Return To Zero [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

In college, I learned from our technical director, Steve, to thoroughly clean the shop at the end of each day. Every tool was put back in its place. The floor was swept of sawdust. Brushes washed and paint cans sealed and re-shelved. The shop was returned to zero so we might start afresh the next day. We learned that taking care of our space was an act of taking care of our art. Self care. I carried that lesson forward in my life, in the theatre companies I had the privilege of guiding.

I learned that it feels good to take care of your space. I also learned that it fosters something vital and often elusive for artists: ownership and a sense of responsibility for their artistry. It’s grounding. I’ve had the unhappy experience of witnessing artists (and business leaders) who have a bevy of assistants follow them with brooms, like the guys with buckets and shovels following the horses in a parade. Cleaning your own space prevents the unhappy ego-ascension onto a personal pedestal; a guaranteed artistry killer. A guaranteed community killer.

I’ve also had the unhappy experience of witnessing artists in full fear of their artistry. Making a hot mess and cleaning it up is a great cure for even the most dedicated perfectionist. Instead of art, intend to make a mess. Then clean it up. Repeat. You’d be amazed at the impossibly beautiful work that emerges when the impossible expectation is put in its proper place.

The abrupt and abundant snow earlier this week brought an end to the plants on our deck and potting bench. We spent a good part of the weekend cleaning out and storing the clay pots, raking the leaves, clipping the peonies and containing the tall grasses. Readying the yard for the return of spring. While clipping the plumes I was for a moment thrust back into the shop in college. Steve walked by, the keys on his belt jangling. Time to clean up and close up for the night. I smiled. I doubt that he understood how important his simple requirement of keeping the space clean would become for me, a north star for those moments when I was attempting to climb on my pedestal or was afraid of my gift.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE BENCH

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A Simple Thing [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

In our defense, we didn’t buy the cupcake. Our dear Jen heaped a dizzying array of treats upon us before we hit the road. Also, she knows us. I imagine she predicted that, at the end of ten hours of driving, a bit of snack-decadence with wine would warm our hearts and make us feel at home.

Everyone on earth should have a Jen: a friend who is dedicated to making your life better and easier.

Everyone on earth should be a Jen: a person who is dedicated to making the lives of the people in their circle better and easier. And, since the circles we populate are not fixed or exclusive, the intentional kindness would overlap, ripple, and literally connect us – each to one another in a dedication of support – making the world a better place.

The first time I met Kerri, climbing into the car at the airport, I found a sandwich and a hot cup of coffee waiting for me. She thought I might be hungry after traveling so far. It was such a simple thing, a generosity. It reinforced what I already knew about her, what I already loved about her.

Making the world a better place. It doesn’t seem that difficult but it does require asking a question that seems radical in a dog-eat-dog culture: what can I do to make your life better and easier? It’s really a question of responsibility, isn’t it? The Butterfly Effect.

Yes, I am fully aware of the impossibility of my idealism. Yet, how fortunate am I to have a friend like Jen? How utterly impossible is it that I met and married a woman like Kerri?

read Kerri’s blogpost about CUPCAKES AND WINE

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Now We Must Ask [David’s blog on Flawed Wednesday]

“The more you know yourself, the more clarity there is. Self-knowledge has no end – you don’t achieve, you don’t come to a conclusion. It is an endless river.” ~ Jiddu Krishnamurti

In these times it is difficult not to write about the ubiquitous inanity and daily horror show produced by the current administration. We are writing a few days ahead, so it has become our practice to acknowledge that we might have to dump our initial posts if the latest outrage, the intentional starving of citizens, the kidnapping of people off the streets, the dissolution of congress to protect pedophiles…is too much to ignore. In truth, it’s all too much to ignore and it’s too toxic to focus on all of the time. We look away to remind ourselves that the goodness in people far outweighs the malicious spirit that currently claims the national narrative.

To that end I have this paradoxical reflection to offer: to all of you out there who voted for this but now daily proclaim that this is not what you voted for, I want to 1) roll my eyes and shout, “While you were cheering and waving Mass Deportation signs, did you not read your sign?” Did you think this was a sitcom? Project 2025 explicitly articulated this horror show in minute detail; you have no excuse – other than laziness – to now claim that this is not what you voted for. Yet, 2) it is never too late to wake up. It is never too late to realize that you’ve been duped. Saying, “I made a mistake,” is a step on the path of self-knowledge.

