A Double Sign of Hope [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Since they do not show-up every year, we take it as a sign of hope when a frog suddenly appears in our tiny pond. It’s late in the season so we thought this summer was a no-frog-year. And then, on Thursday, the final night of the DNC, as I finished scrubbing and refilling our bird bath, I heard the tell-tale splash. I turned and saw it nestled on a rock just beneath the water line.

“We have a frog!” I whispered to Kerri. She gasped, grabbed her camera and hurriedly tip-toed to the pond.

A sign of hope.

It is a hallmark of our relationship that we look for – that we assign and actively celebrate – signs of hope. Deer on the trail? “That’s a good sign!” The brilliant sunset on the day of our wedding? “We’ve been given a remarkable gift – a sign!” A dragonfly landing on our shoulder, a hawk that flies across our path, the owl that calls in the night, the turtle that meets us on the trail, our car that against all odds gets us home…Messengers of hope. Spirit lifters.

We find what we seek.

We named our frog DeeNCee Lullabaloo. DeeNCee came on the night that Kamala Harris accepted her party’s nomination for president. A spirit lifter. A trailblazer. A bright light. A sign of hope and joy arising from a very dark night. So, DNC. DeeNCee. The surname Lullabaloo is a moniker marking this time we have chosen to inhabit, to create and embrace: the lull. I laughed aloud when this morning a quote by Georgia O’Keeffe crossed my screen: I have done nothing all summer but wait for myself to be myself again.” A perfect description of the lull. Lullabaloo.

DeeNCee Lullabaloo. Jumping out of nowhere. A double sign of hope.

read Kerri’s blogpost about DeeNCee

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Live In The Lull [David’s blog on KS Friday]

We’ve written about the lull, the precious days with nothing-but-open-space on the calendar and our intention to not-fill-them-up. A moment to pause, to quiet our minds. And, as good fortune would have it, right smack-dab in the middle of the lull, the opportunity to go “up north” with friends to a cabin on a lake. Sweet serendipity.

On the first day of the lull Kerri’s computer died. We decided to let it be dead. Resuscitation, if possible, would have to wait. Then, on the drive up north, little-baby-scion struggled and almost didn’t make it. Hectic circumstances. It seemed like this great big universe was testing our resolve, tempting us to exit the lull or to fill it up with angst.

We decided to stay solidly in the lull. We decided to only make decisions that required immediacy, to cross the bridges as we came to them and not before. We certainly felt angst and frustration but opted not to inflate it or hang on to it or rage at it or weave it into a woe-full narrative.

We weren’t avoiding or denying the inevitable. We simply refused to magnify it. We honored our intention to keep the lull unencumbered – knowing we’d have clearer minds, more capable minds, when the time came to address the list.

We suspended the story.

After a consultation with our mechanic, after hatching a safety-net-plan with our friends, rather than fret, we stepped into the canoe and explored the lake.

The next morning there was barely a ripple of breeze on the water. It was like glass. We paddled gently, not wanting to interrupt the stillness. In the middle of the lake we stopped all movement, rested our paddles, and listened. Far away the loons called. We turned our faces to the sun, took a deep breath, and settled into the lull.

At that moment we realized (again) that we could make the same choice, the same decision, every single day, no matter the state of the calendar or the circumstance of the moment. We could choose to live in the lull.

Joy © 2005 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE LULL

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