The Feeling Of Normalcy [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are heading.” ~ Lao Tzu

After a long week of travel and a few days delay due to nasty weather, we took advantage of the first bit of sun and returned to our trail. It was as if an entire season had passed in our brief absence. So much life happened in such a small amount of time.

In truth, on the road home we discussed how it felt as if we’d been away for years. We felt as if we’d stepped into an alternative universe. Like a science fiction movie, it seemed that our rocket ship returned to earth and although we’d only aged a few days, the earth had aged a few hundred years. The world we knew no longer existed. It was a strange feeling to walk a trail we knew so well and yet it felt unknown.

It was, perhaps, more unsettling because that is how I feel about these un-United States these days. I walk through my days in places that I recognize and yet it is made strange by a congress that is effectively dissolved, the rapid destruction of the symbol we call The White House, a president blatantly and gleefully bilking the nation while building a Marie Antoinette ballroom while democracy crumbles, people starving, people being plucked off the street and disappeared for no other reason than their skin is brown, and the highest court in the land, rather than protecting the Constitution, betraying it, shoveling more power to the autocrat. We are no longer headed for a fascist state, we have arrived.

And I go to the grocery store as I always have. I rake the leaves that fell while we were gone. We make dinner each night. When the sun peeks from behind the clouds, we return to our trail and walk so we might feel a bit of normalcy.

But the feeling of normalcy is now our enemy. Human beings are excellent at adapting and even more skilled at denying; making the atrocious acceptable. Normalizing the outrageous is now the force we must resist. We have already gone too far in normalizing the monstrous, in accepting the incessant lies and petulant abuse of power – and willing abdication of responsibility in The House, the cowing of the once-free-press. We cannot allow the loathsome to become our new normal. We cannot become accustomed to oppression.

We can, however, recover the impulse that gave our nation its birth: we know how to rebel against a bully king doing the bidding of the morbidly wealthy. We know how to join with our neighbors and speak truth to power-run-amok. We know how to say to corrupt tyrants, “This will not stand.” We know how to set course toward a more perfect union, a nation where all people are created equal, respected, and protected equally under the law.

[Happy Halloween! I just had a conversation about costumes and what I would wear to be the most scary. My answer: a republican. What kind of monster takes away food assistance from the most needy to give more money to the already morbidly wealthy? And then lies about it. Scary.]

MILNECK FALL on the album BLUEPRINT FOR MY SOUL © 1997 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about AUTUMN TRAIL

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Walk The Path [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

On the first day of the new year we bundled ourselves against the cold and walked our usual loop. It is our custom to go outside, no matter the weather, and visit our trail as a ritual start to the new year.

The wind was bitter. Stepping onto the trail we were surprised and perplexed. The recent snow had melted off the path yet the tread-marks of walkers-past remained. It was as if a small group of people stepped in a pan of white paint and, oblivious of their tracks, continued down the trail.

We’ve seen lots of footprints in the snow. Never the reverse, snowprints on dirt.

“This could be our metaphor for the coming year,” I said. “Everything is the opposite of what is natural. Of what is normal.”

She wrinkled her brow. “I no longer know what normal is,” her quip muffled by her scarf. Too true. We are stepping into uncharted territory. Certainly unnatural.

“Shall we?” she asked, offering her gloved hand.

“Yes. Let’s.” There is nothing to be done now, in this new year, in this unnatural circumstance, but hold hands and walk the path.

read Kerri’s blogpost about FOOTPRINTS

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Arrive [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“You must understand the whole of life, not just one part of it. That is why you must read, that is why you must look at the skies, why you must sing, dance and write poems, and suffer, and understand, for all that is life.” ~ Krishnamurti, Think On These Things

The amaryllis is making a reach for the sky. The first time I saw it – a bulb encased in pink wax – I wondered what alien life form just entered our house. We had to ask the same questions we’d need to ask if it was an alien creature: How do we take care of it? How do we feed it? The answer was simple. Leave it alone. That answer confirmed my suspicion. It was an alien after all!

There is so much in this life that I do not understand. In fact, if I am honest, I think most of this life is beyond my capacity to comprehend. Last night, not ready yet for sleep, I watched a nine-minute youtube teaching by Thich Nhat Hahn. Stop Running. The title caught my eye because so much of life feels like running. Running to explain, Running to justify. Running to judgment. Running from fear. Running toward gain. I wanted to hear some thoughts about standing still. In that way, I might understand why there is so much running. In the end, his answer was beautifully simple: rather than run, arrive. Be home.

