Try It And See [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

If, like me, your were born without a green thumb and are adept at withering even the hardiest of plants, I offer this handy solution: grow basil and mint. Basil and mint are intrepid and prolific. They will grow beyond their borders even in the bumbling care of the below-average gardener. They will make any thumb feel green, green, green!

There are rippling benefits to the illusion of green-thumb-success brought about by basil and mint. They incite belief that I, too, might someday be a better gardener than I previously understood. Basil and mint help assail the idea that green plants are a mystery never to be solved. If I can grow basil, maybe I can grow tomatoes, too! Or jalapeno peppers! And, if I am successful with a vegetable or two, maybe I will green-thumb my way into flowers! I might bring forth some color and beauty into the world!

What if this is not a one way street? What if, as I tend basil, mint, peppers and tomatoes, they tend me, too?! (Let’s face it, some questions deserve double punctuation even if Ms. Hardesty would have circled my double-punctuation and drawn a frowny-face next to it.) Maybe basil and mint are like the kindergarten teachers of the garden. Maybe their whole job is to instill the thought, “Yes I can!” – in every thumb. “You can do it!” chirp my basil and my mint.

“Maybe I can do this,” I think as we harvest the basil and tomatoes for our pizza, the mint for our sun tea.

It occurs to me, as I rub a basil leaf and savor the scent, that all of those years directing young actors new to the stage, that my job in life might have been the same as basil and mint. How many times did I say, “You can do it.” How many times did I watch the vibrant blooming of a “Yes I can!”

“It’s all a laboratory,” I used to say. “Try it and see what happens.”

And isn’t it lovely that this wise old universe tossed me into a garden and suggested I take my own advice? Isn’t it profound that, as a first step to address my dedicated-disbelief-in-my-capability, some wise soul suggested that I start this life-experiment with basil and mint?

*****

(a note about the current state of the nation and the world: today I simply do not know what to say. There is fire. The ocean’s are heating. River’s are drying. Crops are dying. And, “Shell reported a massive surge in profits, posting second-quarter 2026 adjusted earnings of $9.84 billion, more than double the amount from the same period last year.” What is there to say about people setting fire to their neighborhood and then finding pleasure in profiting from it?)

read Kerri’s blogpost about BASIL

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For The First Time [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

As I have previously written, probably ad nauseam, I am a fan of the mythic tale of Parzival (not the opera) mostly because I sometimes feel that I am living the story. Completely bungling the opportunity in the Grail Castle by doing what he was taught to do, feeling full responsibility for the ensuing wasteland, fighting every ogre in pursuit of redemption, his trusty secret weapon shatters in a crucial moment leaving him unprotected and vulnerable to death. Stripping off the armor – his “role” – he walks away grieving the full-realization of his folly. Now, completely lost he follows a hermit who has no answers…and in his lostness, no longer trying to be found, he finds himself for the first time. The Grail Castle returns; he enters to meet again the Grail King, this time without armor or title or role or status or expectation. Fully exposed.

We walked a beach that merely a year ago was rocky and secluded. In a miracle of modern machinery, in record time, the state covered the beach with tons of sand and built a protective breakwater. It is transformed. Now, much more friendly for families and safer for swimming, for boats and jetskis, it is popular and populated. We strolled it as if we’d been transported to another era. It was at one time the same beach and a wildly different place. It is beautiful and protected, its natural rocky state completely covered over with appearance. “No worries,” I thought, “time has a way of washing away the facade, revealing the truth of everything.” In the meantime, the joy-squeals of children racing into the water was a delight.

“Can you see the dinosaur?” she asked, showing me the picture of the tiny breaking wave.

“A Tyrannosaurus Rex!”

“Yes! Look at its tiny arms!” she said, laughing.

Our feet in the sand, lost in time, nowhere else we’d rather be.

“Surrender to what is. Say ‘yes’ to life – and see how life starts suddenly to start working for you rather than against you.” ~ Eckhart Tolle.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE SHORE

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One And The Same [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

[Embrace of Life by Mimi Webster in the John Denver Sanctuary]

She shared a video posted by a friend: elephants drinking from a watering hole. The opportunity of a lifetime to see it. Yet, it is something that happens everyday if you live in that part of the world. The ordinary and the miraculous, one-and-the-same.

He wrote that he was helping his granddaughter move from college for summer break. His love was palpable. The task was nothing more or less than an opportunity for shared time. Time shared, nothing better.

We took a walk along the lake, my dear-friend, long lost and newly found. We were catching-up on missed chapters and yet talked as if we were picking up a conversation that we started yesterday, as if no time passed between our last meeting and today. In the telling we consciously wove together the rich tapestry of our friendship-story, the necessary sharing of triumphs and tragedies. All important colors on the palette.

“When was the last time we were here?” she asked as we crossed the bridge into the sanctuary. More than a few years. “So much has happened,” she whispered. So much. We are different than the couple who held hands and crossed this bridge in the past. We no longer swim against the current. The wisdom of exhaustion. She saw the sculpture, Embrace of Life, turned and threw open her arms, mimicking the pose and said, “Yes!”

read Kerri’s blogpost about EMBRACE OF LIFE

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Use Your Words [on Two Artists Tuesday]

Kerri calls this photo ‘Dish rack with orange cup.’ “It sounds like the title of a painting!” she exclaimed.

We generally go through our day making fun of the words we paste on our experiences and pull from our conversations. I am forever proclaiming, “That sounds like the name of a band!” Or, “Hey, that sounds like a lyric!” For a guy that can’t hear lyrics in songs – and is famous for singing my-own-made-up lyrics – I’m particularly adept at thinking I hear lyrics in conversations all around me. I know, I know. I am a walking paradox, a living conundrum, a human-thought-puzzle with a few pieces missing from my box.

Lately, our language game has a new and always surprising twist: simple words that refuse to come to mind. For instance, reaching for the word”ravioli” necessitated, “You know, little pasta pillows with stuff inside.” Tell me honestly, doesn’t that description sound like the beginning line of a poem or a silly lyric? Little pasta pillows with stuff inside. 20 drew a little green orb on his shopping list because the word ‘avocado’ refused a timely recall.

I was on the ground howling with laughter when Kerri’s brain refused to pull a word from the abyss. Twisting her wrist back and forth, making a Tin-Man-esque-joint-with-no-oil sound, she begged for my help. “Come on!” she pleaded, “What is it?”

“Arthritis?” I offered, tears rolling down my cheeks.

“YES!” she danced. “ARTHRITIS! That’s it! That’s it!”

Side note: YES was a rock band in the 70’s. The band members most certainly now have arthritis. Their biggest hit was Roundabout. The song lyrics begin with this: I’ll be the roundabout/The words will make you out n’ out…[side note to side note: I’m not making up the lyric. I Googled it to avoid worldwide criticism].

Speaking of roundabouts, we took down Dogga’s roundabout sign in the yard. Actually, the weather did it for us when it snapped the metal support pole. He doesn’t seem to care. He continues to run circles without his sign giving him direction. The sign will soon go up in my office as a reminder that my brain’s movement and Dogga’s running path are one and the same: circular. Each cutting a trail in our own way.

It’s simple really. Arthritis! Dish rack with orange cup. A still life or almost-haiku-line? “What’s the word for…?” Reminders all to take ourselves less seriously. To never invest too much in or believe too heartily in the words used or the stuff we think. It’s all made up poetry, a band name, a lyric, anyway.

read Kerri’s blogpost and BUY THE PRINT!