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Tag Archives: david robinson


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

the magic dots showed up. it is a happy day to wake up and see them.

with just the right angle of the sun and just the right angle of the miniblinds across the room on the east side windows of the bedroom, they sometimes – but not all the time – appear.

it is a little bit like fairy dust, the twinkle at the end of a magic wand, floating bubbles, glimpses of angel wings. and what could possibly not be good about all that?!

i have awakened in this room most of the 35 years i have lived here, save for bedroom rebuild/remodeling time and other moments here and there. with five windows, there is no shortage of light. it is bright and, though – like rooms in old houses – not big, it is airy.

it is spirit-lifting to wake up and see them…these magic dots dancing on the wall. and, during a time that is testing my spirit in more ways than i care to think about, i am grateful for the dots.

they poke at me, prodding me with mary oliver urgency – “what do you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” “eh??” they add. “well?” they insist.

they know – these magic dots – that there is much to be done. they know there is much to work through, to see to the other end, to process.

but seeing them reminds me to carry them with me. to not forget the fairy dust, the magic, the bubbles, wings in the middle of it all. to hold it all more lightly.

for, like, the magic dots, it will all disappear as the sun rises and the rays tilt in a different angle. with one turn of the miniblinds, they will be gone.

but in the meanwhile, they invite me to dance with them.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

WINGED mixed media 24″x20″

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wildflower joy. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

it made me smile as i walked in. these flowers graced the expansive ladies room window in the milwaukee public market. it’s a large decal – produced by a small business in the uk called dizzy duck designs. they call this piece “retro flowers frosted window film.” it was the perfect way to achieve privacy in this space.

i’ve been in a lot of churches, plenty of chapels and many cathedrals along life’s way. i have seen countless stained glass windows. they have depicted the stories of the bible, the stories of the religious institution. there have been folksy windows, tiffany windows, ornate windows with more colored glass than imaginable, geometric windows with monochromatic patterns. the beautifully simple and texturally or story-line overdone, both.

i can’t honestly say – despite honoring the obvious artistry in all of these panels, despite their remarkability, despite their intention of storytelling, despite the serious religious overtones, the shade of light cast into the building – that i have felt anything like what i felt this day as i walked into this ladies room. i have felt other things, but not this.

these wildflowers were charming, captivating. i instantly felt joy. stealing from my dear heidi, “sprinkles” kind of joy.

i stood in front of this window – which i had not seen before – for several extra minutes. i admired each whimsical flower.

i didn’t google the panel till much later. it doesn’t have a behemoth history like magnificent stained glass windows through the decades. it’s just a sweet family-run business, trying to fill a niche and make the places in which people hang out feel good.

bravo, dizzy duck designs! i can’t think of a better reason to be in business.

“spring gets you every time. every year it sucks me in, but then, I’m easy—a few cool blue skies, new grass, wildflowers, and i’m in love. (anne lamott)

*****

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

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lake cleavage. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

if you are averse to talking about cleavage, you should stop here.

because this lens…standing near the east windows of the milwaukee art museum…granted the lake cleavage…something i am – thanks to inheriting more genes from my dad than from my mom – unfamiliar with.

in a cleavage world it is tough to be a non-cleavage girl. not being endowed cuts in so many ways.

i clung onto the cleavage i had – for like five minutes – when i had my babies and was nursing, though i doubt it even counts as a nursing mom. still…i thought, “cleavage! wowza!” but it didn’t stick around. as soon as they were weaned, my cleavage was snatched from me. voila! back to none.

i’m not sure if the universe has a sense of humor about these things. i mean, who doles out the cleavage? and, here’s another important and relevant point: i must say, our society has a thing about it – cleavage, that is…not so much the universe – and bra companies like victoria’s secret grant the world’s best bras – with names and adjectives like “wicked” and “bombshell”, “miracle” and “fantasy” and “sexy illusions” – to people who “have it”. causing things like the day i cried in v’s secret. (read that glorious tale here.) it’s not a fair world out there.

so, it was a given i would walk up to the round lens on the east side of the museum, gaze out at lake michigan and see cleavage. for heaven’s sake!

i looked at david and told him, “look, even the lake has cleavage!!!”

he gazed back, weighing his response carefully. very carefully.

