Meeting The Madness [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Act 2 of Stephen Sondheim’s musical, Into The Woods, delivers a healthy dose of reality: there is no happily ever after. There is, however, a full-life with bumps and barnacles and growth and messy challenges and change. There is heartbreak and jubilation. There is a full-palette of feelings. There are bright days and dark days. A life without obstacles is a very boring affair.

In my past, when facilitating groups, I used to love proving to people that they like challenges, that they adore obstacles. If we don’t have hills to climb we create them. They are called hobbies. Or workouts. Or volunteering. We set goals that seem impossible and then meet them. And, among the greatest challenges we eagerly embrace is called “relationship”.

I knew how to teach about the challenge called “relationship” because I was once under the spell of happily-ever-after. I thought something was wrong with me when all of the colors of the relationship rainbow demanded attention. What was wrong with me was my unrealistic expectation, my dedication to a life without obstacles.

It’s what I love about this life: things flip over when illusions are popped. Happily-ever-after is no way to live. Each day I step out of bed looking for the miracles and find that they are always right in front of my face – and often they initially look like stumbling blocks. I can say with confidence that the road ahead looks to be riddled with hurdles and though I may grouse and complain, secretly I recognize and welcome the full-spectrum of color these hindrances will evoke.

My friend, Robert just wrote that, “…sometimes life throws big surprises at you.” We are living in a time when life is throwing big surprises at us in rapid fire each and every day. It seems that we are in an impossible situation with a government spiraling into authoritarianism. The vast majority of the people of this nation have had enough of the clown show and are turning out to meet the challenge.

There is no happily ever after. There is no return to a fantasy past. There are, however, millions and millions of people who are up for meeting the challenge, with all its bumps and barnacles, ready – more than ready – for the growth that meeting the madness will evoke.

read Kerri’s blogpost about I TOLERATE

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Take The Curve [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

I understand that there are no straight lines in nature. In life, either. Curves, bumps, potholes…surprises… are the spice of an interesting life. A full palette experience. Note: I did not write “an easy life.” Easy is a one-color painting.

That there are no straight lines in life or in nature (same thing) makes this warning sign something of a curiosity. If there are only curves of varying degrees, why warn me that there is a curve coming. I’m presently standing in a curve. There will be a curve after the upcoming curve. And another after that.

I’d be much more interested if the sign warned me of smooth sailing ahead. Or calm waters. Or momentary peace.

I suppose I’m less interested in the geometry of my travels and more concerned with the quality of my journey. I understand that the sign is attempting to help me manage my expectations, moderate my speed, prepare for what’s ahead; it’s a type of crystal ball. It knows what the future holds if I continue on this path.

I already know that there is a curve ahead. I have no expectation of straight paths. Or narrow paths, for that matter. I do, however, expect to be surprised. Although there is no sign in yellow and black warning me of the beauty, I understand that there’s an amazing vista ahead, somewhere just beyond the curve.

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buymeacoffee is a sign on the road that we are not tossing our words and work into a e-void. it’s hope in a modern era.

Talk Turkey [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

(Bing) “You just got a text” I said. We’d been in the basement all day, cleaning, sorting, making piles of what would go, what to donate, what to keep. There’s nothing like an extended polar freeze to inspire a deep purge of the collected-and-accumulated- stuff-of-life.

She read his text aloud, “Umm…are you guys having turkey tonight?” Our neighbor, John, is a master of understatement, one of the funniest people we know. Bob Newhart dry.

“What? What’s he talking about?” I asked.

(Bing) “He sent a picture!” She laughed, “Oh, my god! We have to go upstairs,” she said, bounding out of the basement.

“What? Why?” She was already gone. “I’ll be there in a minute,” I said to myself. I heard her laugh again and then the sound of the camera snapping photos. Fear-Of-Missing-Out set in. I dropped my broom and galloped up the stairs.

“Come see,” she smiled. “You’re not going to believe it.”

Two of the neighborhood turkey trio were sitting atop the Scion. The third was standing in the driveway staring directly into the studio window. A set up. A blatant appeal for sanctuary. I expected the driveway turkey to extend a wing in our direction. Instead, it raised one leg, tucking it into the warmth of its body. One of the turkeys atop the car pooped. Choreography. An appeal combined with a not-so-veiled threat.

“They must be freezing,” she said.

“No,” I said. “Not a chance. They are not coming into the house.” She snapped a few more photos.

“It’s really cold out there.” she muttered. The one-legged turkey shifted to the other foot. “It’s too cold to stand on both feet,” she said, looking at me with those eyes.

