest of the nation. In the face of this masked brutality, the best impulse of humanity is rising. The community is coalescing. People are showing up to serve and to protect their neighbors. The leaders of the state are encouraging peaceful protest. The leaders of the state are calling out the blatant lies of a sadistic administration run amok. The people are meeting the ICE gestapo in the streets demanding the return to the rule of law in the face of the government’s institutionalized lawlessness.

Jacob Frey, the mayor of Minneapolis said, “This is our moment…to meet a whole lot of hate with a whole lot of love.”

Love need not be soft. Love sometimes looks like a person unwilling to sit quietly as injustice invades their neighborhood. Love stands before a masked and armed thug and blows a whistle. Love bears witness, holding high their camera, to record a government-paid-rabble piling onto an unarmed person, pulling frightened people from their cars, gassing families in their minivans, hauling undressed elders from their home into the frigid morning. Love conceals and drives people to work. Love delivers food to people afraid to leave their houses. Love refuses to surrender personal and communal sovereignty to the assault on freedom. Love rejects the manufactured divisions of the hatemongers and race-baiters currently leading the nation and justifying cruelty.

This is our moment. Either love or hate will rule the day. As Minnesota goes, so goes the rest of the nation and Minnesota gives me hope. A whole lot of love is rising to meet the masked purveyors of hate.

*****

I wrote this post days before the masked thugs of the United States executed Alex Pretti on a street in Minneapolis for exercising his first amendment right – and then attempted to brand him as the terrorist in the story because he was exercising his second amendment right. Their message to us is clear: fear your government. Be quiet. Their message is hate-full. For Alex Pretti, for Renee Good, and all of those who, in the face of this fear, continue exercising their rights, know that there is now no greater act of love than standing up for our neighbors, for our rights. The people in Minneapolis are our neighbors. The rights under assault are our rights. There can be no greater act of love than standing up for them and with them. The time for meeting hate with love is urgent. We are out of time.

read Kerri’s blogpost about LOVE

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A Little Bit Of Hope [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

We were gifted a day with sunshine instead of the incessant rain promised by the forecast. We threw on our vests and headed for the trail. We stopped at every sun-soaked curve and drank in the warmth. “This will get us through the next few weeks,” she said. A little bit of sun in a dark, dark time generates a full tank of hope.

The rubber band disintegrated and the ancient roll of tracing paper unraveled. It revealed a crinkled and torn tracing of a painting I completed decades ago. I have no memory of making this tracing. I don’t trace my paintings. I must have wanted to keep a template or record of the lines. I must have been about to send the painting out into the world. In the spirit of experimentation, in a spontaneous moment of play, I adhered the crumpled ripped tracing to an old canvas, retraced the lines with the last bit of charcoal I had in the studio, sprayed it with hairspray in an attempt to fix the charcoal, and slathered it with acrylic medium. It was messy and fun and decidedly un-serious. I had no idea what would happen. It reminded me of how I worked when I was very young. No – not how. Why. It reminded me of why I ran to the edge of every idea and jumped without reservation or plan or parachute: to find out “what if”. Playing with that tracing paper was like the little bit of sun on the trail. I basked in it. It will carry me a long way.

I’ve been thinking about Renee Nicole Good. I am haunted by something in the video made by her executioner. In the last 25 seconds of her life, she told her soon-to-be murderer that she’s not mad at him. As a citizen of the United States, as someone who lived her entire life under First Amendment protections, as someone who believed in the freedom to protest and the rights afforded her in the Constitution, it never occurred to her – not for a moment – that her life was in danger. It never occurred to her that her rights were null and void in the eyes of the regime that employed and empowered the man in the mask. He was there, not to protect her rights, but to make her an example. He was there to strip her (and, therefore, us) of her/our rights. The hope? The people gathering on the streets blowing whistles, the people protecting each other by recording each outrage, the small acts and gestures of everyday people, like Renee Good, who believe in exercising the freedoms and values afforded us in the Constitution…are like that little bit of sun. Renee Good’s unwavering belief, like the people who show up on the streets for their neighbors, like the people marching against this tyranny – around the nation and the world – give me hope. And a little bit of hope in this very dark time can carry us a long way.

read Kerri’s blogpost about WINTER SHADOWS

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Hold Up The Light [David’s blog on KS Friday]

about this week: there is a peril, it seems, to writing ahead these days. we had decided that this week – the first full week of a new year – we wished to use images of light as our prompts, we wished to linger on the possibility of light, of hope, of goodness. though our blogposts might stray from that as we pen them, it was without constant nod to the constant updating of current events – a mass of indefensible, unconscionable acts. we pondered what to do about these blogposts we had written and decided to keep them. we hope that – whether or not any absence of the happenings of the day, whether or not the chance these written words seem somewhat inane at this moment – you might know that those events – of corruption, illegality, immorality, and now murder – do not distill or distort our intention – to bring light and hope to this new year – the first days of which bring more insanity and unnerving instability. we are still holding space for light.

I learned something new about the Statue of Liberty. There are broken chains and shackles at her feet. “Sculptor Frédéric-Auguste Bartholdi incorporated these elements to represent liberty breaking free from servitude, a powerful message about emancipation.”  (Statue of Liberty/Ellis Island Foundation) The name of the statue standing in NY Harbor is “Liberty Enlightening the World”.

We are witness to what happens when a nation, when a people, grow so accustomed to their symbols that they forget – or take for granted – their meaning. It’s times like these that the symbol is either reinvigorated or emptied.

Especially during the dark winter months, we light candles every evening. They are comforting, calming. If you asked me what they symbolize to me I’d answer, “Hope”. I used to meditate every day and I’d begin my meditation with lighting a candle: a beacon for concentration and connection. Peace. We light candles on days that significant people in our lives have passed. The flame is a call to memory, to gratitude and, again, connection.

Light that calls to us to peace. Light that evokes hope within us. Light that encourages us and connects us. Light that guides us home.

In the past I kept a candle burning in my studio while I was working. It was a companion or perhaps a signal to the muse that I was ready. Now I have a salt lamp that serves the same purpose.

Lady Liberty holds a torch. She has broken chains and shackles at her feet. Truly, it’s times like these that our symbol is either reinvigorated or reversed, made to mean the exact opposite of what it originally represented. Will it serve to evoke in us a call to create/defend freedom and justice for all or will we turn our backs on our symbol and allow it to descend into a curiosity, a bit of bygone americana. In this historical moment we have the choice of embodying the symbol as it was originally intended, holding up the light of liberty to guide ourselves through this dark night – or to flip it over, plunge the torch into the harbor and step willingly into the shackles of authoritarianism.

[I wrote this on the morning that the current occupant of the white house, without participation or knowledge of Congress, invaded Venezuela, a resource grab not unlike Putin’s unlawful invasion of Ukraine. I’m editing this on the morning after an ICE agent murdered Renee Good in Minneapolis. It seems we have arrived at our moment of choice: to fully embody our symbols and defend our dedication to freedom and justice for all – or not. This is not an abstraction. It is not hyperbole. It is immediate.]

HOPE on the album THIS SEASON © 2005 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE CANDLE

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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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