After All [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

We spent some time hanging out with Frank over the holiday. He is 93 and doing a stint in rehab. Frank is filled to the brim with great stories told with the laughing good humor of a man who has made a friend of folly. On our way out the door he said, “After all, isn’t that what’s most important in life, what life is about? Good friends. The relationships we enjoy. The time we spend together” We nodded and he added, “It seems like we have nothing to complain about.”

Frank is among my role-models for how to age well. Stay wide-open to new experiences. Believe in the goodness of people. Dance the twist at every opportunity. Laugh at yourself. Cultivate your mischief. Stand firmly planted in gratitude.

A few years ago I read about a comic whose performances and life blossomed when he realized that his job was not to make people laugh, rather, it was to bring them to their laughter. It’s subtle but profound: focus on what you bring to others, not on what you get from them. Later, as we prepared our Guinness Irish stew and mashed potatoes, I realized this simple message was Frank’s superpower, the reason why I admire him: even at 93 years old in rehab, even while facing an impossible mountain to climb, his focus was on what he could bring to us. There was not a hint of self-pity. There was no mention of his aches, pains or growing list of obstacles. He told fishing stories and regaled us with adventures from his youth. We laughed and bantered and left feeling full to the brim with great stories and good humor.

“After all, isn’t that what’s most important in life, what life is about? Good friends. The relationships we enjoy. The time we spend together” We nodded and Frank added, “It seems like we have nothing to complain about.”

read Kerri’s blogpost about GATHERING

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Above All Else [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

“Life is strange. You arrive with nothing, spend your whole life chasing everything, and still leave with nothing. Make sure your soul gains more than your hands.” ~ unknown

As a young artist Roger often asked, “What is sufficient?” If you solely choose an artist’s path – or an artist’s path chooses you – the odds of realizing a modicum of financial prosperity are slim. An artist in the USA necessarily makes peace with chasing a different kind of wealth. Soul wealth. Yet, the question of sufficiency is important to ask since it is the thin ice that many artists – especially as they age – disappear beneath. It is impossible to live on the bottom of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs indefinitely. Perpetually struggling for food, heat, and shelter will inevitably drown the muse.

What is sufficient to keep the muse happy and fed?

Kerri came home and told me of a conversation she had with Steve. Most people – including us – want nothing more than to live a simple life. We do not need to own yachts or mansions. With the disappearance of the middle-class, the stagnation of wages, the wealth of the nation running to the top 1%…more and more people in these un-United States are sliding to the bottom of the Hierarchy of Needs. It’s one reason why there is so much anger out there. Safety is further and further out of reach for more and more people. Sufficiency is nowhere to be found.

We watched a conversation between two people who make their living on social media. Their discussion revolved around the cancer that social media has become. They explained that the algorithms sort to the extremes. The middle ground is nowhere to be found in social media conversations. Extremist views are elevated while moderate voices are minimized. In their conversation, they asked their substantial viewership to turn off their screens and go outside and sit with real people. Real connection is only possible when sitting face to face with real people – and that’s the only place where we might reclaim our common ground, our communal sufficiency, our safety – especially with those whose opinions differ from our own. Middle ground is a shared space.

Craig enticed me into a long text conversation about artistry. It made me reflect on what I believe and how many great mentors and teachers I have enjoyed. In my life I have been rich in life-guides. I still am. I told him that all of the great artists I have known – or who have been inspirations for me – have wrestled with their demons and, therefore, were fearless at asking hard questions of themselves and of others. Their hard questions, in the form of lyrics or images or dances or compositions or characters that they played…ultimately transformed their demons into teachers. They walked toward their fears and made them into something beautiful.

I lost three of my guide stars in the past few years. They created lives of sufficiency. They thrived beyond any measure that money could bring. Simple lives marked by a real connection with real people. Lives lived in conscious – and joyful – support of other people. Three rich souls who gained in their lives more than a mansion or piles of money that they would have never been able to spend. They brought people together.

