If We So Choose [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

We had a debate about the painting on my easel that was so passionate, so intense, that Dogga thought we were having an argument and fled to the his safe-spot in the bathroom. We were startled out of our vehemence, laughed at ourselves and loved on him, reassuring him that all was right in the world.

We celebrate the return of the light. Depending upon the tradition, the celebration-of-light’s-return takes many forms and expresses through beautiful and unique rituals and symbols. The lighting of candles. The exchange of gifts. The sharing of a meal. If you think about it, each of these rituals, across all of the various traditions, are meant to bring us together. Light’s return is a symbol of hope, an annual call to the possibility of unity. Many paths, one mountain.

It is the time of year that we are for a moment capable of acknowledging the impact of our vehemence and actions upon others. It is the time of year that we at least pretend to desire peace on earth; it is the time that we sing songs of goodwill toward others. We ask it of our gods but know deep down that it is a wish that only we can grant if we so choose.

We first must choose it.

Our choices on this day? We will walk a snowy trail and revel in the quiet. We will come home, laugh at ourselves, share a meal and love on our Dogga, his unconditional love reassures us each-and-every-day that all is right in the world. Grateful, we will light our happy-lights, and crawl under a blanket.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BLANKETS AND SOCKS

likesharesupportthankyou

The Ever-Green [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

As we sat down to write, she said, “Who knows what will happen in a week.” It sparked a minor revelation for me. We are writing this post a full week ahead of publishing, which is unusual for us. We generally write a day or two ahead but rarely in our Melange writing have given ourselves this much of a head start. In fact, we’ve maintained our seven day lead for the past two weeks. My minor revelation: In these divisive times, when we write a day or two before posting, we are more likely to focus on the latest outrage. We are reactive. When we write several days ahead, we are more likely to focus on something generative, positive. We are intentional.

Standing in the present we are often overwhelmed by the brutality of the current regime. We wonder at the people who voted for and continue to support such mean-spirited-immorality.

Staring into the future we see and believe in the inherent goodness of people. We are often taken by the beauty and generosity that surround us.

It hasn’t always been this way. This time-related-split-focus is unique to this age of attempted authoritarian takeover of our nation. Prior to this monstrous administration we generally focused on the goodness, the people and places that inspired us – whether we were writing a single day or a week ahead.

Kerri and I are not religious (well, she comes from a Lutheran tradition and I must have been a mashup between a Druid and Buddhist in a past life) so the two symbols that populate our home during the holidays are trees and lights. Trees with lights. There are little trees popping up everywhere. There is a tiny tree in my studio and one on her piano.

Last night, staring at the tiny tree that sits on the bistro table in our sunroom, I thought it a perfect symbol for our times. The evergreen is an ancient symbol, associated with the solstice, the return of the light. The tree and its boughs represent – and have always represented – the end of the dark times. It once represented the healing of the ailing sun and its return to health. It proffers a promise of good times ahead.

The little tree on our table helped me grok my minor revelation. Metaphorically – and literally – we are currently standing in darkness. It is immediate and necessary to write about the monsters that plague us. It is heartbreaking to watch the rapid decline of our ailing nation.

Yet, moving through the solstice in its various forms of celebration, when we look into the future we hold out hope for the inevitable return of the light. It beckons, like the little trees, and promises the return of kindness and the restoration of health to the hearts of the people and to the nation. And, when that day arrives, we will no doubt retire our split focus, leave the darkness and dark days behind, and re-establish a singular focus on the generative, the light, the ever-green.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE TREE

likesharesupportthankyou

Shared [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

The waning sunflower stands vigil outside of the library, towering above us, perhaps nine or ten feet tall. Only a few short months ago it was vibrant, ablaze with yellow and viridian. Just as we had done in the summer, we stopped to say hello on our way into the building to check out a book. “It’s just as beautiful in decline,” she said, “only different.”

It is the day in these un-United States that we pause and give thanks. Although our tradition is based mostly on a myth, there are a few elements of the tale that are true. A horrible winter in which many of the settlers died was followed by a successful harvest made possible with the help of a native man named Tisquantum. “It is true that both the English settlers and Wampanoag people ate together…”

A successful harvest, shared.