In waking up ever so slightly, there are two questions to ask: 1) “How was I so easily duped?” And, 2) “What will I do with my new awareness?” Knowing that this is not what you voted for does not absolve you from responsibility. You opened the cage and let loose the monster. It is not enough to divest yourself of culpability. People in fishing boats are being murdered, people with brown skin are being beaten and disappeared, millions are losing their healthcare and it is estimated that 50,000 people will die each year because of this loss…Saying, “It’s not my fault,” is akin to sticking your head back into the sand. Saying, “I made a mistake,” needs to be followed with a second step: corrective action. Self-knowledge is a bit of a misnomer; self-knowledge is inert until activated when it becomes dynamic: responsibility.

This ugly white supremacy has been a part of our national identity since our inception. A few days ago I told Kerri that it is my belief that our national mask is slipping. This terror-face is not new, it is merely revealing itself (again). We are seeing this part of our national identity with renewed clarity. Past generations, having seen this part of our national face, have been successful at restoring the mask, suppressing but not eliminating the ugliness.

Now we see it. And the two questions to ask ourselves are akin to those who claim that this is not what they voted for. We see it. What will we do with our new awareness? We claim to be a democracy yet we are currently witness to our rabid inability to reconcile ourselves with our history of slavery, of the genocide of native peoples…We continue to entertain a political party that actively – and perpetually – suppresses the vote of people of color and of women. It is unmasked. It is in full view. It is fascism and has no place in a multi-cultural democracy. It is no longer enough to say, “We see it.” If we stop there the cycle will once again repeat itself. The ugly face will be driven underground until if pops up as the reincarnation of The Confederacy or Jim Crow or MAGA.

We see it. Now we must ask ourselves how we translate our seeing, our self-knowledge, into responsible action. We claim to be a democracy: how do we close the gap between our rhetoric – who we claim to be – and our lived actions as translated into policy and daily practice – and into history?

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE RIVER

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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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Moving Mountains [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

There are few artists that she admires more than Phil Vassar. He is one of the great singer-songwriters of his genre. Last week he played at the Genesse just down the road so we moved a few mountains to be there. He’s recovering from a heart attack and a stroke so he also moved a few mountains to be there. I’ve never witnessed more simple gratitude pour from a performer – for being alive, for being able to sing and play, for sharing his gifts.

The lyric went straight to her heart and she cried: dreams can grow wild born inside an American child. She cried for her own wild dreams.

She cried for the crumbling dream called The United States of America. This song, American Child, in a moment became the anthem for all that we are losing, all that her father, a WWII vet, a prisoner of war, who fought against fascists, who carried the deep psychological scars from his service through the rest of his life…all so that his children and grandchildren might live in a country where dreams can grow wild.

She cried.

Democracy is, itself, a wild dream careening toward a cliff. The White House is literally being torn apart by a man-who-would-be-king. The congress has all but abdicated its responsibility; it’s literally left-the-building. The Supreme Court regularly rules against the Constitution, literally elevating one man above the law.

Those who believe in the dream of democracy hit the streets on the day we saw Phil Vassar. It was the biggest protest in the history of our young nation. Thom Hartmann wrote: “The No Kings Day protests last weekend were breathtakingBut here’s the hard truth: that energy, that passion, that righteousness means very little if it doesn’t translate into structure and leadership. Movements that fail to coalesce around leaders and build institutions typically die in the glare of their own moral light or fail to produce results.

Wild dreams are the north star of action. The dreams of an artist become reality after hours and hours and years and years of practice and rehearsal. Specific action aimed at the manifestation of the dream; moving mountains.

Democracy is not defended by hashtags. It’s defended by hands, millions of them, building, voting, organizing, and refusing to quit when the cameras are gone.” ~ Thom Hartmann

Phil Vassar suffered a heart attack. And then a stroke. He is moving mountains because he nearly lost his dream. He’s not sitting at home fretting. He’s playing concerts. He’s writing new songs. He’s breathing new air into his almost-lost-dream.

