Go Beyond The Moon [on Two Artists Tuesday]

On a beautiful Sunday afternoon driving the back roads en route to Lake Geneva, our little-baby-scion rolled over into 250,000 miles. We filmed the moment and then pulled to the gravel shoulder for a photo-op. We cheered. We sat on the side of the road and talked about the miles. The stories. This intrepid little car has taken us many places, through many of life’s changes. It only once left us on the side of the road. And, even then, it had the courtesy to breakdown in a welcome center at the Minnesota state line. We were surrounded by helpful voices, towed and back on the road by day’s end.

We sent a photo of the milestone to 20 and his reply was a perfect encapsulation: To the moon and back.

The day we met, holding hands and skipping out of the airport, we jumped into this boxy car, the scion. Kerri had packed me a lunch and had a cup of coffee waiting for me. This car has since been to most coffeehouses in the contiguous United States. The moment we heard that Beaky had passed, we were frantic and driving to get to Florida in time. We did not make it and spent a long afternoon at a park in Illinois, weeping and walking and sitting in the car, wondering what to do. The day we were married we drove away from our reception in the little-baby-scion. It took us to Colorado for our honeymoon. We’ve slept in rest areas in Iowa, moved both kids to other states, drove back and forth across Wisconsin to fetch our dogga. We took my dad on a visit to his hometown for the last time, touring the streets in the scion. It has been a silent observer, the steady presence, to all the major stories of our life. The minor ones, too.

I could go on and on. We intend for this stouthearted little car to go on and on, too, to live with us and carry us through the next chapters and collected stories of our lives. The toaster. The shoe box that has taken us to the moon and back. And now beyond.

read Kerri’s blog post about 250,000

Turn Out The Lights [on Two Artists Tuesday]

There are first-times and there are last-times. I occurred to me, as we sat on the back porch of the house where I grew up, watching the sun go down, that this night would be a last-time. In the morning we would drive away and never again come back to this place.

We’d driven to Colorado to move my mom into an independent living community. The move was complete. The house nearly empty. My sister was coming to finish the clean-out and clean-up and then the house would be sold.

Kerri is much more “thready” than I am. She leads with her heart and feels deeply the story-threads that extend back through time. With the sun beneath the horizon, the light of the house beckoning, we talked of what it must feel like for my mom to leave this house after 54 years. We talked of the turtle that buried itself in the window well each fall and would claw its way back into the sunlight each spring. Climbing the crab apple tree when it, too, was young. Camping in the back yard in a musty green canvas tent. Riding bikes around the driveway in mock stock car race fashion. The Irish mail. Volleyball, basketball, and cranking ice cream on hot summer days. The small rituals that largely go unnoticed until the last-times, the experiences that fill life full-to-bursting.

These rich, amazing moments that we call ordinary, that happen with ease every single day, that pass unnoticed or unappreciated until the-last-time.

She asked me what I felt and my answer surprised me. “Relieved,” I said. “Just relieved.”

Tired, we went into the house, closed the back door, and turned out the lights. Last time.

read Kerri’s blog post about THE LAST TIME

Touch The Walls [on DR Thursday]

A Haiku

I wander the house

touching boyhood memories.

Stories pour from walls.

read Kerri’s DR Thursday Haiku

Flawed Cartoon Wednesday

SNOWMAN BIG COPY Master

“This surprise that reality is other than expected is weirdly tenacious.” Declan Donnellan

Of all the Flawed Cartoons, and there are many of them, this just might be my personal favorite. I giggle every time I see it – and I wrote it! And drew the image! It is a layer-cake of the human condition, a loving nod to our infinite capacity to generate, invest in, and then get lost in the life-stories of our own creation. I love our surprise that life is a festival of surprises.

Just ignore my snicker the next time you tell me that you know where you’re going.

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Flawed Snowman MUG  Flawed Snowman FRAMED PRINT  Flawed Snowman TSHIRT

kerrianddavid.com

read Kerri’s thoughts on A SNOWFLAKE WITH POSSIBILITIES

a snowflake with possibilities ©️ 2016 david robinson and kerri sherwood