Annie Dillard wrote, “Buddhism notes that it is always a mistake to think your soul can go it alone.” I have made that mistake in the past which is why, on this day, I am most grateful for my capacity to learn from my mistakes. I can trace my joy to the brilliant soul at my side and all the amazing souls who walk this walk with me. With us.

We celebrated early Thanksgiving with our children. We recently had dinner with our treasured Up-North-Gang. We regularly make dinner with 20. In recent times we’ve shared a meal with Dwight, with Arnie and Shelly, Kate and Jerry, Jen and Brad, Kelly…each a meal of thanks-giving.

It is a mistake on every level to think we can go it alone. Conservatives need progressives just as progress needs to be deeply rooted in tradition. Our tradition and our progress are the product – the abundant harvest – of ineradicable diversity. We are – as we have always been – a vibrant melange; people of various traditions learning how to eat together. We live in a global economy and are re-learning the hard way that there is no such thing as going it alone.

A successful harvest not only needs to be shared but is also made possible with the help and support of others.

Perhaps on this day we can be thankful for our capacity to learn from our mistakes. Perhaps we can, once and for all, drop the myth of rugged individualism and, as we prepare and enjoy our meals together, meals made possible by farmers and ranchers and truckers and bakers and grocers and inspectors…recognize that no one goes-it-alone. Gratitude shared.

read Kerri’s blog on this THANKSGIVING



likesharesupportgivethanksthankyou

More Than A Little Hippie [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

If conformity is what you seek, you need look no further than the Texas republicans – or republicans from any corner of the union. However, their lock-step compliance has nothing to do with the rule of law or adherence to standards or traditions – or any other conservative value; it has everything to do with obeisance to one bully-man. They bow low. Although they swagger and loudly proclaim their cowboy culture of independence, in action, they grovel in abject subservience.

Stephen Miller called protesters in Washington DC “aging hippies” and suggested that they go home and take a nap. It made me laugh; those aging hippies, exercising their first amendment right to protest, were refusing to grovel in the face of an authoritarian takeover. Unlike the swaggering-yet-toothless republicans, the aging hippies are resisting the militarized takeover of their city by the dictator-wanna-be. Those aging hippies are upholding a longstanding American tradition of protesting; they demonstrate to protect our freedoms from a lawless leader. They are standing up with courage and dignity.

Dignity and courage: two values – among many – that the toady republicans have apparently abdicated.

You know the world is upside-down when the cowboy-hat-wearing-guys-in-traditional-suits mewl and betray every single bedrock value that this nation holds dear, while the aging hippies stand tall and take to the streets to protect democracy. When the once unconventional hippies stand as the last firewall of democracy against those who claim to be conservative yet crumble and pule while working to make fascism the convention of the land.

There’s more than a little hippie in the original fighting spirit of this nation. By Stephen Miller’s definition, George Washington was a hippie. Abraham Lincoln was a hippie. Frederick Douglass was a hippie. Elizabeth Cady Stanton was a hippie. Every soldier who has ever fought for our democracy was a hippie. Every person who marched for civil rights was a hippie. Martin Luther King Jr. was a hippie.

A message to Stephen Miller and his fellow whining republican sycophants: no one – especially we hippies – and there millions of us – are about to go home and take a nap.

read Kerri’s blogpost about HIPPIES

likesharesupportsubscribethankyou

On This Day, Ask [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Conscience (noun): an inner feeling or voice viewed as acting as a guide to the rightness or wrongness of one’s behavior.

This day that we call Memorial Day began as a way to honor and remember the Union soldiers that died in the Civil War. Theirs was a just cause: the end of slavery. The preservation of a nation. Originally, this day was known as Decoration Day. Now it is an observance of all military personnel who died serving – and preserving – the conscience of the nation.

It is important to remember on this day – especially on this day – that the men and women we commemorate, each and every one – swore an oath to “support and defend the Constitution of The United States” against all enemies foreign and domestic. They gave their lives honoring their oath and defending the Constitution.

Today, current members of the military face an untenable conflict. In their oath they have also sworn to obey the orders of the President of the United States. Currently, their oath is to a man who has no interest in supporting or defending the Constitution. He is actively destroying it.