Perhaps we will do the same.

read Kerri’s blogpost about WILD DREAMS

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The More Difficult Path [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

“Tenderness and kindness are not signs of weakness and despair, but manifestations of strength and resolution.” ~ Kahlil Gibran

As her parting words when it was time for us to go, Beaky always said, “Be kind to each other.” She said it more as a wish or a prayer than as wise counsel.

In this latest era, we’re hearing a lot about hate speech. I believe Beaky’s farewell sentiment came from the experience of a long life: she knew that hostility and indifference are easy. Meanness is low hanging fruit, easily picked. Kindness, on the other hand, requires dedicated intentionality. It is a mandate to relinquish senseless power games.

Her parting words might as well have been, “Be conscious. Give your attention to each other.”

In the school of “Your Words Matter,” there is a clear distinction between the language of violence and the language of benevolence: hate speech rejects personal responsibility. Kindness requires an embrace of personal responsibility.

It is easy to point a finger and spew word-bile. It is satisfying to score a point and walk away. Demolition is elementary. It requires no special talent or skill.

Decency, kindness, generosity…considering the impact of words and actions on others – is certainly the more difficult path. To be aware of the impact of words and actions takes…well…awareness. Awareness and concern for others takes courage, strength and resolution – and is nothing less than the blossom of respect for your self.

With some corrections, it is finished: 66&19, 31.5″x36″ mixed media

read Kerri’s blogpost about the DAISY BUTTON

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Active Gratitude [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

I think we have it all wrong and that’s why we are now in trouble. Even in the dictionary this word, “community” gets an antiseptic scrubbing. Community is so much more than “people living in the same place,” or “people having a particular characteristic in common”. It is so much more than “a feeling of fellowship,” or “sharing common interests, attitudes, and goals.” All of those aspects are certainly important but they are superficial.

These definitions omit the soul of the communal body.

I found a startlingly simple yet profound definition of community in Martíin Prechtel’s book, Long Life, Honey In The Heart. I discovered my definition of community in his definition of “adulthood”. In his village, adulthood is not something that just happens. Adulthood is not simply a product of aging. It is not a legal definition. It is something that is learned and earned. One is not considered an adult until they embody and live each day from a real-to-the-bone understanding of mutual indebtedness.

Mutual indebtedness. People who are accountable to and for each other. People who are responsible for the well-being of their neighbors. People who know without doubt that their neighbors are accountable to them and responsible for their well-being. Reciprocal generosity.

No one walks this path alone. No one is truly independent. Everyone is reliant upon the gifts, skills and labor of others. Take a walk through a grocery store and try to try to grok how many people, how much labor and love it took to get the potatoes to the shelf. Or, if that’s too abstract, consider how many people were involved in the making of the screen you are presently using; how many generations of thought and imagination, how many hours and hours of someone else’s labor did it take for you to scroll and click? How many people all over the world did it take to mine the minerals and make the chips and manufacture and assemble the components and ship the unit across seas and over roads before you powered on and individualized your device?

Are we or are we not denying responsibility for the well-being of the people who each and everyday serve our needs? Or, as I fear, as is apparent in our current hubris, are we so deluded that we think we can exploit the lives and labor of others without the inevitable blow-back and ultimate societal collapse that “every man for himself” necessitates?

Bullies occupy playgrounds and make deals using big sticks – evidence of a childish mind. Adolescence is self-serving and simplistic.

Our current republican government’s dedicated enemy-creation and fact-free-demonization of others is the antithesis of community. It is, in fact, the intentional destruction of community.

Adulthood comes with the dawning recognition of interdependence. Mutual indebtedness. Responsibility to and for others. Labor as service. Governance as service. Artistry as service. Life as service. As the Beatles sang it, “The love you take is equal to the love you make.”

Community is an action, a verb and not a noun. It is a practice rooted in service to others. It is the adult recognition that a better world for me is only possible when I dedicate myself to the betterment of others. Well-being is a shared intention, something we owe to each other. I eat the food you grow and pick. You use the technology that I develop. We enjoy the fruits of each other’s labor. We survive and thrive because of the efforts of others. We are indebted to each other.

The soul of community is active gratitude.