Rob made us laugh. He’s one of several people who lately reminded Kerri and me that we are not normal. “I didn’t mean for that to sound like it did!” he exclaimed. He’s helping us sort out our plan B. It’s true. Our “normal” in comparison to others is alien like the amaryllis. Rob is attempting to help us see what is special about how we are doing life. And, like everyone, we are mostly blind to ourselves. To our unique choices. To our “one wild and precious life.”

Between the alien amaryllis growing in our sunroom, conversations with Rob and a brief teaching by Thich Nhat Hahn, I am fully confident that I need to cease all attempts at understanding anything at all. Maybe it is time to arrive. Maybe it is time to arrive, to stand still and fully breathe-in all the possible awe teeming in this mysterious ungraspable universe.

Connected from Released From The Heart, The Best So Far © 1995, 1999 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about AMARYLLIS

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Open The Tiny Measure [David’s blog on KS Friday]

My first question: when did UFO (unidentified flying object) become UAP (unidentified anomalous phenomenon)? I know I am late to the party on this one. Like you, I’ve been reading the UAP headlines for a few years and, each time, ask myself the same question: Why the moniker change?

I did a little research this morning and came upon this phrase from Bill Nelson at NASA: “We want to shift the conversation about UAP’s from sentimentalism to science.” Apparently, George Lucas and Steven Spielberg have our space-alien-sentimentalism dialed to an all-time high. Human imagination runs amok with unidentified flying objects and not so much with unidentified anomalous phenomenon.

Language matters. Since our reference point is…us…a flying object, like an airplane or a spaceship implies a pilot, a “being” at the controls. An anomalous phenomenon? It’s another way of saying unusual occurrence and what, exactly, is an occurrence? If it’s unusually amorphous, there is nothing to hang your hat on. The only thing to do is call a scientist or artist since the imagination needs a few parameters to light its fire.

There was another sad-ancient-yet-contemporary-cautionary-tale that popped up in my reading: “NASA recently appointed a director for UFO research, but is not divulging the identity to protect them from the kind of threats and harassment faced by the panel members during the study.” Science and art are -and always have been – dangerous business. Galileo spent his last years on earth under house arrest for publishing his science; it contradicted the firmly-held belief of the day. He was forced to recant his findings or face the fate of heretics.

Belief does not appreciate being contradicted, especially when there is evidence involved – or as is true in the current example – no evidence at all. Belief has a wonky relationship with evidence. We are witness to that all-too-human phenomenon in our times, just as was Galileo. Protecting poll workers and UAP scientists from the violence of those who are unshakable in their faith and/or “news” source (their reference point).

We do not need science (or maybe we do) to see our absurdity.

We have the capacity to exercise our imaginations in this vast universe of possibilities. We have the ability to question if we desire to use it. We have the gift of unbridled curiosity and need not go off the rails into rootless belief if we allow that, “There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in [our] philosophy”. We can be afraid of ideas, run from progress, or threaten the artists and scientists that force us to open our smallish belief and tiny measure of “normal”. Growth is always preceded by an uncomfortable step into the unknown. A challenge to what we think we “know”.

And then, after the upset, we need to find language to describe the new world that we discover there.

Time Together/This Part of the Journey © 1997 & 2000 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about UFO and UAP

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See More. Know Less [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

“(What makes his world so hard to see clearly is not its strangeness but its usualness). Familiarity can blind you too.” Robert Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

Red and green. Oppositional on the color wheel yet understood as compliments. They set each other alight.

I am certain the longer I walk this life the less I know. How much time did I spend trying to get-there-fast? How much life did I give to my attempt to attain the mountaintop before I realized that there wasn’t one? How much hubris did I exude believing “my” work might change the world before I was humbled sufficiently to see that the world was changing me? Is there such a thing as “my” work? I have lived a life rich in collaboration. Who hasn’t?

And, how fortunate am I that life has routinely tossed me out of my “comfort” zone? Don’t get me wrong, I would appreciate a bit of smooth sailing with ample provisions but the ongoing absence of “normal” makes eyes-wide-open a necessity. There is no missing how interdependent we are, how utterly interconnected, when here-and-now is the only place we can clearly see.

read Kerri’s blogpost about RED AND GREEN

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Cheer The Artist [on Merely A Thought Monday]

Even with our earplugs, the music was loud. Our son was the artist on stage, his spontaneous composition making movement irresistible. We danced. The crowd whirled and cheered. I was proud. It was the first time we’d seen him perform live. He was fully in his element. This is what he is supposed to do: Make music that sets people free.

