Exactly The Point [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Chris wrote that he was taking a break from Facebook. “I’ve spent too much time in this space.”

I told Kerri that after I was finished with my slow re-read of Amusing Ourselves to Death, for a while I was only going to read books that filled me with light. “I’ve had too much of darkness,” I said.

Walter Lippmann posited that “…distorted information was inherent in the human mind. People make up their minds before they define the facts…” In other words, we are more gullible and impressionable than we care to admit, and are too soon planting our belief-flags in the sand. In other-other words, fact checking is not a human forté. Gossip mongering is.

Kerri and I often walk arm and arm along the waterfront, an old-world evening constitutional, a stroll taken slowly enough to notice, an opportunity to say “Hello,” when passing neighbors and friends. More and more I think it an essential to regularly set aside those little screens that dominate our viewpoints, and clear our minds. Every painter knows that perspective is gained by stepping back. I can read streams of opinions all day long but nothing beats the affirmation of real community than a hot summer night, people sitting on porches and a neighborhood mosey.

Families filled the park. The cool breeze off the lake drew them to the shore. Barbecues. Children chasing balls and each other. A feeling of respite was pervasive. Laughter. Shared space. We passed two teenage girls sitting on a bench with a bucket of colored pencils between them, coloring their books and chatting.

The sky morphed from orange and blue to purple and pink. A single bird arced across the sky. “What are you thinking?” I asked.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” she said. “I’m just enjoying the moment.”

I smiled, thinking, “Yes. And isn’t that exactly the point?”

read Kerri’s blog post about THE PINK SKY

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After All [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“Food is the most primitive form of comfort.” ~ Sheilah Graham Westbrook

In anyone’s book, our circumstances at present are extreme. And so, we cook.

My role in the kitchen is sous chef and clean-up. Kerri is the master chef though she is generous and does not require me to address her as “Yes, Chef!” Dogga is the third member of our team. He is an enthusiastic taste-tester and also serves the role of floor clean-up. We are a good team. The simple action of cooking together is large part of our recipe for cooking-up-comfort. We love it.

The actual food that we cook is, of course, a huge part of the comfort infusion. We range from chicken soup to Kerri’s pasta sauce. Lately, we’ve been making grilled cheese sandwiches and, I’ve noticed, recipes that require mashed potatoes. Truthfully, we could probably strip everything else off the plate but the mashed potatoes are the essential. They are the epicenter of comfort. We have in the past made mashed potatoes all-by-themselves and feasted on an intentional mainline of food-cheer.

My theory of comfort food is paradoxical (and obvious). Comfort food takes you back in time. Kerri’s mom made comfort-mashed-potatoes so they are a direct connection to Beaky. Comfort food also drops you into the present moment. The delicious fulfillment of warm expectation. There’s nothing like taste and smell – a happy dance of two senses – to pull everything into the right-here-and-now. And in this moment, wrapped in a yummy warm blanket of tasty comfort, all is well. At least for now. And, in the end, it makes us realize that this bite, this moment, is all that we have. Things are not so bad after all.

right now/right now © 2010 Kerri Sherwood

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read Kerri’s blogpost about MASHED POTATOES

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Unbridle Your Enthusiasm [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

In our house, no single question evokes more genuine excitement than, “Do you want to go on errands?” Vertical jumps. Full body wags. Circle zoomies. Finally, a “sit” so we can clip on the small leash that we call his necktie. He gets gussied-up for errands.

Last week Kerri wrote that our bar of contentment is low. It’s true. We don’t need much to feel fulfilled. A walk in the sun. A good cup of coffee. Cooking together. Laughter with friends. Life reduced to the moment.

We recently had a significant-morning-conversation about our egos. We discussed how these past few years have lowered the bar on our self-images. “I’m not all that,” she said, summing it up.

Quinn used to say that, “There are six billion people on this planet and you’re the only one that gives a damn about what you think.” Or how you look. Or what you feel. The other five-billion-nine-hundred-ninety-nine-million…are more concerned with how they look and what they think and feel. You are not the star in their movie. He was a terrific perspective-giver.

It’s a powerful day when you realize that you are not all that. It’s a powerful day when you realize that you are the single steward of your gifts and like any other gift they are meant to be given with no regard to how they are received. Your job is to give your gift. It’s an especially powerful day when you realize that your gift is no better or worse than any other person’s gift. It is just uniquely yours. It is not better-or-worse-than.

When the measurement falls off, when the ego takes a much needed belly punch, then the fun really begins. Flow. Love of what you do and who you are. A giddy return to child-eyes. A low bar of contentment means more and more contentment. Paint to paint. Play to play. Unbridled enthusiasm at the simplest of things. Like full body joy when going on errands.

read Kerri’s blog about ERRANDS

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buymeacoffee is a low bar of contentment offered to the artists tilting at the rowdy windmills of ego.

Take A Drive [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

We are a walking paradox: homebodies and roadtrippers. We love to be on the road, going on adventures and discovering new places. We adore being at home, comfy in our well-worn patterns.

It only makes sense that, when we can’t take a long roadtrip, our escape-fantasy-of-choice is to get in the car and drive. We head to the county, out into the country. We slow down. We get lost on purpose. We dream and the stresses-of-the-moment dissipate. We drive, windows down. There are no wrong turns. We are free.