“Indeed, I don’t believe you can practice love and be in community with folks without an incorporation of accountability as an ethic and a practice.” ~ Tarana Burke, Unbound

read Kerri’s blogpost about ACCOUNTABILITY

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Know The Difference [David’s blog on Flawed Wednesday]

“Public education does not serve a public. It creates a public. And in creating the right kind of public, the schools contribute toward strengthening the spiritual basis of the American Creed. That is how Jefferson understood it, how Horace Mann understood it, how John Dewey understood it, and in fact, there is no other way to understand it. The question is not ‘Does or doesn’t public schooling create a public?’ The question is ‘What kind of public does it create?'” ~ Neil Postman, The End of Education: Redefining the Value of School.

It’s important to know the difference.

In the forests and fields through which our walking path winds, there is Cow Parsnip, Queen Anne’s Lace, and Hemlock. All sport umbrella-clusters of tiny white flowers. They are all members of the carrot family. To the untrained eye – like mine – they look similar. They are dangerously different.

Socrates was sentenced to death and was made to drink Hemlock. It’s very toxic. Queen Anne’s Lace is edible and used medicinally. Cow Parsnip can be eaten “if handled properly,” however a combination of sap and sunlight can cause a painful rash.

It is important to know the difference. It is why education is so important. It is why asking questions, stoking curiosity and looking deeper – beyond the superficial – is invaluable. The point of education, as Neil Postman reminds us, is not to get a better job, it is to be a well-rounded human being capable of making informed decisions.

“At its best, schooling can be about how to make a life, which is quite different from how to make a living.”

Republicans since Reagan have been actively undermining our public schools. Cutting budgets, hyper-emphasizing testing (answer-driven rather than question-inspiring), and waging a foxy campaign against “the woke,” a term referring to people who are curious enough to question what they are being told – a skill useful in learning. The demonizing of education and the educated has without doubt led us to this moment: a gullible, angry and easily distracted citizenry. I almost wept the day the young man, an expectant father, told me that he was going to home school his child because he didn’t want his son’s head to be filled with “any of those crazy ideas” that they teach in the public schools. He didn’t want his boy to be woke.

I wanted to tell that young man that democracy is an idea. So is fascism and communism and authoritarianism. It’s important to know the difference.

The fox and Republicans have been for years weaponizing the term “socialism”, an accusation they level when their wealth is threatened by those who question why taxation is unfair, who ask why Republicans cheer when government creates programs uplifting corporate America but snarl when government creates programs that uplift private citizens. Socialism is an idea, too. Asking questions, protecting civil rights, and believing in the promise of democracy is not socialism. It takes some study and questioning to know the difference.

There’s a reason that the cartoon symbol for insight is a light bulb illuminating brightly over a character’s noggin. Letting in the light.

Discernment. Distinction. Knowing the difference between indoctrination and education. Knowing the difference between character and corruption, value and vice, wisdom and hogwash. Knowing how to discern news from propaganda would seem to be essential – democracy-saving. Life saving.

And so, here we are, awash in a cult movement called MAGA, enabled by a feckless Republican Congress, that worships incompetence and promotes ignorance. It shields itself against even the most basic of questions and eschews responsibility for, well, anything (blame is their game). It howls in indignation at the very thought of learning. It is a celebration of the dim-bulb. Drinkers of toxic hemlock, totally incapable of discerning the difference between the deadly and the medicinal, the truth and a lie.

“Because we are imperfect souls, our knowledge is imperfect. The history of learning is an adventure in overcoming our errors. There is no sin in being wrong. The sin is in our unwillingness to examine our own beliefs, and in believing that our authorities cannot be wrong.” ~ Neil Postman, The End of Education: Redefining the Value of School.

read Kerri’s blogpost about DISCERNMENT

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The Smallest of Things [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

We’ve taught Dogga not to bark at the dachshunds next door. He stands vigil on our bed where he can see out the window and over the fence. He waits, knowing their morning routine. When the moment arrives, when the dachshunds come outside, Dogga groans and moans – like a character in a melodrama – to suppress his bark. He leaps off the bed, turns to look at us, and vigorously complains. His indignation is among our favorite morning rituals. We giggle at his yawling discord. We tell him to, “Go get candy cane!”, his favorite toy, useful in chewing away his dissatisfaction. He races into the next room returning with his plastic candy cane in his mouth, looking somewhat like Groucho Marx gnawing on a red and white striped cigar.

