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sans filters. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

the colors intensified as the day drew to a close from our little spot on the deck. i didn’t take any more pictures. instead, i watched it. sometimes, in the taking of photographs, it is possible to miss it, the moment. usually i take my chances with this, but not this particular evening. i just needed to hold tightly to the summer night’s glory, the east bounceback of the setting sun, the quiet.

though i appreciate all the filters out there – on my iphone, on photoshop, on snapseed, really on anything that edits images – i never use them. i come from a practice of manual 35mm cameras, sans filters – though they were available and you could screw them onto the end of the lens. i was always more of a purist in my photography. no filters.

and i’m from new york.

the other day we were talking with friends about people asking other people questions. we live in the midwest so that’s not a simple matter. there’s a silence, a reticence to question here. even in some pretty disconcerting circumstances, confusing circumstances, circumstances that beg investigation, people hesitate to ask questions. they are even question-averse.

i’m from new york, so i don’t get it. different rules apply.

six days a week now, d and i blog. i’m quite certain that there is no one on earth who wishes to read every single word we write – sometimes a mountainous plethora of words-words. we have completely different styles of writing and, once you’ve read a few blogposts, you can recognize our individual voices. david’s posts tend to be informative, filled with teachings and learnings from writers, scholars, philosophers, artists. mine tend to be a bit smushy – thready – experience-based stories, like i’m tawwwking to you, my leading heart wide open. but both of us are sans filters. he spent years on the west coast and, remember, i’m from new york. so, yeah, no filters.

i would imagine that there are some readers reading who think, “whoa! that’s too much information! waaaay too much information!” and yes, i would say we can be pretty transparent. perhaps people would prefer filters (or less words or even opaqueness).

but this is art and the work of an artist is to be open, to communicate, to elicit emotion, to provoke thought. it’s to be vulnerable.

without filters.

otherwise, you will wonder every time you look at a photo of a sunset: is this real?

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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the wise garden. co-existing. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

and all the plants live together happily ever after.

it’s a beautiful place to just wander. the walkways through bushes you may have to duck under are not edged or over-weeded. it’s not perfect, yet, in its imperfection, it is perfect.

most of all, the natives and the regional perennials co-exist, nurturing each other simply by existing.

i suppose it might be wise for us to take a few cues from these plants. somehow, they are growing and thriving – side by side – without thwarting the growth and thriving of another. somehow, they are weathering the seasons without resistance, falling into fallow and rising out of the dirt. somehow, they are just being, without overly exuberant displays toward each other, without angsty concern, without aggression. somehow, they are blooming and verdant and glorious, trusting – implicitly – that the next plant will understand, that the next plant will also weave its way in the midst, working together to find the light-space they each need. somehow, they are symbiotic, bringing their best, setting aside differences, instinctively empathic. somehow, they are aware of the precious time they have in the sun.

and the garden is vibrant. beautiful. healthy.

and the garden is wise.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY

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keep holding on. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

and so, the wistfuls start.

we could feel it in the air the other morning. stunningly sunny, a cool air wrapped itself around me as i stepped out onto the deck to watch dogga greet his day. the coffee was brewing and the ‘hood was quiet.

and suddenly, it was obvious.

summer is coming to a close.

and we grasp onto those last days. we are in wonder about how it is possible that the summer has gone by. we stare ahead – into the galaxy of sky – pondering what is to come.

and we do the one sure thing.

we keep holding onto each other – hand in hand – all of us – in the racing flight of time.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

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SMACK-DAB. ©️ 2023 kerrianddavid.com
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on a wire. the universe of all. [ kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

it was by itself. high on the wire that’s included in the squirrel highway system, it perched, alone.

mourning doves are usually together, in pairs. cooing in our backyard, pondside, they are cleaning up under the birdfeeder, welcoming the day or bringing an enchanting beginning to the evening. we have a particular fondness for them.

but it has been rare to see one by itself.

if i had to imagine what it was doing, i would say it was talking to the universe. way high like that, it would seem to be a little bit closer to infinity, to whatever it perceives as divine. it sat there, quiet.

i don’t require an intermediary either. my prayers are whispered on the trail, on the pillow, blowdrying my hair, chopping onions. in my own life, i have now found – after repeated learnings – that grace is all around and the divine is not in some building somewhere.

on the contrary, i wonder about those buildings now. for i, personally, have experienced the worst hypocrisy there – in communities that are waxing poetic in mission statements and disappearing in actually participating in those sentiments.