“ahhh, but it’s not a cutie-patootie like you!” he suavely replied.

uh-huh.

a cutie-patootie.

in this american society bent on what-we-are-shaped-like, i don’t think that’ll get me far.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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chipface. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

20 sees faces everywhere. and because he does, so do we. taking the donkey chip out of the bag, it was without hesitation i sent him chipface, pointy nose, weak jaw and all. he sent some snide remark back, making me laugh aloud. communication at its best.

i sorted through some of the most brilliant comments i’ve heard in recent days to choose an apt quote for this little guy. i decided to pick the one that is most obvious, the no-duh-est, the thing people who do-as-i-say-not-as-i-do often say. i agree wholeheartedly with chipface. communication IS the biggest thing in any relationship. and lack of communication – with its undercurrents – makes fools of all of us.

christopher wool holds nothing back. his work is stark and transparently void of flowery language. the piece pictured below – “fool” – sold for $7.8 million at a christie’s london sale in 2012. its predecessor “blue fool” sold for just over $5 million and was identical but with blue font. clearly, black is more fashionable than blue. mostly, it makes me laugh aloud to read that someone paid $7.8 million to own the painting of the word “fool”. particularly because christopher is said to not “suffer fools” and his pushback on people must be rampant. i do wonder if you’d only hang this seasonally – say, on april fool’s day – or if it is a piece for the year round…as a reminder…a humbling…a nudge.

david and i attended a talk in chicago between christopher wool and a docent at the art gallery. in pure christopher wool tongue-in-cheek deliciousness, after the docent went on and on about the premise behind one of wool’s photography pieces, after she touted his possible psychological state and the philosophical underpinnings of his work, he shrugged, looked at the audience and – advancing his relationship with that audience by leaps and bounds – merely said, “i took the photograph because i liked it.”

communication at its best. yes. truth. pure and simple.

chipface woulda loved it.

*****

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

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9 to 5’ers. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

she said it: “we’re 9 to 5’ers!” and i laughed. “so are we!!” i replied. and, most days, it is pretty much true. sleepynightnight time comes earlier these days – with exceptions – and so does the first coffee in the morning. much earlier. and i like it this way. there is nothing like the sunrise streaming in the window, spilling onto our quilt, dogga at our feet and hot coffee in our hands. perfection.

in life, though, neither of us has spent all our time as a 9 to 5’er – in the traditional sense. though we have both had positions in professional arenas, we have mostly spent our lives either working for non-profits or in entrepreneurial projects and ventures. neither of those are 9 to 5 jobs. they are whenever-wherever-however-you-are-needed jobs.

from an earnings point of view, these are usually not spectacularly paying positions. they are not laden with benefits; they generally do not provide any kind of annuity or retirement.

from a practical point of view, there are often not enough hours in a day to do all the work you invest in when you sign on with a non-profit. it takes a big heart and an absence of calculators and time clocks to keep moving the soul of an organization forward. one would be saddened to divide salary paid by hours worked. instead, it takes true joy and every good intention. because it is about service and about passion, patience and resilience. from indeed, “when working for a nonprofit, the work you’re doing is meaningful. instead of working to grow a company, you’re working to make a difference.” the bottom line is mission. 9 to 5 flies in the face of nonprofit anima.

it is what it is.

we drove – early morning – to milwaukee a couple weeks ago. in the thick of commuter traffic and travelers, i was reminded that this was somewhat unfamiliar for me. it was a little hard for me to grok the unhappy faces of drivers around us. maybe they were heading to the 9 to 5. maybe they were tired of the grind. maybe they were just tired. i don’t know.

it prompted conversation between us about the kind of hours we worked in various service organizations and institutions over the decades. always on some kind of salary, those hours weren’t etched in stone. there weren’t time sheets and – likewise – there weren’t end-of-year bonuses. there were giant ideas and creative collaborations, camaraderie developed through shared interests and abilities, dedication with real-live love at the core. that stuff isn’t etched in stone. it’s soul.

i laughed when kate said they were 9 to 5’ers, for they are now retired and volunteering up a storm. but i agreed. for we are as well.

early to bed and early to rise. we are – at long last – real-life 9 to 5’ers.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

