The Fruit of Now [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

“But the Tzutujil, with no verb “to be,” spoke about their temple as a non-rigid, fluid thing to be added to and fed with offerings. These offerings kept the world alive, like the fertilizing and watering of a tree, an ancient tree that continually bears the fruit of “now”. “ ~ Martin Prechtel, Long Life Honey in the Heart

The fruit of now.

Sometimes I try to imagine living in a culture that believes their actions matter not only to the health of the world, but the very existence of the world. All the world a sanctuary. What must it feel like to live with the understanding that what we do and how we behave, what we honor and what we bring to the sanctuary more than sustains it? It recreates it. No action is insignificant. To be the collective stewards of an ancient relationship rather than pursuers of an individual abstract heaven. The fruit of now.

Day one of a new year. Yesterday I wrote about my resolution, to be careful what I pretend to be.

Yesterday Kerri wrote about being a source of light. A luminaria. Illumination. “A lamp kept burning before the sacrament.” To be a source of light in a dark time.

This morning I awoke thinking about kintsugi: the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with urushi lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. It was mentioned in the Hallmark movie we watched on Sunday night. A cherished angel, broken and repaired. Kintsugi is meant to take what is broken and make it more beautiful by highlighting rather than hiding the cracks.

Kintsugi is a nice compliment to my resolution of being careful about what I pretend to be. It is a worthy intention, rather than hide my broken bits, I might spend this year gluing them back together in such a way that I highlight rather than conceal them. To be an honestly messy human is to be a source of light in a dark time. In that way, might I become more beautiful?

Or, perhaps the becoming-more-beautiful never stops. Kintsugi is not an achievement, an end result. It is an ongoing process. I can imagine, as one of the many stewards of the ancient relationship, responsible for the health of the sanctuary, the ancient tree, becoming more beautiful is an intention, a daily practice. And, knowing that what I-and-we-do-and-say matters to the health of the whole, in this ritual passage into the new year, I-and-we might enjoy the fruit of now, taking this step across the threshold into the new year as if what we do matters to the health of the world, shining as a source of light in a dark time.

read Kerri’s blog about A Luminaria

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It’s About Time [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

What more is there to say?

read Kerri’s blogpost about LOVE MORE NOW

smack-dab © 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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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

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about MASHED POTATOES

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Travel Here [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

One of the cruelties of multiple daily zoom meetings is that, in addition to seeing other faces, you also stare at your own. “OMG!” I think to myself (of course- who else would I think to), “I look old!” The picture that I see on the screen does not match the picture in my mind. In my mind, I am much younger. “Some old guy stole my voice!” I shout to myself.

Here’s a strange bit of phraseology: I did not know our kids when they were kids. I came into their lives when they were already adults so I don’t have the memories of footie pajamas, bath time or back yard swing sets. During a recent visit with Craig, I realized that Kerri measures her time on earth relative to her children. She’s constantly reconciling the adult son/daughter sitting across the table with the infant son/daughter that she remembers like it was yesterday. “Where did the time go?” she asks, looking at her hands.

We’re all adults now. Well, even staring into the eyes of that dude who stole my voice, I’m cautious about claiming adulthood. I feel as if I stepped into a time machine that thrust me forward in time. I remember myself in footie pajamas as if it was yesterday. It’s ironic, isn’t it, that it’s in the last few laps that you understand the race is all in your mind and the real juice of life is in enjoying a body that can run. Or feel. Or sense. Or love. Or dance. Or hold the hand of the one you adore.

The advice I’d give to our children is the same advice I’d give to myself (and I’d do it, too, if that rat-bastard hadn’t stolen my voice!), “There’s no hurry. This race is not run on a line. It’s a circle. You’re not really getting anywhere more important than where you already are.” It’s a time machine to now.

read Kerri’s blog post about TIME MACHINES

smack-dab. © 2021-2 kerrianddavid.com

Turn And See [on KS Friday]

grateful songbox 1 copy

Gratitude is a word easily tossed about in this season. It is often a nod to something that ought to be more present. It can be momentary, skipping a stone over the water. A commandment for how we should feel. Be Grateful.

Gratitude finds roots and deep resonance the day you turn around and realize beyond the abstract that this life is limited. These moments are limited. No longer an easy sentimental phrase on a Thanksgiving card, gratitude looks at what and who is present and loses all interest in what may-or-may-not-be missing. A sunset, each sunset, becomes a unique once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Last night, late, 20 came over. We sat at the table, told stories. Drank wine. Chocolate and raspberries. Heather and Brian Facetimed with Kerri. Her laughter in the next room, the enthusiasm of their conversation, made 20 and I smile. A long lost friend tossed a cryptic note into our ocean. We puzzled it deep into the night.

There has never been another evening like it. There will never be another.

Kerri’s GRATEFUL is not a Hallmark card. It is not a commandment or a should-feel. It’s not flowers and feel-good honey bees. It flows with the urgency, the power, and the recognition of that day when you at last turn and see an end to yourself. It is a love note to being alive, a meditation on the everyday priceless moments, a call to awaken to the unparalleled now.

 

GRATEFUL on the album AS IT IS is available on iTunes & CDBaby

 

read Kerri’s blog post about GRATEFUL

 

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grateful/as it is ©️ 2004 kerri sherwood

Take Pause [on KS Friday]

grace songbox copy

Kerri’s GRACE is a poem. It is an essence.

When climbing the mountain, there is that moment when you pause the ascent, catch your breathe, and take stock of where you are. It is the moment of rest, of replenishment, of taking in the view. It is neither arrival nor departure. It is somewhere in between.

The somewhere-in-between-space is where GRACE is glimpsed. A fleeting glance, a warm touch, a slow inhale before the thought of climbing pulls your eyes and mind from GRACE and back toward a destination.

 

GRACE on the album RIGHT NOW is available on iTunes & CDBaby

 

read Kerri’s blog post about GRACE

 

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grace/right now ©️ 2010 kerri sherwood

Be Inside It [on KS Friday]

inasplitsecond song copy

This morning I stood in the middle of the kitchen and tried to remember where we keep the pans. It wasn’t a senior moment. This week is a transition time. We are no longer there and not yet here. As we unpack our boxes from the other place, we are slowly reentering this place.

It’s a sweet limbo, these in-between times. They can be disorienting and they can also wake you up.

Among my favorite lyrics in Kerri’s song, IN A SPLIT SECOND:

Walk that thin line of the future and the past.

Linger in now.

As I was listening to her song a few minutes ago, my thoughts plummeted into a fit of images: splitting a second, as if a second was a thing that could be split. Cut a moment in half and what do you have? A smaller moment? A creamy center between two hard cookies? Walk that thin line like a tight rope; if you look down you must inevitably focus either on the future (one side of the rope) or the past (the other side of the rope). Don’t look down. Or, like the great walkers, lay on the rope and look at the sky. Drop the umbrella and let the rope support you rather than split your focus.

I could go on and on (and often do  – which gives Kerri ample practice in rolling her eyes or sometimes in a fit of self-protection she glazes over).  And while I chatter on and on, you should linger. Listen. And, rather than splitting it, be inside your moment. It only takes a second.

 

IN A SPLIT SECOND on the album AS SURE AS THE SUN is available on iTunes, CDBaby and real-live CD’s from KERRI

 

read Kerri’s blog post about IN A SPLIT SECOND

 

not our best morning minturn website box copy

 

inasplitsecond/assureasthesuncopyright2002kerrisherwood