and so, i sit on the wire with the mourning dove. we both find this universe beautiful. we both find it challenging. we both lift longings up and we both ask for mercy in our living. we both live in the mystery and immensity of faith. i would imagine that sole bird does not wrestle with religious underpinnings, historical narrative stories or philosophical questions. that bird-on-the-wire is not concerned with the begats nor the maps of supposeds. i’m guessing we are kind of in alignment with the basic tenets – goodness, kindness, love, peace, generosity, fairness, grace. just like me, like, well, all of us, it has a direct-connect with its deity and the universe.

it is not likely – though i have learned never to say “never” – that i will ever be in a church again. i gave my entire heart to working at one at 19. they did not warn me of any danger, protect me or aid me. i gave my entire heart to working at one in latest life. they did not warn me of any danger, protect me or aid me.

i don’t blame god. for my god isn’t stuffed into nooks and crannies of the church. my god isn’t clinging to any specific denomination. and my god isn’t justifying any wrongful behavior because of some building.

to be in a sanctuary, one must feel in a place of refuge or safety. stone walls, brick, wooden altars, pews, organ pipes, artifacts, relics with touted significance – these are not naturally-occurring as safe or as refuge. the leadership and the community must bring that. and, in bookended experiences – on either end of my three-plus-decades of such work – though i brought every ounce of heart in, i walked out with my heart destroyed.

and so, the mourning dove and i sit on the high wire sanctuary together. we gaze at the sky and the divine tethers us in gently-held gossamer threads, tied to all the rest. i’m not sure what my dove friend is thinking, but i know that i am in prayer. that the universe yearns to hear each of us. that, even though i may feel alone on the wire, i am now more in the community of truth than in those fraught buildings.

i and the mourning dove are in the “church of nones” and the universe of all.

*****

ALWAYS WITH US from AS IT IS ©️ 2004 kerri sherwood

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read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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berries or art. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

i was minding my own business hiking the trail. the sun was sifting through the trees, the cool breeze was brilliant, the dirt felt good underneath my feet. lost in thought and feeling the glorious change in weather – the heat dome having moved on or dissipated – i was taken by surprise.

the bird poop landed on my forehead and splatted my sunglasses, schmearing down my nose, dropping onto my shirt. it was more than a little shocking and i said to d, “a bird just pooped on me!”. apparently, at the time i said this i was looking down at my shirt and he glanced over to see some evidence of this pooping, none too impressed until i looked up at him.

the look on his face told me what i needed to know. “it looks like blueberries,” he said, intending to be helpful, i think. i responded that the birds – and one in particular – must be eating berries, digging in my backpack for a paper towel and not grokking why their diet was of importance when i had shat on my head and face. i didn’t see the bird, but i’ll for sure remember it anyway. we started to laugh, which is always a good thing, and i instantly remembered the scene in “under the tuscan sun” when the pigeon pooped on diane lane’s head – supposedly a blessing of good fortune.

i googled it.

the thing i came across the most was the rarity of birdpoop actually landing on you. the probability of this is near zero, which is why the act of being bird-shat-upon is considered lucky, even a blessing. when we thought of how many times we have hiked trails – this one and tons of others – we cannot recall a time when birdpoops even came near to us.

so i’m going with lucky.

there were several sites of rock art on our special beach. i found this gathering of rocks particularly beautiful. at first i thought it was a spiral, but it seems more a depiction of a tiny galaxy, a planetary system. coming upon these recently-constructed manmade mini petroforms: the mini galaxy, a black and white pinwheel of rocks, a series of rocks simply planted standing in the sand, we know that someone took the time to align these, to say “i’ve been here”, to leave something behind. we were a few of the fortunate ones who saw their work. it’s likely someone will shuffle along the sand and, tempted by the patterns, rearrange the rocks, undoing these designs.

if i had to choose a way to be remembered – let’s say, a choice between, well, the difference between momentary – umm – purge (be that a spewing of anything – including words or actions) or momentary art, i’d have to say i would go with art. though my writing and my music, photographs and designs will be just a flash in the arc of time, they are not as messy – for the most part – as berries.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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the E.T. from earth. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

and i ponder the reverse. what if E.T. was from earth and was somehow left behind on some other planet with living and breathing beings? would the earth-alien be as wistful about leaving earth behind? would the earth-alien be anxious to go back, to return to earth? what special powers would the earth-alien reveal on the new planet? how would the earth-alien respond to this different place, these different beings?

the thing about the movie E.T. is that it left us with a heartened view of what an extra-terrestrial might bring, the connections an extra-terrestrial might find, might form. it was a feel-good, cry-at-the-end movie and there is probably not one of us who viewed the movie who cannot hear E.T. saying, “E.T. phone home” or his parting words, “i’ll be right here” in our memory bank.

but what about the reverse?