“No way. Not a chance. They’re turkeys. They are made to withstand the cold.” The second turkey atop the car pooped.

Someone is going to have to clean that off the car,” she said, subtly allying with the turkeys.

I slowly raised my leg, tucking it in, standing on one foot. “It’s cold in here,” I said. Two can play that game.

read Kerri’s blogpost about TURKEYS ON THE ROOF

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buymeacoffee is a warm car-roof on a polar cold day, a wind block for the feathered artists standing at your studio window holding out a wing of appeal.

Count The Surprises [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

The weather by the lake is often different than a mile inland. While the rest of our area was buried in snow, we had slush fall from the sky. This was not graupel or sleet. It was as if the 7-Eleven-in-the-sky opened the Slurpee nozzle and it filled up our back patio with slushy like a kiddie pool. Only the color wasn’t neon lime. And then it froze. I grew up in snow country. I’ve lived all over this nation. I’ve never seen Slurpee pour from the heavens. It was a surprise.

The second surprise was even more curious and beautiful. When it froze, the slush formed into polka-dots. Ice circles similar to the phenomena that occasionally occurs on the lake. I’m certain there’s a meteorologist out there who can explain what happened in our back yard – and it’s on my list to investigate – but for now I want to sit in the awe of the tiny circles.

The third surprise came with the blizzard and deep freeze that followed the next day. Again, our area was buried in snow yet we had nary an inch. What we did have was a waterfall that poured in the back door. Lovely and cold. Definitely surprising. I opened the door to let Dogga out and stared through the streaming water – as if I was standing behind a waterfall. Only then did I realize that my feet were soaked. And then I realized that in the sub-zero temperatures, the waterfall was quickly freezing. Kerri met my soaking wet excitement, “We have a problem!” with her usual stoicism. It arises in crisis moments. She took one look at the waterfall, yawned and said, “Ice damming.”

And then she went to boil water. Focus on the solution and not the problem.

We spent the entire day on ladders, pouring the boiling water and using a hair dryer and rubber mallet on the roof of our house, breaking the dam, and draining the reservoirs that formed behind them. Ice damming usually involves the gutters but not this time. Those ice circles, the miracle delivered by Slurpee from the sky and subsequent freeze, made a perfect wall of ice running the length of the roofline.

It was the fourth surprise, something I’d never seen before. The dam was my least favorite and the most labor intensive, but I have no complaints. In a world awash in “same-old-same-old,” I can say with confidence that this week was nothing less than a festival of the unexpected, a celebration of surprises. Who wouldn’t be grateful for that!

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Welcome The Surprise [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

“I would love to live like the river flows, carried by the surprise of its own unfolding.” ~ John O’Donohue

Day one. A mimosa. A special breakfast. A question: what will this year bring? In truth, it’s the umbrella question to the question we ask each morning. What will today bring?

Kerri keeps a calendar. Each day of the year she records special events, bills paid, meals made, important phone calls. She records the sacred and mundane. On the last night of the year or the first morning of the new year, we read her calendar. Each review is chock-a-block with surprises. “I forgot about that!” we exclaim.

And, with each calendar review, comes a ritual final summation: the year past was nothing like we anticipated. What was thought to be solid exploded. What was thought to be predictable was volatile. It was a rolling ball of surprises. It was defined by the unforeseeable.

It is always a rolling ball of surprises. Births and deaths. The losses leaving holes in our hearts yet making new space for love’s expansion. New trails discovered and old friends found. New friends, too. The obstacles that jumped in front of our path. The obstacles that suddenly and without warning disappeared. Old fears roaring to be heard. New fears sending us running in one particular direction: away. Then, the deep well of laughter that bubbles to the surface when we realize (as we always do) that our fears are mostly made-up. Tiny monsters. Shadow puppets.

As we read the calendar we are surprised by our courage in some moments and our cowardice in others. We are particularly amused – or not – when our cowardice appeared to be courage and vice-versa. There are days when the only notation in the calendar is an unhappy face, a dark day when together we completely lost our sense of humor. Gratefully, those days are few and far between.

The river flows with no regard of our notation. The trick, we learn again and again, is to welcome the surprise of its unfolding. Rather than try to swim upstream against the current-of-time in an always fruitless attempt to control, to reach for the imagined safety of the known, the lesson learned on every day-one is to give over to the mystery of the unfolding. To relax and choose to be in the flow. To welcome the surprises in all their iterations, the rapids, the rocks, the waterfalls and those rare and cherished stretches of calm.

read Kerri’s blogpost about LOVE

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buymeacoffee is a chance to start the new year in a festival of appreciation for the continued blather of the artists you may or may not support.