In our current world I can imagine nothing more potent or necessary. I wish his music might reach into the cold heart of Texas, dispel the manufactured fears of Florida. I hope his music rattles the foundations of the tightly held and airless “norm”. It is imaginary. Norm depends upon where you stand and, last I knew, there were many places to choose – all of them central to one. I will cheer on the day that his music pierces the veil of man-made-ugly-and-exclusive rules that are attributed to one angry god or another.

The best artists practicing the best of their artistry erase boundaries and lead people into their shared, common center: a place called love. It’s a boundless place, a place where people celebrate each other, where people dance for the joy of being alive, for the deep appreciation of being-just-who-they-are: unique in all the universe.

I saw it this weekend. Of the artist and the bountiful revelers I can truly say I am Proud.

read Kerri’s blogpost about PROUD

Choose Your Irritant [on DR Thursday]

The snowplow just scraped down the street. They keep the streets clear of snow but create great heaping snow-walls at the end of every driveway. Some people grumble, especially the early morning shovelers. I’m sure it’s disconcerting to clear the driveway only to have the snowplow block the egress. I’ve seen people shake their fists and curse at the plow drivers. We work from home so have the luxury to sip coffee and wait until the snow stops and the plows finish their great-wall-creation. Only then do I venture out with my big green shovel and clear the way.

Dogga is getting older. While the coffee brews in the early morning he goes outside. He used to race out the door, excited to chase away the squirrels. Now, he lopes. Lately, he locates the geographic center of the backyard, plants all four paws, and barks-and-listens. He is desperate for a return bark. It’s a pooch call-and-response. We’re up early enough that the other dogs are not yet out so he listens and barks in vain. After several disappointing attempts at rousing the troops, he lopes to the back door and barks at me to let him inside. It’s uncanny; his morning ritual takes the exact amount of time for the coffee maker to complete the brew. Sometimes I think he hears the final whoosh of steam. Back inside, he leads the way as I bring my-errand-of-mercy-first-cup-of-coffee to Kerri.

Although I drink less coffee than I once did, it remains the thread that weaves together the fabric of our day. We start our day with it. The last thing I do before retiring at night is to set up the coffee. “I love that smell,” Kerri says, as she turns out the lights.

During a recent visit, my doctor insisted that coffee is an irritant. His timing was curious because I was, in that moment, thinking the same thing about him. However, in that moment I was certain that, given the choice of spending 15 minutes with him or with a cup of coffee, I’d choose the coffee. One must be picky about the irritants they choose to embrace.

It’s still snowing. There’s no sense shoveling for a while. I guess it’s time for a second cup.

read Kerri’s blogpost about COFFEE

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Sing, “EEE-AAAWWW!” [on Two Artists Tuesday]

Drive across the country with Kerri and one thing is certain to happen: the moment she sees a donkey, she bursts into a rousing chorus of “EEE-AAAWW-EEE-AAAWWW!” She loves donkeys. She wants one. Or two. “They’re like big dogs,” she assures me. I have my doubts but I confess to picking up her quirk. Now, if I spot a donkey before she does, I point and launch a festive “EEE-AAAWW!”

Bill and Linda have two donkeys. We arrived after dark so had to wait until morning to go to the barn for a donkey-confab. She wiggled all night with excitement. “Smack-dab material,” I thought. I’ll be drawing cartoon donkeys soon. I can’t wait to figure out how to make the Kerri-cartoon character wiggle in anticipation.

Linda knows of Kerri’s donkey-love so she had donkey treats ready. I stood back and watched. “This is my future,” I thought. “Can I have another?” Kerri asked and Linda smiled, handing over the plastic container of orange donkey-cookies. Those lucky donkeys hit the cookie lotto.

Donkey cookies. Who knew! There’s more amazing wonders in this world than any of us can comprehend. Stand outside of anyone’s world, peer in at their passions, and you’ll have to try hard not to drop your jaw in fascination. From inside their world, the quirk seems boringly normal. I try to remember that when people stand agog at something in my world that seems normal-to-boring. “What’s the big deal,” I think.

People are great at reducing the magic in their lives to seem insignificant. I’m a “people” so, like all people, am guilty of my own diminishment. Beware of the word, “normal.”