what would a contemporary earth-being bring to another planet? would it be a sense of camaraderie or a dedication to division? would it be a symbiotic working-together or over-indulged competition, lines drawn in other-planet-dust? would it be open-hearted empathy or apathetic closed-mindedness? would it be an attitude of every-one-for-themselves? would there be any tenderness, any gentleness, healing mindfulness or would the attitude be haughty and mean-spirited?

if we didn’t get to cherry-pick the person who was sent to this other planet, how likely is it that the other-planet-beings would be glad that person showed up, to welcome them with warm hospitality, to sit and try to communicate, try to understand each other?

the spaceship flower on the side of the trail sent my imagination off and running.

but it made me also wonder this: if we would – indeed – want to carefully-as-possible pick an earth-being that might represent humankind to another planet’s beings – making sure that this earth-being would bring all the best qualities of humanness, the most nurturing, cooperative, collaborative, forthright, most loving, and all-embracing traits and behaviors, wouldn’t we want the same as the leader of our own country?

E.T. was hiding in the bushes under the spaceship flower. he glanced up at me and whispered, “scared here. wanna go home.”

i handed him the flower and off he disappeared, leaving us all behind to think carefully about what we wish for in humankind on this good planet earth.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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still relevant. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

it’s a true story. we’ve had plenty of heat index temperatures higher than normal. everywhere. even in wisconsin. so the other day, anticipating two full heat-dome days of feels-like temps of 110 plus, we looked at our little old a/c unit in the window and figured it was time to turn it on. ahead of time. to get a jump on the oppressive heat.

it’s an old unit – 20 years old, maybe older – and it was going to have a big job to do. the more recent air conditioners clearly are more efficient, energy-wise. they are maybe sleeker looking. perhaps they blend in better and are less noisy. they have different components than ours, different mechanisms.

our old amana window air conditioner is simply a workhorse. it cools. it is dedicated to cooling a room. it gets the job done. we have not devalued it because of the year it was built or the time it has spent as an air conditioner.

we stood in the dining room – by the window where the unit is installed – and proudly looked at our old air conditioner. in a fast and ever-changing world, it might seem beyond its time, beyond working well.

but it is dutifully unfaltering. its old-air-conditioner-wrinkles belie its steadfastness, its expertise at cooling. it has experience, history, tenure doing its work in the world. at this moment in time, to us, the people who wish it – need it – expect it – to do really good work, it is clearly invaluable.

it may not be a younger air conditioner, but – particularly on these 110 degree days – it is mighty relevant. i’m happy we are smart enough to recognize that.

and this, my dear friends, is the fable of two people in their 60s out in the heat-dome of the work world.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

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SMACK-DAB. ©️ 2023 kerrianddavid.com


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the magic. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

i stood in the surf to take pictures of it. i could feel the sand sinking beneath my feet and the water pulling me out. the breaking waves were glorious and the cool water was rejuvenating. i stood there a long time, snapping photos. later, my feet – from sandwalking and wavecleansing – felt like i had taken an expensive exfoliation scrub and lavishly basked in its luxury. the magic of these two – elements of the tide, in time, of forces playing together.

we sat – in quiet – on the patio, over adirondack chairs facing the backyard. all summer we have had a hummingbird feeder out back. we have felt fortunate to see a hummer a time or two, maybe at day’s end, sipping and zipping away. but after the deluge of rain, after i refilled the feeder, the word seemed to have spread in hummingbirdland. and suddenly, our yard became a destination. and so we sat, quietly watching, transfixed by these tiniest birds, binoculars at the ready. and they came and went. they ate at the feeder and sat perched on the wires and on the garden fencing. they chased each other, zooming past our chairs and up and over the house. it was the first show and it was enchanting. we relaxed into its magic.

the trail was hot and we were on mile nine. at that point – in the feels-like high nineties – we were talking about getting to littlebabyscion in the parking lot. but then there was this butterfly who captured my attention. on a stand of tall yellow wildflowers, the viceroy butterfly shared the edge of the trail with me. i was close to it and took photographs as it sunned, seeking nectar. it didn’t fly away, instead allowing me to snap pictures as it stayed on the bright blossom. i forgot about how much i wanted to sit down, the weary disappearing into the magic of this creature’s presence.

when we were little, there was little that was not magical. and then we grew – taller, older, supposedly wiser. and some of the magic dissipated into clouds.

but, we are lucky beings. because from time to time, we are reminded. they need not be big moments of grandeur, though they could be. they need not be big moments of contrived entertainment, though they could be. they need not be stunning vistas or neverending horizons, though they could be.

instead, they are tiny bubbles and droplets of water, tiny grains of sand, gathered together in a restoring wave. they are tiny birds sanctuarying the backyard. they are a butterfly on a flower, almost unnoticed.

and we remember. we remember to remember, to not forget that the magic is right there waiting.

and in the wisdom of the littles, we realize – again – there is little that is not magical.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

sunrise. sunset.