Find Up [on KS Friday]

We almost turned around. From the path we could hear the large earth movers rolling up and down the beach. “They’re working,” she said. “Why are they working? It’s the weekend!” Beyond the beach, massive cranes plucked unthinkably large stones from barges and placed them onto the breakwater. We decided to take a look. Maybe we could find a quiet spot at the far end of the beach. The day was scorching. We needed to put our feet in the water.

We stepped around the “Stay Out! Under Construction” sign. Considering who we’d call if arrested, we climbed the hill through the brush and tall grasses before emerging onto the beach. We stopped and laughed at what we saw. The far end of the beach was packed with people. A party boat was anchored just off shore. Jet skis parked at the shoreline. A family hauled in a barbeque. A man threw balls into the surf for his Goldens to retrieve.

“I guess we won’t be alone in the jail.” Our rogue fantasy blushed and vanished.

After wading in the water we spread our towels in a shady spot just beneath the weathered trees. We watched the massive machines construct the breakwaters, a tug boat deftly spun a rock laden barge into the queue. I wondered how the tiny boat could possibly move the massive barge.

Kerri lay back and shot photos of the clouds. She captured our sentinel tree in a few shots. One shot immediately brought to mind an early Georgia O’Keeffee painting. The Lawerence Tree. Georgia stayed at DH Lawerence’s ranch on a visit to New Mexico. At night she’d lay back on a bench beneath a huge pine tree. She painted what she saw. Google the painting and you’ll learn that there’s some confusion: what is the top of the painting? I prefer the trunk of the tree coming from “the top,” just as in Kerri’s photograph.

In the archive I have a few of those confusions. One painting in particular, Earth Interrupted VI, Kerri suggests that I painted it upside-down. “Green at the bottom. Blue at the top.” It’s not a unique problem. Many great masterworks spent decades on their heads before someone noticed and flipped them.

“It’s nice,” I said of her photograph. It perfectly captured the theme of the day. Upside-down. Expect solitude and find a crowd – yet in the shade we found sweet solitude. Believe you are going rogue only to discover you are merely one of the pack. The plan for the day fell apart and led us to the beach and this moment of rolling upside-down surprises. “I’m glad we did this,” I smiled, laying back to see what she saw, to wonder if I have ever really known which way is up.

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Share The Sketchbook [on Two Artists Tuesday]

Bruce came through town with his son Ben. Ben is a budding Renaissance man, an artist and philosopher. A quiet deep thinker. We marveled at the drawings in his sketchbook. Faces and hands. Figures in motion. A bold sense of color. I remember the terror of sharing my sketchbook and was moved by how eager and easily Ben shared his. A sketchbook, like a diary, is vulnerable, a place to work out ideas, make mistakes, record pain and joy and confusion. We were touched that he was so generous in opening his diary to us.

Big changes are coming Kirsten’s way. Kerri and I laughed at her news, at the ease and enthusiasm she brings to her step off the edge of the known. “I suppose it’s easier to make big changes,” Kerri said, “when you have the bulk of your life still ahead of of you.” I suppose. Or, perhaps, after so many big changes, you come to realize that the real transformations are not in location moves or new jobs. They happen on the inside and don’t seem to be changes at all. More, it’s layers falling off. Discovery of what was there all along.

Bruce and I have known each other for a very long time and have not seen each other in a very long time. Sitting on the deck, a humid hot day, we sipped cold wine and talked about the people we once were. We talked about some of the layers that have fallen off. We laughed at our foibles. There were too many stories to pack into a single visit. There were too many questions to ask and notes to share. I hope we will have more time to sit and share our life-sketchbooks.

Each morning, opening the house, I enjoy the small fountain in our sunroom. The water runs. As a Buddhist would say, “You can never step into the same river twice.” Our fountain reminds me that time runs. Each day is a new sketch. That is true especially if I think I know what will happen that day. I am always surprised by day’s end. Life takes some surprising turns. Some big. Most less noticeable. And, time runs.

I watched Bruce’s face as Ben showed us his drawings. A proud father. Ben looked to his dad, still anchored to some degree in his dad, just as it should be. I remember looking to my dad in just that way. This trip across the country, father and son, will be a good story for them. It is already. It will be told many years from now. A son rolls his eyes. A dad laughs. An old friend and his new wife delight in being part of the day’s sketch.

There is no higher art.

read Kerri’s blog post about THE FOUNTAIN

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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a snowflake with possibilities ©️ 2016 david robinson and kerri sherwood