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

Twice in the past few months we’ve made a pilgrimage to the local Ace Hardware to seek the wise counsel of Kevin. He is not in a hurry. He listens. He commiserates with the odd issues that arise in a house built nearly 100 years ago. He invokes laughter and settles nerves. He doesn’t view his job as selling stuff. He views his job as helping people like us who come through the door with anxious faces betraying a single truth: we have a pressing problem and don’t know what to do or where to begin.

We returned from both pilgrimages with the magic solution: Backer Rod.

I did not know about Backer Rod prior to our sessions with Kevin. At first glance I doubted Kevin’s guidance, however, after following his instructions, our seeming impossible problem met a very worthy solution.

Our latest pressing problem was the new water feature in our sitting room. There’s a strange phenomenon in the midwest called “ice damming.” Ice overwhelms a gutter while the heat of the house simultaneously melts the underlayer, transforming the ice back into water that has nowhere to flow but inside the house. We first heard the drip, drip, drip at 11:39pm and worked through the night to melt the ice, clear the frozen gutters and popsicle downspout.

And still the water came.

Kerri and I are master improvisers, our solutions are often temporary, triage solutions, that work until the real fix-it-masters can come. In the case of our water feature, the fix-it-master, the gutter man and the electrician (a failed outlet is the real source of our pain, rendering the heating cable in the gutter useless), cannot come until the current ice age retreats and the ice encasing our house melts. Keep in mind that the ice melting is the source of our troubles since it has nowhere to go but into our sitting room.

So we ran to Kevin. He sent us home with Backer Rod, some words of wisdom, and some borrowed confidence that our band-aid solution would get us to the warmer weather while minimizing the river running into our home.

I’m heading out to follow his instructions. If this works, if Backer Rod stems the flow, then I fully intend to elevate Backer Rod to the high status of duct tape, baling wire and hot glue. I will elevate Kevin even higher.

We’ll keep you posted.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BACKER ROD

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Jump! [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

If you look closely at this grasshopper you’ll see a miracle of pattern and color. It was particularly easy to marvel at this wonder of nature because this grasshopper was HUGE. It was almost worthy of a saddle.

Grasshoppers can only move forward so they are symbolic of jumping over whatever life throws at you, jumping over big obstacles with great grasshopper-gusto and courage.

I’ve heard again and again that courage is not the absence of fear, it is what we do in the face of fear. Now is the time for all of us believers in goodness and the rule of law to evoke our inner grasshopper, to saddle up our jumpers since life has thrown in our path an abundance of masked and unmasked fearmongers.

There’s no going back, there’s no running away. Grasshopper-gusto is our only choice in the face of this fear.

Let’s call each grasshopper-ride a leap of faith – another positive aspect of grasshopper symbolism – trusting that we have the wisdom (and each other) to overcome this – or any – challenge that stands between us and the fulfillment of our great promise and our dreams.

read Kerri’s blogpost about the GRASSHOPPER

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Don’t We? [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

In Japan the clematis is a symbol of moral beauty. Consider it.

There are very few adequate synonyms for the word ‘beauty’ yet we know without doubt what it means. It’s a word of the senses. It is felt in the heart. It is a cup overflowing with awe and appreciation.

On the other hand, the word ‘moral’ has many, many synonyms. Virtue. Doing the right thing. Honest. Decent. Truthful. Upright. Right-minded. Just plain good. And from these adjectives – descriptions of a quality of being – we experience the undefinable: beauty.

Moral beauty. The clematis climbs. It aspires to reach new heights. Things that climb are often associated with gaining broader perspective and, therefore, wisdom attained from the experience of climbing, of overcoming obstacles, of persevering. From the heights – and the journey to get there – we see the landscape and our inner landscape more clearly. We are more capable of discerning between what is important and what is not, what has value and what does not, what is honest and what is not.

The clematis blossoms. Our blossom is called moral beauty.

It is why many of us shudder watching the ugly amorality goosestepping across this nation. It is a descent into darkness. Indecent. Dishonest. Wrong-minded. Synonyms of ‘ugly’ include perilous, dangerous, hostile, menacing, ominous. Are these not perfect descriptors of ICE?

The clematis climbs.

The nation falls.

Rather than beauty our nation reveres an alligator infested swamp. It champions a liar. Narrow minds threaten and erase greater perspectives. This nation, once a beacon of hope is now afraid of the light. Rather than overcome real obstacles, our leaders manufacture them to fuel outrage and circumvent and/or undermine the Constitution. Ignorance bellows over wisdom. History is whitewashed. The truth is hidden away in the files.