Today, we face an untenable situation. We cannot in good faith both decorate service member’s graves and subscribe to the actions of the current administration. We cannot in good faith whisper words of hallowed remembrance and keep silent while these fallen men and women are being betrayed by a Republican Congress that actively dismantles the Constitution – at the behest of a Republican President that is, himself, a draft dodger, a man who regularly debases service members and ridicules their sacrifice. We make hypocrites of ourselves if we do not defend the sacrifice made by these men and women interred in our cemeteries.

When will our consciences grow?

Our Civil War was fought ostensibly to put an end to horrific human suffering. It was a war fought for the conscience of our nation. That is why we began the tradition of decorating the graves of Civil War veterans – so that we wouldn’t forget them or the cause that they gave their lives to defend.

They knew what was right. We know what is right. We also know what is wrong. So does the Republican Congress, even as they betray their oath.

Standing graveside we must ask why so many who have sworn a similar oath to The Constitution follow the lead of a man who has no conscience, a man who lacks the still small voice. A child-man who cannot see beyond an-eye-for-an-eye. A man who threatens to turn the rifles of the servicemen and servicewomen that he commands upon the citizens of the nation in order to achieve his objective of demolishing democracy as outlined in The Constitution.

What will our service members do in that moment? Will they serve or betray their oath to the Constitution? Will they serve a President who asks them to betray all they stand for, who commands them to ignore their still small voice while he moves to silence the voice of the people and the conscience of the nation?

What will it take for our consciences to grow so tender that we will act to prevent human misery rather than avenge it?” ~ Eleanor Roosevelt

It’s important for us to ask on this day – especially this day – what will it take for us to act, to defend our Constitution, to honor in more than whispered words the sacrifice of those who died defending the conscience of our nation?

read Kerri’s blogpost on this MEMORIAL DAY

likesharesupportcommentsubscribe…thankyou.

In Our DNA [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Often, if you pay attention, the smallest pattern of action is a fractal revealing the bigger picture.

For instance, a small pattern of action: when Kamala Harris first became the Democratic nominee for president, many of our neighbors had to display their yard signs from inside their houses; if left outside their signs disappeared.

Bigger picture: the maga-candidate and his supporters promise to erase all voices of opposition. It is their pledge, their vow, the entirety of their platform.

Our democracy is a two-party system founded on the principle of healthy debate. In other words, opposition, the active engagement with opposing points of view is the magic ingredient of our form of governance . Our vote is the sacred epicenter of the ongoing, healthy debate. Our vote is literally our voice in the debate. It is how we sustain and perpetuate the gift of democracy.

Democracy is never finished. It is not a place of arrival. It is not a noun. It is an ongoing, living process, imperfect and messy, that generation to generation strives toward a more perfect union. It is an action, a verb. We are what we do. Today -and every day – we are the stewards of this high ideal: government of the people, by the people, for the people.

Today, unlike any other vote of our lives or our parents’ or grandparents’ lives, our great-grandparents’ lives – democracy in on the ballot. Kamala Harris has been clear: she will ensure that voices of opposition have a seat at the table. That is the way of democracy.

The maga-candidate has been clear: he intends to arrest and silence all voices of opposition. He will, if necessary, use the military to do it. He’s labeled voices of opposition as “the enemy within”. That is the way of fascism.

Removing opposition silences the debate and smothers the breath of democracy.

Small pattern: over time, more and more Harris/Walz signs showed up in yards, moving from inside the house to the outside where they belong.

Big picture: the voice of opposition grows stronger, louder, more vibrant, when tyrants attempt to repress it. That, too, is an American tradition. It’s in our dna, our national character. We don’t like it when we are stripped of our freedoms. As Kamala Harris reminded us, our nation was established when a petty tyrant tried to suppress our voices and restrict our rights; when the petty tyrant tried to eliminate our freedoms he unleashed an uncontrollable voice of opposition. We the people.