SMACK-DAB. ©️ 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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bricks and boundaries. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

the snow fell in a not-so-unexpected twist of march. it was heavy and wet and, in its stickiness, made the world around us beautiful. we were both glad for it. now, a few days later, we are ready for tulips and daffodils. but for those days that it stuck around, it was perfect.

the old wall out front is one of my favorite things about our yard. it is far from perfect; its mortar is shedding. but it is gorgeous old brick and divides the upper yard from the lower yard. when the water company did their thing out front, i was worried it would topple. my fears were alleviated when they dug next to the wall and i could see that there was a four-foot footing deep into the ground, at least holding up the structure in a basic way. not that some of the bricks would not individually separate from the wall, but the wall itself would remain stable.

boundaries are kind of like that. weather – or things – or people – can try to undermine them, but a good solid foundation – and some sisu – will ultimately keep them standing.

this is something i have needed to remind myself.

in a time when finessed narrative and the non-telling of truth has been rampant, i need remember to stand firm, to hold fast, to grit my teeth and trust what i know to be true. i need remember that people are all fallible and that gossip is a more powerful force than truth and that anyone who doesn’t ask questions – seeking truth – should be paid no heed.

i have discovered – painfully – that people will attempt to knock all your bricks down for their own purposes, whatever those may be. i have discovered – shockingly – that people will declare their own righteousness and – yet – will fabricate whatever it takes to be right, to be more powerful, to be better. i have discovered – disappointingly – that people will betray others for agenda.

i haven’t really understood completely why i love that old brick wall so much. we could have our yard smoothed out – level the higher and lower portions – or smooth out the difference in a gentle slope. but i truly do love the wall. the old bricks – which have endured decades of time and the changes and challenges that weather brings. the old bricks – with a patina that no tumbler would be able to attain. the old bricks – worn in just the right way – bits and pieces broken off, yet still standing.

mostly, i have discovered that old brick walls have a real purpose in life.

as do boundaries.

*****

BOUNDARIES from RIGHT NOW ©️ 2010 kerri sherwood

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read DAVID’S thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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friendly with bears. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

the trees out front and across the street often filter the sunlight, depending on the angle of the sun. we are on the north side of the street and so, we have a southern exposure. gazing outside at the sun filtering through the limbs doesn’t always give me an accurate picture of what it’s like out. i am given to stepping out on the front step to see what it really feels like out there, to see what it’s really like, to see the real.

she said, “you can’t trust people just because of the mask they are wearing.” and she’s right. the masks – the titles – we make assumptions that don’t really depict the person. we grant pedestals upon which others have placed people wearing the masks, donning the costume, assuming the title, but all the while betraying authenticity. our view of others is filtered through their masks, whatever it is they want us to see. the sun through the limbs.

it all somehow makes me think of the song “return to pooh corner”, the hundred acre wood, the world of pooh and piglet. maybe it’s a yearning for that sort of innocence, that sort of blissful good intention. we didn’t wonder about winnie the pooh’s agenda or piglet’s loyalty. they were – clearly- a bear and a pig and they spoke to truth. winnie the pooh says, “i’m never afraid with you.” no filters.

i suppose that truth – sans filters – is like the hundred acre wood – the forest, though. like the sun, it’s always there – always available. a.a. milne states, “but of course, it isn’t really good-bye, because the forest will always be there…and anybody who is friendly with bears can find it.”

you just have to be friendly with bears.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

SURRENDER NOW mixed media 24″x24″

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

today i am 65 and this is my future.

it is full of seeds, full of possibility, full of tomorrows.

and it will all spin and float and whirligig – just like these maple seedpods.

though wrinklier now than in last spring or last summer – and, really, ever more wrinkly – these samaras are ever viable and will coax saplings from the ground once they disperse. with big breezes at their backs, the winds of change, the tug of relevance, in fields of gold and forests of native plants. though they have been dormant, though they haven’t germinated for months or even years, they remain alive.

alive.

resilient.

for placing samaras in a bowl of water, it is the seedpods that sink that have seeds likely to germinate. the others – the ones floating – are less likely, though sometimes it simply takes a little soak in warm water, a little good soil and a continued cold blast of air for some time – a bit of fallow – that will draw out the remaining life.