I return to the question, “What do we do?” The clematis climbs. It overcomes. It perseveres. We need not fall into the muddy pit.

It occurs to me that we have in our tradition a Golden Rule. It begins with the word “do”. It provides guidance for what we might do as a first step: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

It is a wisdom that comes from standing upon the heights after a difficult climb. That is why it is so simple. Do Empathy. Do Reciprocity. Do Consideration. Do Generosity. Do Kindness. Isn’t that what we want done unto us?

We know what to do, don’t we? We know where to start, don’t we?

Surrender Now, 24″x24″ mixed media

read Kerri’s blogpost about CLEMATIS

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The Antidote [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

This photo is of Apollo’s chariot arcing across the sky. It’s only visible because the clouds buffer the chariot’s brilliance.

Zeus is scheduled to come through later tonight. There is promise of thunderbolts. Dogga is not a fan of the flash-and-boom. Frankly, neither am I. Zeus is too showy for my tastes.

Persephone is back from her stay in the underworld and Demeter couldn’t be more pleased. The blossoming peonies are proof. The wild grasses and ferns are a-poppin’. The tomato plant promises to be as tall as I am!

Ares children have been let loose on the land. Phobos and Deimos – Fear and Terror; they wear masks and ambush immigrants. They bully because it makes them feel superior. They pull people from their homes and cars. They take children from schools. They tackle senators. They answer to a minor deity, Dolos. He is renowned for his orange color, his penchant for lying, his empty promises otherwise known as deception.

I, for one, am waiting for Hestia to fully show up on the scene. Welcoming, unifying, an ancient powerful goddess who exudes peace and quiet. She is the hearth, the warm center of “home”. She is formidable because she deals in simple honesty. You might recognize her: she is the force that pulled people into the streets, uniting them to rebuke Dolos and his nasty servants. It seems she might team up with Athena who brings a healthy dose of wisdom and strategy to the mix, capable of easily corralling Fear and Terror and sending the orange Dolos back to the swamps where he belongs.

No doubt the goddesses will provide the antidote for the toxic masculinity that ails us.

[Juneteenth! It is especially important to commemorate the emancipation of enslaved people in the USA – particularly in the face of an administration that whitewashes our nation’s history]

from the archive: Maenads

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE SUN

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Special Crow Delivery [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

At the end of the epic poem, bees are Beowulf’s allies. They are his secret weapon. At the beginning of the story, they are his nemesis, stinging his face so badly that his eyesight is compromised.

If I follow this story template in my life, then crows will someday be my ally. During my years in Seattle they were definitely my nemesis. They attacked me on a daily basis. I learned that crows have facial recognition – and very long memories – so I can only assume that the crows mistook me for someone else. It was hard not to take their attacks personally.

There is another possibility. In many cultures crows are considered messengers from the spiritual realms. In this scenario, the crows were trying to wake me up, shake me up, open my eyes to something I was denying. They were ruthless. And, at the end of my time in Seattle, I definitely opened my eyes to something I did not want to see.

Or, I could combine both possibilities: the crows were messengers from another realm and delivered their message to the wrong person. I took delivery on someone else’s package, someone who looked like me.

I often think of the Seattle crows because there is a healthy crow population here in our neighborhood on the shores of Lake Michigan. They are everywhere. And, much to my delight, they’ve never given me a second look. Every day I walk the streets without crow fear, surprise swooping, or contact pain. They are messengers without a single message for me and I couldn’t be more pleased.

I know by their sounds what is happening in the neighborhood. I know when an owl or hawk is close. I know when a cat is creeping up on a nest (it is a distinctly different sound from the owl alert). I know by their silence that all is right in the neighborhood.

Beowulf sent his bees into the mouth of a dragon that was threatening his kingdom. Would-that-I-could send my ally crows into the mouth of the fascist dragon now threatening our democracy. I know from experience that crow-messages are not subtle or pleasant. They are very effective.

Crows are also symbolically associated with knowledge, intellect and wisdom. At the very least the crows might bring a special delivery of those attributes to the Republican leadership of this nation who seem to be running in short supply. Just like Beowulf’s dragon, they hoard mounds of gold with no idea what to do with it other than sit on it and breathe fire if their gilded seat is threatened. Just like Beowulf’s dragon, they terrorize the populace, whip up fear and discord, while feeding on the most vulnerable to satiate their gluttonous appetite.

