Homecoming [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

Kerri is back.

She disappeared over 4 years ago. A world-class pianist who fell and broke both her wrists. And then, fell again. Her artistry fractured, her community blew apart and then consumed itself. Pandemic isolation. Depression. Confusion. Hurt. Despair.

And then, in a moment that I can only describe as miraculous, in the most-unlikely-scenario, she let it go and laughed. The choice was easy. The heaviness fell from her spirit. Sitting next to her, I felt the light return. It was so startling that I turned and stared. It was like watching a sunrise. There she was. She came back. After 4 years, she came home.

We walked down the hill, hand-in-hand, and got into the car. We drove away. We literally giggled for miles, overwhelmed with the return of spaciousness in her spirit, the bright light shining in her eyes. Ahhh.

Perfect.

read Kerri’s blogpost about HOMECOMING

smack-dab © 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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Learn About Silence [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Sometimes an action is not what it seems. For instance: she decided to sell her cello. It sounds so simple, doesn’t it?

When she broke both of her wrists in the same fall, she worried that she’d lose the ability to play her many instruments. To bow a cello requires a flexible and strong wrist. It healed and she recovered. Bowing the cello was not a problem. And then there was the second fall. A newly mopped floor with no signage. Her first words, laying on the wet linoleum, writhing in pain, holding her right wrist: Oh God! Oh, god, I can’t believe it!”

She lost degrees of movement in the second fall. It sounds mathematical, doesn’t it? Simple math. On a good day she has half the degrees of movement that she had before she met the wet floor. Enough to open a door but far short of bowing a cello.

After three years and countless hours learning about degrees of silence, she decided to sell the cello. “It needs to be played,” she said. “It deserves to be with someone who can play it.”

A simple action. A very complicated story. A heartbreaking moment when the luthier handed her a check. She touched her cello, turned, head down so the man could not see her tears, and walked away.

Last I Saw You/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 THE CELLO

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Wish For It [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“The world is changed by your example, not by your opinion.” ~ Paulo Coelho

And so we tie up another year according to the latest iteration of the Roman calendar. As is customary on the waning days of the year, we look back and review where we’ve been, who we’ve lost, and attempt to measure our progress toward any number of goal posts. We affix an adjective or two to the passing year; “It was a good year.” Or, “It was a bad year.” A rough year. A surprising year. It’s the time of experience-reduction and encapsulation. It’s the time of renewal as we step over the imaginary line with an imaginary clean slate.

We wish each other a happy new year. I’ve been wondering what the world would look like if the wish had some teeth. What would we do on the first day of the new year – and every day after – if it was more than a passing wish; if it was our imperative to make certain that each person in our community, in our lives, would have a happy year. Happiness as a shared responsibility. How might that change our choices? How might that fulfill the ubiquitous ideal to “lead by example”? To live by example.

I know. Another pie-in-the-sky post. But I would offer this thought from my personal year-in-review: I am surrounded by people who have made my well-being their personal concern. And, I haven’t the first idea how to reciprocate in a meaningful way except to pay it forward in any way possible. To live my life according to their example.

So, was it a hard year? Yes. Oh, god, yes. Was it an extraordinary year? Yes. Unbelievable. Am I moving forward with a clean slate? A fresh beginning? No. Not a chance. The baggage is coming with me.

Except there will be this: when I throw my confetti into the air and toot a horn of celebration, wearing my funny hat, I will step across the line in full knowledge and with a full heart, a new imperative beyond the sing-song wish of a Happy New Year. I will have an example to follow that completely transforms the once-yearly-ritual-wish into a daily-lived-action.

It’s not pie-in-the-sky, after all. It’s about time we create what we always wish for.

grateful/as it is © 2004 kerri sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE WISH

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Breathe Again [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

To say I sobbed is a bit of an overstatement. I’d been raking leaves all morning. It was clear and crisp. I’d just finished stuffing the last green bio-bag in the front yard and hauled it to the curb for pick-up. All that remained was to collect the bags from the backyard and move them to the curb. That’s when I heard her playing the piano. I couldn’t believe it! I slipped beneath her studio window and listened. This was no small moment.

She played after she fell and broke both her wrists. She couldn’t open a doorknob or button her shirt but, somehow, she found a way to play. She had to. The pandemic had already taken one of our jobs. Her bosses could not find the heart or moral compass to afford her time off to heal. One hand in a cast. One hand in a splint. Nine useful fingers and an immobilized thumb. She played. Nine months later, nearing complete healing, she fell again. A wet floor. No signs. This time, the injury was debilitating. The depression that followed was a deep dark crevasse. She stopped playing altogether. She sometimes stood at the door of her studio but rarely entered.