The single thing that I remember about these three artists – above all else – above all that they taught me – is their abundant laughter. Isn’t that the sign of a good life well-lived? A life to emulate?

read Kerri’s blogpost about SOUL GAIN

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The Tiniest Ray [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“Everything that is done in the world is done by hope.” ~ Martin Luther

Master Marsh tipped me over the edge. He sent a basket-load of cartoon ideas and encouraged me to draw a few. Prior to the arrival of his basket I’d been considering channeling some of my national-dismay into cartoons. Drawing them makes me laugh. Laughter fills me with hope. Hope shines a bright light into the dark age in which we find ourselves.

The gift of the current administration (I use the term loosely) and the clown car of billionaire appointees is that they lampoon themselves. It’s a confederacy of dunces so cartooning comes easy. It’s why in only a few short weeks Master Marsh was able to harvest a full basket of material.

Sometimes laughter is the only path through despair to find hope.

Charles Dickens could not have created a line-up of more despicable characters. A president and an oligarch ravaging social safety nets to give billionaires a tax cut. A Director of Homeland Security infamous for shooting her puppy in the face.

Prior to Pete Hegseth, the Secretary of Defense né fox television personality, spilling highly secret attack plans on a social media platform, my favorite evil-stupid-award was held by Howard Lutnick, the billionaire Secretary of Commerce who said, “Let’s say Social Security didn’t send out their checks this month — my mother-in-law, who’s 94, she wouldn’t call and complain,” Lutnick told All-In Podcast host Chamath Palihapitiya. “A fraudster always makes the loudest noise, screaming, yelling, and complaining.” The Secretary of Commerce must not know that, “Based on a fact sheet published by the Social Security Administration, more than 7 million Americans 65 and older receive at least 90% of their income from benefits checks.” Since they paid into Social Security their entire working lives, it’s safe to assume the fraudster and crook in the equation is the billionaire attempting to take away their Social Security.

Socrates or Plato suggested that humor is often derived from the misfortune of others. The man slips on a banana peel. The woman walks into the glass door. Laughter based on the pain of others. Humor is also invoked from shared pain. We need to laugh at our communal misfortune: a rapist, felon, liar, grifter, lover of autocrats, tv personality, dancing to Rupert Murdoch’s fiddle, is elevated to the seat of power by the mega-rich and is surrounded by Congressional apologists and Supreme Court enablers.

If we stacked the malicious stupidity manufactured in just two months, it might reach to the moon and back. It’s too easy to lampoon. Baskets and baskets full of nonsense.

There are a few signs of hope. The thousands upon thousands of people attending Bernie Sanders rallies – people who do not find malice and ignorance funny – give me hope. The very few Republicans breaking ranks with the silently-stupid-and-complicit-republican-congress give me hope. May my rough drafts bring you a smile and, perhaps, the tiniest ray of hope:

Watershed on the album AS IT IS © 2010 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about HOPE

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Get Your Snowman [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

From his position on the raft he can look out the bedroom window and see the Dachshunds in the yard next door. He knows he’s not supposed to bark so he moans and twirls, groans and suffers, stifling his natural impulse, until a single bark escapes from his muzzle. That’s our cue to feign shock and to say with mock disapproval, “Get your snowman!” Dogga dutifully jumps from the bed and returns moments later with his snowman in his mouth.

The theory goes, with snowman in his mouth, he’s incapable of barking. It mostly works. Well, until recently, it worked like a charm. And then, our too-smart-dog discovered a technical work-around. He retrieved snowman on cue, as usual, but when he returned, he stopped just shy of the raft to show us that he’d done as he was told. Then, he dropped snowman on the floor, leaped onto the raft, and barked with abandon.

Game. Set. Match. Dogga outsmarts us. Again. Were he a sarcastic teenager we’d hide our laughter but as a gray bearded Aussie who’s spent his entire life studying our every move, we’re certain there’s no hiding anything from him. He often knows we are upset before we do. We laugh and laugh as he barks and barks at the marauding Dachshunds.

We’re not alone in being outwitted by our pooch. 20 is Dogga’s favorite human. Dogga has thoroughly trained him to drop snacks on demand from the dinner table. When Dogga begs, 20 employs a stern voice, telling Dogga to “Lay down!” and then, as if he is suddenly hypnotized by Dogga’s compliance, 20 slips a bite of dinner into Dogga’s open awaiting mouth. When we laugh at Dogga’s command over him, 20 grabs his chest, suffering mock heart-palpitations and asks, “Why do I come here?”