If we follow the template of this ancient epic tale, the dragon’s days are numbered. Gold-hoarding bullies cannot long survive when the bees – or the crows – are unleashed, when the people decide that enough is enough.

read Kerri’s blogpost about the CROW FEATHER

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Hearts In The Sky [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Today we light a candle for Beaky. Today marks ten years since she passed. When looking for the right photo for this observance day in the Melange, Kerri thought this one was perfect. A heart in the sky. Since Kerri and I met late in life, I only knew Beaky for 18 months though I feel as if I knew her for years. She was a warm, bright light. On more than one occasion, even while in great pain, I watched her uplift the spirits of her caregivers. The patient healing the healers.

She gave me essential lessons in being human. She could have taught our present world a thing or two about kindness, about what really matters; about creating a better world.

Although I never met him, I sometimes have conversations with Kerri’s dad. He was quite the handyman. I am not. When faced with a home repair that seems out of my league I regularly say, “Okay, Pa. Give me a clue.” To date he has never failed me. I’ve fixed the washing machine, the stove, the refrigerator, broken chairs and a table; I’ve plugged a hole in the wall, stopping a flood in the basement. Mostly, his clues are cautions to slow down. He reminds me that I can do anything if I take my time and do not rush. I do, however, have one small gripe with Pa’s advice-giving: when I am in the doghouse with Kerri and in desperate need of a repair, when slowing down seems dangerous, he is noticeably silent. I imagine him laughing, his silence saying, “I’m staying out of this one.”

We spent the past few days cutting back the grasses, raking the leaves, cleaning up the yard, replanting the front garden, repairing and filling the pond. Not only were we taking care of our sanctuary-home but I felt as if we were preparing for this day of remembrance. Cleaning out the old. Opening space for the new.

The work brought to mind a sweet memory: in college, my work-study sent me to the rose garden to help Brother Patrick tend the gardens. He was a quiet man, a gentle soul in the twilight of his years. The day was New Mexico bright and warm. I followed along behind him, digging a hole when he needed one dug, gathering the leaves and branches from his pruning. There was no rush, no thought of “getting it done”. He worked to enjoy the work and when I fell into his ethic, when I let go of the idea of working for achievement, he looked at me with bright eyes, as if there was nothing better on earth to be doing at that moment, and said, “This is good for the heart and good for the soul.”

Lighting a candle for Beaky. Communing with Pa. A moment of appreciation for Brother Patrick. I am filled with gratitude for the life lessons that continue to come from my very wise elders. Hearts in the sky.

read Kerri’s blogpost about HEART IN THE SKY.

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Ancient Oak Wisdom [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“Oak may live for 1,000 years, although 600 may be more typical on many sites.”

It’s very possible that this oak tree is older than our nation. It stands in a field plowed and prepared for planting, visible from a trail that we recently explored. The trail passes through a stand of ancient oaks, gnarled and twisted with time.

There is wisdom in the oaks, something not found in our leaders who view the world exclusively through the lens of dollars and cents. Power people who play let’s-make-a-deal with the lives of others.

Even though we knew it was coming, even though it was a trumpeted intention in the fascist blueprint, Project 2025, the sale and privatization of our public lands for short-term profit has arrived like a surprise unwelcome visitor on our doorstep:

“Elon Musk is now effectively in charge of America’s public lands,” says Jennifer Rokala, executive director at the Center for Western Priorities. Secretary of the Interior Doug Burgum just issued an order ceding oversight of the Department of the Interior to the so-called Department of Government Efficiency (which is not a government department at all)…”

The ruse is – of course – that our protected public lands, our national parks, are nothing more than waste, abuse and fraud. To the fundamentally greedy and terminally myopic, they are resources ripe and ready for exploitation. Destroying them, so the marketing spin goes, will not only save the nation money, it will make lots of money for the privileged few. And then there will be trickle down! (insert eye roll here).

Dollars. No sense.

“Project 2025 is a ‘wish list’ for the oil and gas and mining industries and private developers. It promotes opening up more of our federal land to energy development, rolling back protections on federal lands, and selling off more land to private developers.” ~ Heather Cox Richardson, Letters From An American, April 22, 2025

It is shortsighted hubris akin to the Taliban’s destruction of the Buddhas of Bamiyan. Two monumental statues carved in the 6th century in the Bamiyan valley in Afghanistan, a holy site for Buddhists, a cultural treasure for the people of Afghanistan, a UNESCO World Heritage site, destroyed [by the Taliban] in 2001, “..so that no one can worship or respect them in the future” Fundamentalists. Nationalists. Ideologues.