These past few years I can count on one hand – well, two fingers – the times she played. When Rob visited I asked her to play for him. She chose a few pieces. Rob was moved to tears. I could tell it hurt her. She was asked by an old friend to play for a transgender memorial service. With her brace she was able to play the two 15 minute sections.

Sitting beneath her studio window, listening, the pain and loss, the weight of the past few years flowed out of my eyes. A flood of relief. She was playing. For herself. For no other reason than to feel the muse. It was a step forward. A step toward. A step back into the light. A moment of possibility.

I felt as if I’d been holding my breath these many years. Now, perhaps, on this crisp fall day, it was time to breathe again.

read Kerri’s blogpost about LEAVES

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Mind The Deer [David’s blog on KS Friday]

We don’t always see them but we know they are present. The deer. We note their tracks and have learned where they usually cross the path. They follow careful pathways, game trails that are visible when we are walking slow enough to spot them.

As a symbol, they are heart-centered. They are associated with gentleness and it’s easy to understand why. They are gentle creatures. Even when bounding away, their leap is graceful and quiet, as if they are careful not to disturb the grasses and ground. They are mindful of their impact on the world.

We feel fortunate when we see them. It sometimes feels as if they show themselves to us. They seem to know when our hearts are hurting so reveal themselves, even for a moment, to help fill us with peace. It’s always true that we stop all movement, all thinking, all worry, all despair…when they show themselves. They are like magical makers of space, instantly turning tumult into vast acres of serenity. They look at us with large black eyes to make sure our spirits are calm, our hearts refreshed, and then they disappear as quickly as they appeared. “What were we talking about?”

“I can’t remember.”

The calm stays with us as we become like the deer, filled with their intentional spirit, quiet and innocent. Present, that special place beyond our future worries and past regrets.

watershed/as it is © 2004 kerri sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE DEER

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Feel The Sound [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Far into the sleepless night, the cold night air driving me deeper beneath the quilt, I heard the low song of the chimes and whispered a gratitude to Guy. There are few things in life that bring me an immediate sense of peace and well-being like the chimes.

A few months ago Kerri and I wrote of our yearning for chimes. Our “someday” wish. We wrote of the many times we’ve stood in stores, sounding the chimes-on-display, feeling and then discussing the tones. Guy read our post. His life is rapidly changing. He wanted to find a new home for his beloved chimes. Would we like them? Yes! Double-Yes!

They are magic. I feel the sound to my core. In the few weeks since we hung them from our spruce tree, more than once I’ve stood near when the breezes begin to blow, and closed my eyes so I can feel the full ripple of sound resonate through my being. It’s like a giant Tibetan prayer bowl. Instant calm. Instant presence.

Were I in charge of this contentious world, every person would begin each day with chimes. Eyes closed, resonating with the wind and their neighbors. But, since I am not in charge, I will drink in the peace and each time whisper my deepest thanks to Guy.

[this may be my favorite of Kerri’s compositions]

peace/as it is © 2004 kerri sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about CHIMES

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Roll With Every Punch [on DR Thursday]

And on the fourth night, just before retiring, I stepped onto the stoop and unplugged the colored lights. Forever. The ancient plug had had enough. It was weary and left behind one of its prongs. “No worries,” Kerri said, “I wouldn’t trust those wires to replace the plug. And, I loved them while they lasted.”

Yes. Just enough. A satisfying gesture. I believe that is our theme for the season. Just enough. Satisfying gesture.

Lately, I’ve made it a practice to ask friends and family, with all the water problems that Kerri and I have had this year, what’s the metaphor they see? What’s the universe trying to tell us? The responses have been great fun: build an ark. The slate is washed clean. Put on your waders. I’ve decided it is none of the above (or all of the above). I’m going with the Lao Tzu paradox:

“Water is fluid, soft, and yielding. But water will wear away rock, which is rigid and cannot yield. As a rule, whatever is fluid, soft, and yielding will overcome whatever is rigid and hard. This is another paradox: what is soft is strong.”

Fluid, soft, and yielding. We are rolling with every punch. Soft is strong. Not much gets us riled up these days. There have been so many punches; rigid wasn’t working. Yielding seemed the better path. We are, as Kerri so aptly articulated, ” Leading with surprise.” Not that a waterline break is to be desired but, ours, although intensely disruptive, brought good stories and good people into our sphere. “I want to be like Kevin,” I said. He’s the engineer at the water utility. Kind, funny, easy in his life. His dedication was to make easier our path through disruption. He and Kerri are sharing holiday recipes.

