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Tag Archives: sanity


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artists. just being mint. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

“survival lies in sanity, and sanity lies in paying attention…” (julia cameron – the artist’s way)

here’s the thing i have discovered about mint: it is a survivor.

we bought the scrawniest mint plants – looking like they were fading away even as we paid our $2 for them. we brought them home and planted them in some good soil in an old barnwood planter that is somewhat self-destructing. we put the planter on the seat part of an old kitchen chair in the corner of our tiny potting stand garden, knowing that the sun would reach these tiny hopefuls and that these container gardens would have my rapt attention. and then we basically backed up and let nature do its thing.

and, despite some seriously hot weather, some seriously wet weather, some serious challenges from neighboring vines wishing to choke off access to nutrients, the mint has prevailed. it just keeps keeping on and the planters are burgeoning with mounds of luscious green mint.

i had heard – from people who know their stuff – that it would be important to keep mint in a planter rather than planting it in the ground. they said that mint would take over all else in the garden. i can see where that might be true – it is pervasive and aggressive about growing – resilient and tenacious and not at all timid.

which brings me to what i believe might be a good definition of an artist.

i had to have a crown re-affixed this past week – my utterly superb dentist simply popped the crown back on and aimed a blue light of some magical quality that will make it stay there. while i had my mouth gaping open he asked how we were and what we were up to. without the aid of consonants i said, “artist stuff” and he nodded.

artist stuff.

probably a better answer than “oh, we’re just being mint. you know.”

and yet, it is the job of an artist … to be mint. to be pervasive and aggressive about growing, resilient, tenacious and not at all timid. to keep growing despite all the odds, to keep creating regardless of acidic soil or toxic chance of sunstroke or over-saturation or dehydration. to keep paying attention and asking questions and pushing the boundaries – to simply survive.

I wouldn’t have compared myself (or d) to mint before. I would have preferred being sweet basil or maybe spicy jalapeños or willowy dill. or, better yet, i might like to be a pale pink sarah bernhardt peony or a daisy or a sunflower rising above a verdant farm field. mint seems so….survivalist.

but – even as i mosey through that fantasyland – the one where i am gracefully encompassing a body that is tasked with, well, different tasks – ones that are rewarded in traditional fiscally-rewarding ways – i am grateful to have been burdened with these tasks, the task of mint.

to keep on keeping on. to be as beautiful as the ordinary can be. to cling to living and to encourage others to pay attention to the very littlest things. to dance and laugh and sing raucously and to raindance sanity from the universe-sky to a world that is not sane.

“i believe art is utterly important. it is one of the things that could save us.”(mary oliver)

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly impact an artist whose work somehow directly impacts you.


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in an insane world. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

in an insane world, barney is sane.

barney has been stalwart, steadfast, unwaveringly standing in the garden through every infamous weather challenge – the rain, the sleet, the snow, the ice and the wind, the extreme heat, the drought.

it is one of the most gorgeous things in our backyard. we have watched it age, its wrinkles, its furrows, its jowls. we have watched it struggle to stay young, fresh, shellacked. we have watched it give in – to time and the elements. and, in that giving-in-ness, we have watched grace in real life.

in this insane world, i have thanked our old house and its painted-wood countertops, its old floors, its cracked plaster, its doorknob-less six panel doors. i have admired the tile floor in the bathroom and the way light streams in through the double-hungs. i have relished the paintings on our walls and the fabulous chunks of concrete that serve our living room. i have whispered to our house and i have thanked its familiarity and its comfort. i have taken refuge in its security. i have reveled in our comforter, our dogga at our feet, coffee by our side, happy lights. i have simplified need and put want to the side.

in this insane world, i have patted littlebabyscion as i get in and out, stroked big red as i have walked past it in the driveway. i have noted with great appreciation the wild geranium and the day lilies pushing up through cold dirt, the buds on breck. i have sat on adirondack chairs on the deck – still a bit bundled up – watching birds and squirrels, sipping wine and eating maybe too many chips. i have been grateful.

and i have gazed at barney-the-piano, over there, in the garden. i have felt it steadying me.

in this insane world, i have thanked barney.

“pardon my sanity in a world insane.” (emily dickinson – and barney)

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly impact an artist whose work directly impacts you. xoxo


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spinach leaves and shredded parmesan. [merely-a-thought monday]

a couple suggestions and, now, i owe her. they make all the difference. she, in some amazingly intuitive way, knows how to lift dinners, no matter the plate, to splendid.

leaves of spinach quietly waiting in a bowl for ladles of homemade chicken soup. and then, shredded – not grated – parmesan dresses it off. if soup can be called glorious, this fits the adjective.

in this time of pandemic – this never-ending-we’ve-never-done-this-before-therefore-we-all-need-some-grace-two-years – we are cooking to maintain sanity. and i have to agree with elsa (whose auto-biography “shocking life” i now want to read) that “eating well gives a spectacular joy to life.” though these two years have not been lavish in expensive foods for us, they have been rich in the experience of cooking and dining together on meals we have mutually prepared.

we love to cook together. and, lucky for me, david loves to chop. i can line up a festival of ingredients to be prepped and he, the mighty sous chef, takes them on willingly and, really, with a little bit of glee. that makes my cooking a wee bit like one of those shows where all the ingredients are in tiny and big bowls, measured and ready. we don’t have swanky pots and pans, but we have an abundance of zeal and, let me tell you, when we are hungry we are daaang focused.

if we feel we can do nothing else – no indoor restaurants, no pubs, no gatherings, no potlucks – then we can invest in cooking for each other or for ourselves. we can honor good food, plain or fancy-schmancy, placed in bowls or on plates, plain or fancy-schmancy, and time taken to savor and be grateful for being fortunate enough to sit at a table and eat.

it’s a bounty of goodness.

and spectacular joy.

*****

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


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“staying more or less sane…” [merely-a-thought monday]

sane

it’s a wave.  and, like the tide, we ride it out to sea and back in to shore.  we grab handfuls of sand when we hit the beach, to remind ourselves that we are indeed of this earth and this is real.   and then we read or watch the news and see the charts and the numbers-who-are-people-not-numbers and we are back out to sea, on precarious standup boards.

it’s almost a mantra “staying more or less sane.”  we wake in the morning and, for the first few delicious seconds, we don’t remember.  but as we share dreams – the dreams we can remember – we know that even our subconscious are trying to process all this.

we compare notes with others:  what is acceptable to do in these restricted times, what is not.  we are aghast at the impropriety of the suggestion of large gatherings, no matter where they are.  even small gatherings of people not isolating together are questionable. we wonder if we will all be agoraphobic when it’s time to cease restrictions.  we worry that this decision will be made irresponsibly, skewed in the direction of the ever-important dollar and not in the interest of people being healthy, getting better, staying alive.  we are afraid.

we do whatever we can, whatever works; we are all in different places on the what-works-for-you continuum.  outside of working we struggle to fill in time.  we take on new projects; we sit quietly.  we bake loaves and loaves of bread and test new recipes; we cook just whatever is necessary.  we obsessively deep clean the closets, the cabinets, the basement; we pick up around ourselves and disinfect what needs disinfecting.  we organize, organize, organize; we have trouble paying attention, finishing going through the piles.  we watch movies and binge on sitcoms; we look out the window and get lost in thought.  we spend time on our muse; we stay away from that which makes us feel more deeply.  we spend vast amounts of time on social media and video-conferencing apps; we desperately miss those we love and yearn for them.  we get impatient; we wait.

we are a world of people-people, broken and reeling, and we are all trying to stay more or less sane.

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

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