Islamic or Christian, nationalist fundamentalism, rigid ideology, leads to the same end. Purblind action, senseless destruction for short-term gain. Violence enacted on people and culture. Suppression of the many so the few might profit.

Purblind (adjective): having impaired or defective vision. Slow or unable to understand. Dimwitted.

Like the Buddhas of Bamiyan, once destroyed, our public lands, our Grand Canyon and Arches and Bears Ears, our old growth forests, our Yosemite and Yellowstone and Glacier National Park and Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, our protected ocean shelf ecosystem…once mined and drilled and developed, will never come back. Our national inheritance, sacred sites, reduced to rubble for profit so that no one can worship or respect them in the future.

Wisdom is the province of the ancient oak, borne of an acorn of understanding that grows beyond knowledge, beyond information, and far beyond the accumulation of data. It cannot be attained through fundamentalism nor through righteous nationalism wrapped in greasy paper-thin religiosity. It cannot be bought or sold or legislated. Wisdom transcends passing ideology since it takes time and perspective. Wisdom is an open hand, not a tight fist.

It takes no time and requires little in the way of perspective to recognize that the destruction of the sacred in the name of private gain is nothing more or less than the avarice of the purblind, the action of the profoundly dimwitted.

Kerri’s albums are available on iTunes and streaming on Pandora (among others)

read Kerri’s blogpost about the OAK TREE

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OY! [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

In an act of divine intervention, we removed the fallen “J” from the message on the ledge high above our kitchen sink. It now reads “OY”. It delights me each time I look up. I am in search of a matching exclamation point. The kitchen-statement-of-our-times won’t be complete without it.

Oy: an interjection to express exasperation or dismay. As in, “Oy, what a mess!”

Oy: the contraction of “OY VEY!”

Oy (noun): a type of harsh, aggressive punk music popular in the 1970’s and 80’s. “OY! OY! OY! BANG, BANG! CRASH! OY! The music of dismay.

A few months ago I told Kerri that to keep my sanity I might have to resort to draw cartoons of the news of the day. Making fun of the obviously-ridiculous is low hanging fruit but making myself laugh is a high priority these days. In keeping-with-the-wisdom-of-the-kitchen I will call my cartoon: OY! As in, “Oy, what a mess!” or “Oy, this ignorance is killing me!” Master Marsh tells me that he has a box-full-of-dumpster-fire-cartoon-ideas! OY! OY! OY! BANG, BANG! CRASH! OY!

I’m pestering Kerri to channel her discord-at-our-times into a new music of dismay. So far she’s rejecting my pester outright. I’ll keep at it. This world needs a good heart standing strong and singing into the storm. I hope one day to report the moment she shares her new music with me and asks, “What do you think?”

It will put the “J” back into my “Oy.”

read Kerri’s blogpost about OY

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Happily Blank [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Rob gave us the perfect word to describe our passage through COVID. He called it stubborn. It does not easily let go. Fortunately, we’ve been having brilliant autumn days so we entertain our stubborn guest by sitting in the sunshine. We have the energy for sitting and not much else.

Sitting in the sun for days on end has afforded ample time for reflection and random rumination. My thought-trail returns again and again to our southwest trip-COVID combination and how it feels like the end of a chapter. A portal into the new. I recently wrote about the number 9 – spurred by our 9th anniversary – as a significant number of completion. Our anniversary came the day after we returned home and neither of us remember it because we were both fevered, achy, and miserable.

Life passages are often marked by liminal spaces. Neither here nor there; in-between places. My favorite words associated with liminal spaces are uncertain, insecure, unsettling. They can be dreamlike. All are perfect descriptions for how we feel in our seeming eternal COVID zone. Life has stopped. I can no longer remember if I once served a purpose or not. It all seems made-up. The fever zone was preceded by a journey into sacred land, dreamscapes. I dare anyone to visit Goblin Valley and not feel as if they’ve entered another dimension.

A younger me would have tried hard to get grounded, to force a move beyond the discomfort of disorientation – essentially reaching backward to grab hold of what was known. This older version understands the wisdom of insecurity. It is a mistake to reject the liminal. Any significant step into the “new” chapter requires a loss of the known. An open hand, a blank slate, is sometimes uncomfortable.

Holding on to what is no longer useful will in the long run prove to be much more uncomfortable; this amazing universe is in no hurry to deliver its lessons and is quite capable of amping up the discomfort until letting go is recognized as less painful than holding on.