We are, out of necessity or intention, either way, walking the middle path and being careful not to wander into oppositions. Just enough. Satisfying gestures. Love them while they last. Lighten up. Let go. Fluid, soft and yielding.

No worries.

read Kerri’s blog post about LIGHTS

nap with dogdog & babycat © 2020 david robinson

Become Simple Enough [on KS Friday]

I took a photo of Kerri taking this photo. There’s nothing more inspiring to me than watching an artist at work. Her focus was singular. Pure. I saw her “see” this possibility. She turned, left the reality that the rest of us occupied, and approached the window as if it was an animal in the wild. Carefully, quietly. Reverently.

Her photo immediately brought to mind Ellsworth Kelly’s Austin, his temple of light. The vibrant squares of color. Someday we will make a pilgrimage to the Blanton Museum to stand in Austin and, in that moment, I will remember Kerri’s window.

In a world of just-get-to-the-point, time-is-money, and bottom-lines, and the centuries-old-delusion that we are rational beings and the analytical is supreme, an artistic heart and mind is an outlier. We use too many words. We are not reserved in our gesticulation. We express what words cannot reach because we see what lives beyond words. And, developing eyes-that-see takes time. Ellsworth Kelly designed his Austin in his last years. It takes years and years to become simple enough to see the sacred.

Recently we were told, not for the first time, “So many people want what you have but they don’t want to pay for it.” Kerri and I looked at each other. Her great pet-peeve, the pinnacle of all pet-peeves, is how often she’s been asked to play, not for money, but for exposure. She’s considered by Yamaha, the maker of fine pianos, to be one of their select artists, a modern master. Yet, all of her life, with frightening regularity, she’s heard, “It will be good for you!” the face smiles, “It might lead to something.” Yes. It does lead to something: more people wanting what you have but not willing to pay for it. Point in any direction to anyone who’s achieved the pinnacle of their career, and imagine asking them to perform surgery or keep the books or go to trial or build the house for exposure. Can you imagine? She – we – have heard it throughout our lives.

And, when she turned and saw the window, her sudden awareness shocked the people in the gallery into silence. Everyone turned, made space, and watched. She had no idea that she was on stage. Pure. And, without exception, everyone in that room wished they could see what she was seeing. They wished they could see how she was seeing. Sacred. It takes a lifetime. Austin. The window. Priceless.

read Kerri’s blog post about THE WINDOW

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

Relax And Prime [on KS Friday]

“None are so old as those who have outlived enthusiasm.” ~ Henry David Thoreau

I spent a good chunk of the afternoon yesterday drawing cartoons. I had to get away from the computer screen. I’ve learned – relearned – that staring into the screen too long makes me myopic and unimaginative. I’m not certain if this is true for everyone but I am kinesthetic. There’s a necessary balance. Sitting still and staring at a screen without the opposite focus are creative-killers for me. I do my best thinking when I move around, when I stop trying to solve or deconstruct. I’m fortunate that drawing with a #2 pencil at an old-fashioned light table is part of my job.

Greg lives his life in front of a screen – multiple screens – and, to get away, he dives. His underwater photography is gorgeous. In a meeting a few days ago, he said that diving clears his mind. His greatest insights come when he’s underwater or sitting on the beach after a dive. There’s good science behind his insight. Relaxation triggers dopamine: the more dopamine, the more creative. Comfort and relaxation prime the creative pump. Stress and tension unplug the pump.

The best thing to do when trying to squeeze out a revelation is to walk away. Take a drive. Take a shower. Stop thinking so hard. Daydreaming is very productive. I’ve learned that anger and frustration rarely – if ever – lead to creative insight and generally produce the opposite of what’s desired. Anger (like too much time in front of a computer screen to me) is myopic. It narrows. It squeezes off the dopamine. It blinds the mind and heart to possibility.

Kent Nerburn wrote that, “For those of us in the arts, enthusiasm is never outlived. The sun is always rising before us, and our wonder at the world, the true source for all meaningful art, only grows stronger as life slows from passage to moments…” There’s always a next painting to paint. Another song to write. A photograph to take. It’s one of the reasons I love taking walks with Kerri: we rarely get very far before she gasps, and stops to take a photograph of some small miracle. And, while she’s collecting images of small miracles, I look to the sky and let my mind wander, a walking meditation, a creative pump primer.

And, almost always, somewhere on the trail, the dot that refused to connect while I was too-long staring at the screen, takes me by the hand and says, “It’s so simple. Do you see?”

read Kerri’s blog post about EVERGREEN

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