Rituals of laughter. Expressions of love.

Now more than ever, it’s important to remind myself each day, beyond the chaos and ill-intention swirling in the e-stream, that these are the real moments, the stuff-of-life that actually matters. The daily rite of the plastic snowman. Dogga manipulations. The tangible everyday moments to be savored and shared that make our life rich beyond measure.

(this post is my version of stuffing snowman in my mouth so I stop barking about the horror-story unfolding in our nation. Rest assured knowing that I am groaning and twirling and suffering as I stifle my natural impulse to bark – but I figured we could all use a break;-)

early work: In Dreams She Rides Wild Horses

visit my gallery site

read Kerri’s blogpost about SNOWMAN

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Sanctuary Creation [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

We arrive at another eve’s eve. This year we will slide across the line into 2025 with little-to-no fanfare. We’ll make pizzas and perhaps work on a puzzle. “Working-on-a-puzzle” will be our metaphoric theme for the upcoming year: how do we assemble these disparate pieces into a cohesive picture?

It’s difficult (for me) to move into the new year without trepidation for what’s ahead.

During Covid, with great intention, we made our home a sanctuary. A peaceful space. We created comfort-rituals like our happy-hour so we might ground our days in the positive, in something we looked forward to enjoying at the end of each day. In 2025 we are anticipating a return to the sanctuary since we believe the incoming kakistocracy is a deadly virus rolling across our nation. Social-distancing seems prudent.

This weekend we had a break in the weather and hit the trail. The textures in winter are gorgeous. Water rushing beneath ice, milkweed pods long since exploded and empty of their seeds, a stand of trees barren of their leaves, islands rising from a sea of ochre grasses. Silhouettes against the setting sun.

Among our holiday rituals is to watch the movie, Love Actually. In a famous scene (one among many) Rufus (Rowan Atkinson) giftwraps a gold necklace for a very impatient Harry (Alan Rickman). It is a classic collision of expectations and, even though I know what’s coming, it has me chuckling every time.

Enjoying rituals of comfort. Assembling our disparate pieces into a cohesive whole. Noticing the gorgeous. Returning again and again to tried-and-true sources of laughter. Moving into 2025 I am most grateful that we are adept at sanctuary creation.

read Kerri’s blogpost about FLASHES

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Feel The Feeling [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

“Whenever you think or you believe or you know, you’re a lot of other people: but the moment you feel, you’re nobody-but-yourself.” ~ e.e. cummings

Last night, after the boys went to bed, we turned off all house lights, the only illumination was the tree. It is our Eve tradition. Take a breath after the hustle and bustle. Take a breath after all the meal prep and happy arrivals. Take a breath after the too-much-food, the lively conversation and laughter. Take a breath. Sit in quiet appreciation and feel-the-feeling.

We named our tree e.e. It is artificial and came to us from 20’s mother, E.E. This is e.e.’s third holiday with us. We delighted in the serendipity of the name. A poem by e.e. cummings made an appearance at our wedding. He is one of our favorites.

And, so, on this day of renewal, after a sweet night of quiet, the dawn brings with it a wish for all of us in the coming year; a bit of poem by e.e.:

“I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
Alive
with closed eyes
to dash against darkness”

read Kerri’s blogpost about A WISH

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Look Closely [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Look closely.

The turkeys slept in the neighbor’s tree. All night. Only two. The third turkey was last seen gobbling at the end of the street. In the dim grey light of morning, while the coffee brewed, I checked the tree. They were still there, very large birds perched on too skinny branches. How do they do that?

Look closely.

“It looks like a heart!” she said, reaching for her camera. Dogga was fast asleep, paws twitching. I wondered what he chased in his dreams. She sees hearts everywhere. Most of us, myself included, walk through life and miss the hearts. She seeks them. Or they seek her. She never fails to stop and admire the heart, capture its portrait, breathe in its affirmation. “Can you believe it!” she exclaims, as if this heart, one of thousands, is the very first she’s found.

Look closely.