Eventually, we return home, find a sunny spot in the back yard, pour some wine and nestle into our chairs. “Life is good,” we breathe, drinking in the setting sun. We re-realize something we understood when we first met: it’s all a roadtrip. This whole complicated amazing life.

We look at each other, knowing what the other is thinking. “Let’s just keep going and going and going….”

read Kerri’s blogpost about A DRIVE

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smack-dab. © 2023 kerrianddavid.com

Trip And Trip Again [on KS Friday]

One of the advantages of having stepped in every pothole, tripped on every cobble, and made every mistake at least twice, is that I’ve learned about potholes, cobbles, mistakes, tripping and stepping where I ought not step. If I could boil down to the essence the single thing I’m beginning to grok it is this: life is not elsewhere.

I laughed aloud when I at last I realized the absurdity of “practicing mindfulness” as if it was something to achieve. Mindfulness arrives when the practice stops. Of course. Meditating for self-improvement, I’ve read, is a uniquely Western oddity. “Trying” to be present is ridiculous if you think about it. You are present. What else? Because your mind is running amok does not actually magically transport you to the past or the future. You are present with a mind that is running amok. Minds are like puppies: chase them and they run away. Stand still and they will eventually come to you.

Is any of this pothole wisdom helpful? Absolutely not. Like mindfulness, wisdom arrives when the obsession with knowledge-for-betterment ceases. I’ll let you know what that looks like when I stop trying to attain it. There’s no end to the tripping stones. I’ve learned that, too. Again and again. And again.

The best things in life are not achievements. They are relationships. Me to you. Me to me. Me to the world I am passing through, one moment at a time. With you. Stand still in the moment – you might as well since it is where you are – and you’re libel to experience all manner of beauty.

read Kerri’s blog post about SNOWFLAKES

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

kindred spirits…away/released from the heart © 1995 kerri sherwood

Sit On The Curb [on DR Thursday]

As much as our wily-ole brains would like us to believe otherwise, we can be nowhere else but in the present. Everything else is imagination.

Years ago I belonged to a support group of independent consultants. We met once a month to discuss our business challenges, insights, and to give and receive some advice. One of the members of the group was a Byron Cady coach. I have no memory of the discussion that prompted her to offer this Byron-thought-metaphor: “If your house burns down, rather than race around in panic, the best thing you can do is sit on the curb and appreciate the moment.”

To the consumer-mind, wisdom often sounds like bad advice. That you are alive, that you have this moment, means that no real possession was lost. The question is, in the face of calamity, what will you make of the moment?

Brother Joseph told the story of holding a woman wearing expensive furs, each finger was diamond encrusted, as she died on the street. He was, in the moment, overwhelmed by the worthlessness of her stuff. The illusion of value once life has gone.

Life. This moment. Calamity is certain to come. Sit on the curb and see what is there, beyond what you think is there.

We’ve had our share of adversity these past few years. I would like to report that we laughed heartily in the face of lost jobs and broken wrists and pandemic madness and civil unrest. We did not. We shook our fists at the sky. We made up words and ran loops like Chicken Little. We invested in all manner of fear-of-the-future and ran from monsters-of-the-past. None of our racing around or fist-shaking brought comfort or change.

But, the moments that we took a breath, walked a trail or sat on the back deck and listened to the cardinals and crows, sipped hot coffee on cold mornings, held hands – sat on the curb and appreciated the undeniable truth of our moment: we have everything. We have this moment – the only moment of life that we’ll ever inhabit. We have each other. The rest, the fear of future, demons of the past, are pure imagination. In those moments, wrapped in a circumstance of calamity, we laughed at the beauty of it all.

read Kerri’s blog post about LAUGH IN THE FACE OF CALAMITY

Play Like There’s No Tomorrow [on Chicken Marsala Monday]

playlikethere'snotomorrow WITH EYES jpeg copy

DogDog is a terrible fetch dog. Throw a stick, a ball,  or a frisbee and he’ll look at you and yawn. However, if you pick up the stick and run it is GAME-ON! He loves to give chase and I have no illusion that my role in that moment is “the sheep.” There is no greater delight in my day than playing with DogDog.

Sometimes, sitting on the deck, I watch him run back and forth between fences, barking in the hope that some dog somewhere will bark back. A return bark is met by a glee-explosion that involves racing laps around the yard and Rin-Tin-Tin fantasies.

And, here’s the thing about play that I have learned from DogDog: even taking out the garbage has become an outrageous amount of fun. It is one of my favorite games. I can’t wait for the kitchen trash to be in need of emptying. The moment I pull on the plastic strings to cinch the bag, DogDog is at the back door, jumping vertically because his little body cannot contain his excitement. I open the back door and he explodes into the yard, clearing the zone of all marauding squirrels and dangerous birds. He looks back when it is safe for me to make a break for the can. Everything is an opportunity for play. Extreme play. Everything.

if you'd like to see more CHICKEN... copy

 

read Kerri’s blog post about PLAYING LIKE THERE’S NO TOMORROW

 

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play like there’s no tomorrow ©️ 2016 david robinson & kerri sherwood