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mighty sunflowers. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

and there is nothing about sunflowers most people don’t love. a brilliant statement, profound color, turned to the sun, following the sun, seeking to be nourished, supersized flowers that are hard to miss.

they stood proudly in a tall vase on our dining room table for a week – cheering us on, a direct line to the sun’s energy, the love of the universe. they didn’t try hard – they were divine without trying.

and then, just as remarkable as in their standing, their reaching up-up, they began to bow. deep curves of thick stems turning down, toward the tabletop, the disk florets invisible, the yellow-orange ray flowers starting to brown and curl, green phyllaries twisting and lifting away from the back of the disks. a graceful bow, with no effort to resist succumbing to this bending down.

there are most definitely times that we would be served well to stop standing, to stop reaching, and instead to bow down, to lower our constantly-looking-forward gaze and, instead, to rest in a moment of humility, a moment of be-here-now, a moment of gratitude.

maybe this is what makes sunflowers so mighty. they instinctively know that there will be balance. they know that they will not always be tall and upright, gorgeous and fresh, colorful and crisp. they know that they will someday be arched over, wrinkly, no longer striving to be lofty. that they will arc on their strong stalk and they will humbly move into next. they know this wilting is no less important than blooming, for it is in wilting that seeds are released and a new lifecycle is possible. they know both are ever-relevant.

right now we are standing in vases, our faces to the sun. we are soaking up whatever energy we can grasp. we are aware that time flies by on the whisper of the jet stream, on the spinning-spinning of the earth’s axis.

soon, we begin to bow, ever so slightly. we lean a bit on the next big blossom of disks and ray-petals. we wrinkle and wobble in place, lowering our gaze to take in those around us. and then, after much time has passed in the sun, we bow in appreciation. there will be many more.

and we know we have made a mark in our blooming and in our wilting. for we, too, are mighty sunflowers.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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love, love, love. [merely-a-thought monday]

when i was in sunday school – decades ago – we sang a song with these lyrics: “love, love, love. that’s what it’s all about. cause god loves us, we love each other. mother, father, sister, brother. everybody sing and shout. cause that’s what it’s all about. it’s about love, love, love. it’s about love, love, love.”

and then, somewhere along the way, it seems that the rules changed. and suddenly, it wasn’t all about love. it – on the contrary – became about the parameters put on love. it became about who people identify as and who people love. it became about valuing only male-female love. it became about quashing people’s gender identification. it became about ancient, close-minded, patriarchal interpretations. it became about bigotry. and the sunday school song takes on a different meaning.

but we know that nothing immensely beautiful, nothing meaningful or of import has come from limitations. it is not the ostrich with its head in the sand who can feel the dawn of a new day on its face. it is not the people who do no true research, who do not ask questions, who do not ponder the possible; these same folks who, if they instead would have respectful consideration of others, could find that we all can be spokes-living-better-together.

one of the things i really loved about my sweet momma was her willingness – her desire – to learn new things. even in her nineties, she tried to stay current, to stay informed. if she didn’t understand something, she’d ask questions or she’d look it up. she stayed open, non-judgemental. she hoped for happiness, love, freedom, peace for everyone – despite their race, ethnicity, gender identity, religion, sexual orientation, socioeconomic status. she did not make broad sweeping statements dissing any group of people. she held onto her belief that everyone deserves “to thine own self be true”. i’m guessing she would agree with ruth bader ginsburg, “we will all profit from a more diverse, inclusive society, understanding, accommodating, even celebrating our differences, while pulling together for the common good.”

the day my beloved son came out to me, i rejoiced in his freedom. all i really wanted for him – that day and every day since – was to love and be loved by his partner, working together with mutual respect, loyalty, understanding, generosity, admiration, affection, support. it is the same for my beloved daughter in her love relationships. i merely birthed them and then, in the briefest time that flew by, they became adults, out in the world. and with them, they took the knowledge that they had freedom to be who they are, knowing – without a doubt – i love them.

i can’t imagine poking at a group of people – including, and particularly, an all-embracing LGBTQIA+ community of beautiful people. lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, intersex, asexual: their individual and precious lives are not mine to live, nor mine to decide, nor mine to undermine.

we are the same. remember the sunday school song? or are there limitations to these lyrics? in what faith is love not love?

we purchased a new yard sign. half of the proceeds go to PRIDE.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY

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