248 years later, another petty tyrant promises, if elected (ironically) to remove all voices of opposition. Opposition stands in the way of his lust for absolute power. He vows to abolish the magic ingredient. He is committed to the eradication of democracy, the birth of fascism. He’s already begun his erasure of opposition by once again claiming without evidence that our elections are corrupt.

And so, today, our choice could not be clearer. Today, we exercise our right of voice. We will either carry forward our inheritance of healthy opposition or we will fall into the petty divide and end it.

Today we weigh in on the debate. Democracy or fascism? We vote.

read Kerri’s blogpost about VOTE

like. share. comment, subscribe. support…VOTE. thank you.

Share The Symbols [David’s blog on KS Friday]

When I was a wee-turnip I found a textbook on the shelf from a course my dad took in college. Comparative religions. It’s a big-big book full of many-many comparisons. It now resides on my shelf. This book sparked a life-long fascination for me. The universal nature of myth and story across individual cultures and how these stories and symbols are, over time, pulled and twisted like taffy, co-opted, integrated and sometimes claimed as the private property of religion x or y.

Today, as I write this, we sit squarely on the solstice. I thought a few tidbits of story-symbol might be fun to visit so, together, we might taste the taffy.

In Italian tradition, La Befana is the goddess of the solstice. She rides a broom through the skies leaving candy and presents to the good little boys and girls. As a broom-riding pagan goddess, she predates Saint Nick by more than a few centuries. The Christian tradition snagged her and after a bit of twisting, she became a character in the Magi story. On a cold, cold night she gave shelter to those three wise-men but declined to join them on their quest because she had unfinished chores. After they left she had a change of heart but couldn’t find the manger on her own so she gave the gifts she had in tow to the nice children she met during her manger-search.

On the solstice, the goddess Isis gave birth to her son Horus, the sun god. Leta gave birth to Apollo on the solstice. The Persian god of light, Mithra, was born on the solstice. These births were technically virgin births since the conception in every case was immaculate. Egyptian. Greek. Persian. These stories predate the Christian story by centuries. It’s a ripple across time and culture of the same human impulse: after a long dark season to celebrate the return of the light.

We lose more than we know when we – to borrow a great term from Joseph Campbell – concretize a symbol. The stories and myths are meant to open us to greater unity with each other and the world we share. They are not meant to be taken or understood literally. Holding them literally slams the door on their greater meaning and unifying power. It renders them a possession, a plot point on a map.

On this winter solstice I can imagine no greater gift to this divided world than to recognize we are, through our unique symbols and characters, telling the same story, yearning for the same possibilities, sharing the same ideals whether they soar through the air on a broomstick or in a sleigh, both rides brimming with toys for good girls and boys. We borrow each others best ideas and ideals, rewriting them to fit our unique audience. From Isis and Horus to Mary and Jesus, it’s time once again to celebrate the rich warm return of the light through our myriad forms and cultural traditions, to feel the push and pull of something ancient and deeply human. Together.

this season/this season © 1998 kerri sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE HOME IN THE TREE

like. share. support. comment.

buymeacoffee is a surgically implanted intention, a medicinal tradition stretching back eons to a time when beauty and analytics held hands and shared meals. together.

Weave Her In [on KS Friday]

These story moments happen spontaneously. We wanted to sit in the dark living room and appreciate the warm light of our branches and holiday trees. We’d spent the evening wrapping “happy lights” around e.e., this year’s christmas tree, adorning her with silver balls of all sizes.

Our trees are rarely traditional. In fact, we almost never choose them; they usually find us. The story of the tree – and I use the term “tree” loosely – is more important than the shape of the tree. We’re not invested in the traditional aesthetic. For us, it’s not a show piece. Our tradition is firmly rooted in the story of how the “tree” finds us. Orphans come in from the cold.

We sat in e.e.’s light and combed through Kerri’s phone looking for the images-of-christmas-trees-past. We laughed when we found photos of them. We recounted the story of each, placing them in time, comparing notes of how they found us. There was “christmas tree on a stick.” There was the year of the stick wrapped in lights, a star suspended above it. There was Satan, the evil tree that Craig wrought. This year is our tenth christmas and our stroll through the trees became a stroll through our time together. “We look like babies,” Kerri said of the younger versions of us, the two people, arms intertwined, standing by a tree almost a decade ago.