The memory was visceral. I’m doing the push-hands exercise for the first time. I am a beginner and my partner in the push-hands has practiced tai-chi for years. I am struggling with such a simple exercise. All I need do is let go and feel. My mind wants to control. To achieve. To win. Saul is standing behind me and I can sense his amusement. My partner joins Saul’s delight. A grin breaks the surface of his neutrality. Both burst into laughter. I am suddenly surrounded by laughter and, although confused, I laugh, too. The entire group breaks down, howling. The laughter is infectious. Cleansing. My belly hurts from laughing.

“I think he’s ready now,” Saul says to the group, wiping tears from his eyes.

read Kerri’s blogpost about LOOKING CLOSE

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buymeacoffee is a close-in-look, an opportunity for amazement at the ripples we send.

Control The Burn [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Controlled burn. A fire set intentionally to maintain the health of the forest. It’s an interesting concept. A useful metaphor: what does a controlled burn look like when you are the forest? What are the invasive species growing uncontrollably in your mind? Your body? Your spirit? What overgrowth is choking out the light?

“Organizations are like people,” the younger version of me was fond of saying. “The path to health for an organization is the same as it is for you and me.” My business partner and I were hired for many reasons: leadership questions, change processes, diversity…but beneath the surface reason was always a deeper question: the health of the organization was awry. There was a dis-ease that looked like leadership issues or my personal favorite organizational illness indicator: change management initiatives.

What is balanced activity? A good diet (eating bad information is akin to gobbling bad food)? What is the value of laughter (holding it all lightly)? Above all, the single magic pill capable of healing every ill: attend to the relationships. Process (kindness) should never take a backseat to productivity. People are not widgets or replaceable bulbs. There will be plenty for all if the essentials are respected.

The hard part, especially when there’s pain, is to admit that the only way forward is to stop, turn around, and take a good honest look at what you are doing and why you are doing it. Politics and profit are great creators of darkness, fabulous justifiers of abuse. An alcoholic has to admit their problem before they can address it. The same is true for an organization (or a nation).

Taking an honest look is akin to starting a controlled burn. Opening space. Welcoming light. The destruction of an illusion is a literal eye-opener.

It’s not so very hard. What is true for individuals is true for organizations is true for nations. It’s simple to talk about. It’s hard to do. I learned this too: no one willingly stops and turns to take a good honest look until the darkness becomes…too dark. Until the only path forward is to pop the illusion. Often that begins by stopping to light a fire – first to see and assess the darkness – and then controlling the burn.

read Kerri’s blogpost about CONTROLLED BURNS

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Mark The Time [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

As long as we’ve been walking trials – I include trails in other states and nations – we’ve never encountered a salamander. It was so out of the ordinary that, at first, we thought someone had dumped a no-longer-wanted pet on the trail. We railed at the cruelty of humans. But, after a quick google search, we found that this critter was natural to the area. Not a pet, after all. Nocturnal, so rarely seen in the daylight. We recanted our railing, changed our tune, and counted the encounter as rare and special. Which it was.

Our salamander encounter was also a marker in time. This post marks the 300th week of our Melange. 300 weeks of writing about our encounters, our ramblings, our rantings, our hopes, our dreams, our dilemmas. At the beginning of week 1, we placed these words at the top of our website: “Brewed from our studio, sometimes fresh and sometimes aged, we offer a daily blend of goodness, thought, laughter, and beauty.”

We can’t claim to know your experience of our too-much-writing but we can report without reservation that we’ve profited mightily. Each day we sit together and write. No peeking at the other’s post. And then we read. We talk about what the photo prompt inspired, the great mystery of inspiration; where did that idea come from?

As milestone symbols go, a salamander is a good one. In my quick research of salamander-as-symbol, these were the first words I read: “Salamander opens us up to secrets within ourselves, secrets within others, and secrets of the spirit.”

And so we step toward week 301 with a healthy dose of salamander blessing, a renewed intention to brew some goodness from our studio, and a whole lot of gratitude for you – out there – giving some of your time to read our daily blend of goodness, thought, laughter, and beauty.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SALAMANDER

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buymeacoffee is what it is: a salamander on the trail that tells us you believe we are doing worthwhile work in the world.