In those moments I couldn’t be more in love with my life. It’s the smallest of things.

We were like small children overrun with anticipation as we awaited the blossoming of the peonies. Last fall Loida gifted Kerri with two new peony roots. Elsa Sass and Amalia Olson. We planted them with great care, following the instructions to the letter. In the spring, little green adventurers broke through the soil. Soon there were leaves and then the tiniest buds. And then, one day, the buds began to swell; nature’s Jiffy Pop. Like Dogga peering out the window, we’d race outside each morning to hold our vigil. This week, the buds burst open, radiant flowers unfolded. Kerri was beside herself. The photo session has been ongoing for days. “I just love them!” she exclaims with each and every snap.

It’s the smallest of things.

This weekend, people left the comfort and safety of their homes to walk together in the streets. They showed up for each other. They showed up en masse to remind their elected leaders that they serve the public and not their party; they are meant to serve the needs of the public and not the whims of a criminal. People walked together to remind the absent/silent Republican members of Congress that they swore an oath to uphold The Constitution – and they are betraying their oath. Millions of people stepped out of their houses to walk together, to express their dissatisfaction with the brutality, the attempted authoritarian take-down of our democracy, to join together their voices to say, “We will not abdicate our responsibility to each other as you have abdicated your responsibility to us.”

It’s the smallest of things. To step out of the house. To walk with others. To speak truth to power, especially when power is a bully threatening violence.

Recently I’ve asked myself – as I’ve heard many others ask, “But what can I do?” This weekend we experienced an answer: Do the smallest of things. Step out of your house. Take a walk with your neighbors that sends a clear message to the cowards in Congress and the supremely corrupted court: The democracy that our ancestors planted here is precious and worth protecting.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE PEONY

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Put It To Good Use [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

“Sanity is madness put to good uses, waking life is a dream controlled.” ~ George Santayana, The Elements of Poetry

I wish – oh, how I wish – we could awaken from this nightmare. Democracy dies by gaslight, by demonization, by unbridled lies, by a Me-Me-Me philosophy. By Republican insanity (inanity?): madness put to ill use. Cowardice two-stepping in a righteous cowboy costume.

Viktor Frankel wrote: “The more one forgets himself – by giving himself to a cause to serve or another person to love – the more human he is.” Could there be a better definition of sanity?

We are witness to a national nightmare. It is the tug of war of dueling realities. One, madness put to good use, is called Democracy. It is a dream meant to serve “liberty and justice for all”. To uplift. Equally.

The other reality is discriminatory, exploitation of the many for the profit of the few. It is madness put to toxic use. White nationalism in a self-righteous-wrapper. It is in-sanity. Un-hinged. Ab-normal. To abuse others for personal gain. In-humane.

We fly the flag upside down as a signal of distress. I imagined the bumper sticker was placed upside down to reinforce the point. Stay Weird. The current purveyors of authoritarian insanity intend to hammer us into compliance. To silence the voices of opposition (goodness). They attack judges while freeing criminals; they would have us believe that the rule of law is criminal so that the criminal might lawlessly rule. They would have us behave, stay quiet. Look down or bury our heads in the sand. Goosestep.

There has never been a better time – or more necessary time – to stay weird, to put our mad-ness to good use. To speak up. To act out. Surround and protect the judges: the last line of defense against the authoritarian takeover. To bellow to our AWOL Congress: WHERE ARE YOU? And to make sure they feel the impact of their inaction, their abdication of responsibility. Their betrayal of oath.

Our mythos is full of symbols like Paul Revere and The Boston Tea Party: people giving of themselves to serve a greater cause. The love of others. In our dream of democracy, we know exactly how to deal with an out-of-control wanna-be king. We fly the flag upside-down. We put lanterns in church steeples. We toss money-hoarding and unfair taxation into the harbor. There has never been a more important time to stay weird, to focus our madness and put it to good use – for each other.

read Kerri’s blogpost about STAYING WEIRD

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