We’re moving on to the next…and, from our chairs in the sun, with achy bodies and no energy to speak of, we have not the first clue what will be written in the next chapter. For now, we do not need to know. In fact, we need to not-know. For now, the blank page will remain happily – if uncomfortably – blank.

read Kerri’s blogpost about TUNNEL ARCH

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The Greatest Weapon [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

The timing was uncanny. While on a slow walk in the park, deep in a conversation about our discouragement – no, our despair – for loved ones sucked down and seemingly lost in the dark, angry MAGA hole, we passed a group of girls engaged in an emphatic conversation and overheard the phrase, “I don’t know you like that!”

The phrase came like a slap. Kerri took out her phone to capture the slap in her notes. “That’s exactly it,” she said. “That’s precisely what is so troubling. It’s what I want to say: I don’t know you like that.”

I am lately haunted by the words of H.G. Wells: “Civilization is in a race between education and catastrophe. Let us learn the truth and spread it as far and wide as our circumstances allow. For the truth is the greatest weapon we have.”

There is a reason that the template outlined in Project 2025 includes the elimination of the Department of Education. There is a reason that governors in red states are (and have been) waging a war on education. Educated people ask questions. Educated people check the veracity of statements hurled their way. They take time to check facts and sources of information. In a democracy, an educated populace would never sign on with an autocrat exploiting their anger. They’d ask questions of their anger -and so would be impervious to exploitation. An educated populace would demand ideas from their leaders, respectful debate, reasonable compromise, adherence to the Constitution. They’d demand the same of themselves. An educated populace would see through the ugly name-calling and victim-squeals of a would-be dictator. An educated populace would pay no heed to the cries of “fake news” because they’d have learned to check it out for themselves. They’d hold news organizations to a higher standard. They’d care enough to question and verify information before jumping onto a hate-train. In fact (hear those two words) they would not so easily jump onto any train other than the truth-train because they were dedicated to living-in-facts that transcend bubble-gossip and tribal tittle-tattle.

This morning I had an HGTV revelation about our current political choice. It’s my latest metaphor illuminating the dangerous nonsense running around our nation in a red hat. I’ve learned in my HGTV viewing that demo-day feels good, takes very little time, very little thought, and requires only a sledgehammer. Anyone can do it. Destruction is easy. On the other hand, building the house is hard. It takes ideas, time, thought, planning, cooperation, collaboration, flexibility, knowledge, well-researched choices, skills, process and patience. Wisdom. All are the results of education.

Destruction is not complicated. It asks no questions, requires no learning. Destruction is the center of the red hat campaign.

Creating something beautiful and long-lasting is hard. It takes skill, the capacity to question and learn from mistakes. It takes a plan, forward thinking, and complex considerations, not fantasies sought in the rearview mirror of some imagined sitcom past. And it is never done. Building a better house is the center of the blue team’s campaign.

The red hat and company certainly espouse a plan, Project 2025, but an educated person would only need to ask the authors of the plan a pair of questions before rejecting it outright: 1) Why would you tear down the shining-city-on-the-hill and replace it with a dark prison? 2) Why are you trying to hide your plan from voters?

People I love, those caught in the undertow of the red swirl, empty of fact but full of shared-victim-anger, gulping and then spewing mouthfuls of toxic-fox-swill, waving their flags, raging with a dedicated ignor-ance…I don’t know them like that. I wonder how they came to know themselves like that.

Let us learn the truth and spread it as far and wide as our circumstances allow. For the truth is the greatest weapon we have.”

Let us learn about truth: Truth is not what we hear or see in the stream. It is not something verified by people passing memes around our social bubbles or validated because we share the same opinion and invest in the same misinformation sources that cater to our opinions. Truth is what we find when we question what we hear. It is verified by exiting our bubbles and questioning what we think we know, examining the foundation of our likemindedness. Truth is learned when we fact-check our own opinions and especially challenge our rigidly held beliefs. Rigidity is a red flag, a marker that something false is hiding.

I have learned to remember this: an opinion shared with great passion or rage is still just that – an opinion. Any strong belief held without question or reflection is, in fact, weak and makes us easily exploited, easily led. Lemmings. Fools. Learning the truth requires constant effort and personal responsibility – especially in our age of easy misinformation. In learning truth, our greatest weapon, there is never a need to fill the communal cup with fear-mongering. Truth dispels fear. It dissipates gossip, and, because it demands personal responsibility, affords no room for blame.

Truth is a common center. Education, the art of questioning and discernment, is the compass that gets us there.

read Kerri’s blogpost about I DON’T KNOW YOU LIKE THAT

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