Bill and I bumped fists. We are brothers-in-quirk. While Kerri and Linda stuffed the donkeys with cookies, Bill and I talked about the-things-that-come-out-of-our-mouths that get us into trouble. We think they are obvious. Ordinary. But, the response to our commentary indicates otherwise. He just retired from a board position and, his peers, in their farewell speech, described him in two words, both beginning with the letter “o”: outspoken and opinionated. All laughed. “It’s true!” he said, “And I’m proud of that,” and added, “No one wants to be a rubber stamp.”

What a perfect summation. EEE-AAAWWW-EEE-AAAWWW. Donkey cookies! Magic-in-the-ordinary. No one wants to be a rubber stamp.

read Kerri’s blog post about DONKEYS!

Dump The Mystic [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

Years ago a woman broke up with me because, “Dating a mystic was too hard.” What she really meant but-was-too-polite-to-say was that I was broke and artistic and the stuff that came out of my mouth was not normal. I’m just not good at cocktail parties where office politics and investments drive the dialogue. I spend my time wondering why I – and now we – were invited. That, and I can’t help but ask questions that go beneath the blather-layer. I am an artist with a weak-inner-editor. I want to know what makes people tick. You’d be amazed – or not – at how frightened people become when asked what passions lurk behind their portfolio. It’s a conversation stopper every time.

It was a great relief in my life the day I met Kerri. We were at O’Hare airport. I locked fingers with this woman I’d never met and, together, we skipped out of the airport. Our hearts were singing so skipping seemed natural and appropriate. Apparently adults are not supposed to skip through airports. People took cover. They scowled and stared. She didn’t care either. We laughed. We skipped.

It’s probably among the reasons we don’t have a portfolio (well, not the financial type). But, at the end of my days, when weighing my choices, I’ll be most grateful that I skipped. We skipped. And laughed. And asked real questions at polite parties. And climbed through the window onto the roof to have a glass of wine – because, for us, that is normal. I will also be grateful for learning – after a lifetime of introspection – to simply give voice to the real stuff BECAUSE it always comes to my mind.

read Kerri’s blog post about NOT NORMAL

smack-dab. © 2021 kerrianddavid.com

Welcome The Next Normal [on Merely A Thought Monday]

There was a time when my marker of the holiday season was the return of Pirate Christmas Ale; a rich and happy stout. It tickled me that the return of the holiday season was signaled with a Pirate and not jolly Ole Saint Nick. I drank one-a-night, from the day I saw the Pirate’s return to the store, through the end of the year. Pirates-in-holiday drink in moderation.

It’s been many years since I walked with the Pirate through the threshold of light’s return. With my move to Wisconsin came the establishment of a new normal. And then came COVID. I think we’ve both come to the realization, after a few years of deep disruption, that there will not be a return to normal. Just as with my move from the west coast to the upper-midwest, there will be the creation of a new normal. Just what that will be remains to be seen.

We know the new normal means leaving the house. We work at home and have mostly isolated these past few winter seasons. Cabin fever is getting to us. So, we’re taking calculated adventures. A visit to the Botanical Gardens. A walk around the small town of Cedarburg. A drive into Chicago. We continue to hike our trails but we’re both feeling the call of exploration, the desire to sail our ship toward the horizon. We really wanted to go to a concert but chose not to – COVID considerations remain central to our weird calculus.

Yesterday, while walking the streets of Cedarburg, we saw a tent behind the Stilthouse. Tables and heaters. We grabbed a spot under a heater, ordered lunch and lingered over a glass of wine. It sounds so normal yet, what was once commonplace, what was once something done without much thought – was a rare and delicious treat. We savored every moment.

Lately, we’re getting this reminder again and again. When the water line into the house broke – and we were without water for a day, the return of the water through the faucet brought cheers and happy dancing. There’s so much we take for granted. There’s so much to be savored in the commonplace, in the everyday, especially when we understand it might not be available forever.

Mostly, there is this: during the darkest days of every year, people come together in many ways to light candles, to exchange gifts, to make meals, to offer hope, to help each other through the dark time. Whether they realize it our not. The light returns. The earth spins. There’s water in the pipes. A heater and a table. Merlot in the bottle. Good friends. Good cheer. New work. The beginning of the next normal.

read Kerri’s blog post about GOOD CHEER

[this post marks the 200th consecutive week of the melange. Corks are-a-poppin’]