it’s funny. you’d think that the test for a maple seed would be it if floats in water – floating – the ability to rise above that which wishes to drown you. but the real test – for the likely viability of a maple seed – is to hope that it sinks. clearly, maple seeds hold their breath.

and then, the seeds breathe. out of the bottom of the bowl in which they have sunk. and the seeds sprout. even from the trauma they have endured, the inertia they have tolerated. and the seeds grow big strong maple trees, even though buckthorn and other toxic invasives would prefer them stifled. the maples withstand, persist, ride it all out.

so – for those of you out there who are thinking 65 is run-roughshod-over, washed-up, put-out-to-pasture, tested by toxins, no-longer-relevant, done – i have some news.

some good news.

it is the steadfastness of a drowned seedpod.

or, in the case of a wrinkled-up-old-floater, just a little warm water, a little good soil, a little cold fallow and then, a little sun.

either way, watch out. 65 is only the beginning.

*****

THAT MORNING SOMEDAY from BLUEPRINT FOR MY SOUL ©️ 1996 kerri sherwood

IN A SPLIT SECOND from AS SURE AS THE SUN ©️ 2002 kerri sherwood — PLEASE NOTE: This song is not “jazz” nor is any part of its copyright or publishing rights owned by Rumblefish.

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

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the fermata of snow. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

and somehow, the universe knew and the snow began to fall.

and everything became quiet and peaceful. all forward movement ceased. we sat in the pause.

this fermata was certainly needed. we had been feverishly working, working. emotions were high and our energy was almost depleted. but then the snow came.

though spring had made an appearance and our garden – peeking out – was circumspect about the snowfall, we welcomed its hush. every flake that fell received thanks from us. and it kept falling.

our fermata in the snow granted us a bit of rest, a bit of perspective. we took deep breaths and moved slowly through our day. we gazed out the window and watched as the snow covered all – everything – in a blanket of white. it erased all the writing on the page. it shushed the noise in our busy heads. it lent ease to our weary minds and hearts. it took the astonishing – disheartening – events of the week and buried them under inches of snow. it cleared the ugly like the swoosh of lifting cellophane on a magic slate.

and when the swirl slowed a bit and i stood on the deck – giant flakes gently falling – gazing out at the pristine world surrounding us, i realized that was pretty much all that mattered. we had been granted time. time to consider and rejuvenate, time to reflect, time to clean off the shields we held so tightly – the ones that protected us. time to grasp onto snowflakes – quickly melting – and realize – once again – that life is just too short.

the fermata of snow. well-timed.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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in fields of flowers. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

and soon, the world around us will explode with flowers. and spring ephemerals will rise out of thawing ground. crocus follow on the heels of earliest rising snowdrops. and then daffodils and tulips and maybe even hyacinths sneak into view. skunk cabbage joins the fray of the dance and trilliums send up their periscope stalks. jack-in-the-pulpit stands righteously in the savanna underbrush, sharing energy with jill-in-the-pulpit. and the mayapples…those mayapples wait to burst their canopy umbrellas up, protecting their delicate white blossoms. all together, it is a community of the transitory, sharing space. all thorns are set aside to regale the world with beauty.

george told us on the trail that many, many – most, he ventured to guess – do not look about as they hike. he said that it is rare to see someone stop on the trail to really notice, to pay attention, to ponder. he was pleased to see us – two strangers – standing and photographing.

for us, it is most-of-the-time impossible to hike and not pay notice. but, i can tell you, it is very difficult to hike – and really, truly pay attention – if there is something heavy on our hearts. i would think it impossible to hike – and wander in the fields of flowers – if there are thorns in your heart.

as far as i know, thorns in your heart may preclude your seeing of any beauty at all. they may predispose you, color your view, cloud your eyes to what-really-is, ruin any chance of you experiencing the ephemerally blissful moments of this life.

because – in terms of this world, this universe – we are really more like spring flowers than any other. we emerge and are quickly fading. we are gifted with ever so little time.

and, just like we are like spring flowers, we are also unlike spring flowers. we are not perennials. this moment – now – is our chance…to grow and bud and bloom.

how much better to wander in fields of flowers – of beauty – than to squander time and languish in thorns.

*****

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

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