When e.e. came to us, she was anemic. Scraggly. We loved on her. Opened her branches and fluffed her. Last night, after our walk through time, Kerri looked at e.e. and said, “She looks so happy.” Yes. She does. Beaming.

And isn’t that the point of the whole season? A little fluffing. Taking some time to pay attention. To love on each other. To infuse new life into depleted spirits? As we weave e.e. into our story, her happiness injects warm happiness back into us. And will for years to come. Our spontaneous story moments always remind me of the essential things sometimes lost in the season of commodity and cacophony called christmas. It’s really not so complicated.

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about e.e

the lights/the lights © 1996 kerri sherwood

Peel Open [on DR Thursday]

The pods peel open at just the right moment. The fine fluff catches the wind and carries the seed. Nature’s dispersal system. Hope on a sail. The destination is determined by the direction and strength of the wind, not the intention of the seed.

In the United States of America, today is a day of thanks giving. Families gather. Traditional recipes prepared. A pause in the fast moving river for a moment of gratitude. Stories shared; recipes, smells and tastes like seeds are planted in the next generation.

Sitting at a card table with cousins, the adults packed around the kitchen table. Cranberry in a dish, shaped like a can. Blue blue Colorado sky. The crisp air dancing with the sun’s warmth. Coffee. Pumpkin pie. My memories rise from my senses.

Last Thanksgiving, Covid kept us isolated. Our families are far away. Despite our best plans, we will, once again, give our thanks together yet alone. We will walk a trail. We will love on the Dogga. We will make a special meal and tell stories of gratitude. Rob came through for a visit. Dwight called. Mark remains a rock. We heard from Kate. There is no lack of love or laughter in our house.

This pod will peel open at just the right moment. We are burgeoning with hope. In the meantime, we prepare our fine fluff, knowing full well that, despite our best intention, our destination will be determined by the direction and strength of the wind.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE SEED

Tango With Me, 39x52IN, mixed media

tango with me © 2018 david robinson

Unearth Your Modtro [on Merely A Thought Monday]

Our latest late-night binge is Bad Hikers. An adorable young couple hiking the John Muir Trail. Never have two people hiked the JMT in such modtro style. Goth meets urban chic. They are at home in their style, comfortable in their bodies, so they are both unaffected and affected at the same time. Glimmers of Mad Max on the JMT. I love it. Their spirit inspires us.

William Blake is another in the canon of artists unrecognized during his lifetime but now considered a creative titan, one of the great artists of the Romantic era. His contemporaries thought he was crazy because he was not like them. He stood out and no amount of hammering would make him fit the mold.

In the dance between the conservative and the creative impulses, the conservative will always claim the safe ground, plant their flag in “normal.” Tradition. “We’ve always done it this way.” The creative will swim to the margins, climb to the tops of the mountains where they can see more clearly. “What’s over the next horizon?” All people are a mix of both impulses, conservative and creative. We dance between the poles.

One of the first lessons I learned in art school is that, in the western tradition, every era reacts against the previous standard (I laughed when it occurred to me that our tradition is to react against our tradition – no wonder we are always at war with ourselves!) Realists rise in response to the Romantics. Impressionism reacts to Realism. And on and on. The other side of that equation is that the artists are generally tuned into societal and technological advances. Picasso’s cubism and Einstein’s theory of relativity hit the world within a few months of each other. Reactivity holds hands with innovation.

And so it goes with clothes, too. To dress as is expected. To dress as a statement. To dress as is comfortable. To find your style. To define yourself within your era. Clothes are how we publicly locate ourselves relative to the two poles. “This is me!” We shop at the same stores, we buy the same brands, all to express our individuality relative to the expectation-of-the-day. Sometimes you find your style and sometimes it finds you. And, mostly, your style changes as you do. Tie-dye puts on a suit and tie.

And so, this long and winding road brings me to a caution: do not, when you unearth the box of sponge curlers in your basement, exclaim as I did, “Oh my god! Who on earth ever used these things! Why do we have these in our house?” My laughter fizzled the moment I realized that the obvious answer was standing right next to me.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SPONGE CURLERS