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Tag Archives: the boy


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wondrous things. [merely a thought monday]

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a couple of weeks ago i ran into a couple i hadn’t seen in many years.  they asked me about my children and how they were; i excitedly rambled on about them for several minutes, explaining where they were living – 20 hours west and 20 hours east – and what they were doing in life.  then they asked me how i was.  i said, “you can always gauge a mom’s happiness by how recently she last got to see her grown children.”  i was fortunate enough to see my daughter in november AND my son in november, so i was happy-happy-happy.  time spent with them. a wondrous thing.

i was perched on one edge and My Girl on another, a ways down the side of the canyon.  we yelled back and forth, listening to the echo, ultimately dissolving into laughter.  the beauty.  the joy.  the echo.  the laughing.  a wondrous thing.

it was not his best bowling day; the planets clearly were out of alignment for My Boy, who pretty much rocks at bowling and many other sports,  but he goofed around and cartooned and had us all laughing. so much fun on that lane.  a wondrous thing.

we stood around the piano and sang in my studio, wendy’s voice next to my own.  suddenly, that thing-that-happens-when-two-people-who-are-related-sing-together happened.  my sweet niece’s voice and mine had the same timbre and it took my breath away.  i had to stop for a moment to take it in.  a wondrous thing.

from the moment we walked into their house, my girlfriend-since-elementary-school and i laughed.  we told stories, reminisced, struggled to remember details, poured a little wine, shared some more.  our husbands sipped lemon drop martinis and we talked non-stop.  i wanted to stay longer, talk more, remember more.  so much of my growing-up-history was standing next to me, hugging me as we left.  a wondrous thing.

we don’t really leave the kitchen table when we are there.  we sit on high stools and the chatter starts as soon as we arrive.  our dear friends jen and brad and the two of us have potluck dinners on many friday nights; each couple has leftovers from the week and no one has to worry about cooking.  we just heat up our leftovers and plate them and talk, wine glasses (or a beer in brad’s case) in hand.  conversations about our children, our work, politics, travel, ukuleles, npr…the spectrum is wide and we relish the time that flies by; six hours later we glance at the clock pointing to post-midnight.  a wondrous thing.

as glorious as the high mountains, ocean-front waves, flowers birthing out of winter, exquisite melodies, the first sip of coffee in the morning, a magical snowfall, texts with heart emojis, a hand holding yours, finding an old note in your child’s little-kid handwriting, black and white pictures of your parents in young days, shooting stars and sunrises…the list of wondrous things we can see around us is endless…limitless…boundless…

and moments shared?  also endless…limitless…boundless…

and we get to embrace all these wondrous things.

read DAVID’S thoughts about WONDROUS THINGS

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take every opportunity. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

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there is something magically sweet about a snowman.  you know, without a doubt, that it won’t last forever, but it makes you smile every time you see one.

weeks ago when it had snowed packing-snow-to-just-cover-the-grass, the little boy a couple doors down went outside and built this snowman.  his silly grin made me stop the car and back up; i had to take a picture of him, preserve him for gloomy days, days of no snow, days when it’s dark at 4:30.

little-kid relationship with snow is good wisdom to remember.  embrace every chance to be in the moment.  cherish the snow falling, the feeling of flakes gently landing on your face.  treasure the slow-down of time, the chance to be with each other.  be mindful that the time is fleeting; it won’t last forever.  in this busy time, i think i will try to take every opportunity to build a snowman.

k and c in snow

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

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FLAWED CARTOON/CHICKEN MARSALA ©️ 2016 david robinson & kerri sherwood

 


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peace. earth. peace on earth. [d.r. thursday]

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peace signs.  the word peace.  ornaments of peace.  our home is punctuated with these.  i believe it is possible – peace.  but then, for truly big things, i believe in that which i cannot see.

the days older that i get, the more i see the simplest things are the things that bring me peace:  the moment in the car with my beloved daughter, driving and laughing in the high desert or standing on a red rock precipice overlooking a canyon, tears in my eyes.  the moment my beloved son let me link arms walking through the city or his hugging me -one more time- right before the train, yes…tears in my eyes.  being -anywhere- with my beloved husband. all the stuff of deep soul warmth.  the stuff of good tears.

i have found that peace doesn’t have to be complicated.  it is simply there.  in the very tightest concentric circle around me.  if i can be at peace, perhaps i can do my part, i can ripple that outward.  and maybe, eventually, with all our ripples, peace and earth will truly combine to be PEACE ON EARTH.

peace for me

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click here for PEACE. EARTH. PEACE ON EARTH products and scroll down SOCIETY6 page for a wide variety of gift ideas.

read DAVID’S thoughts on this D.R. THURSDAY

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PEACE. EARTH. PEACE ON EARTH. is a morsel of INSTRUMENT OF PEACE

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PEACE. EARTH. PEACE ON EARTH./INSTRUMENT OF PEACE ©️ 2018/2015 david robinson & kerri sherwood


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it can wait. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

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we drove into new york from pennsylvania and one of the first things we saw on this beautiful drive was this sign.  “it can wait,”  it declared.  so true.  what’s so important that can’t wait a few miles? traveling at just 60mph that would only be a mere 5 minutes away. i was infinitely proud of my homestate of NY and the effort to acknowledge and accommodate today’s technology while not superseding safety.  distracted driving is against the law in many states, including NY and for good reason.  we have all been privy to devastating stories, accidents that might have been avoided, moments when paying close attention should be paramount.  providing a place to communicate is smart; these text stops were fairly frequent on the road and there were always cars and trucks parked there.  but on the road, speeding down the highway?  no technology present.

we are kind of at the back end of technology, david and me.  the girl and the boy are smack dab in the middle of it.  and the little children and young teens we see running around with ipads for entertainment or their own cellphones are clearly at the leading edge.  we’ve watched while standing in line, even at the post office, as a mother hands a small toddler a phone to play with while waiting.  i’m not sure where conversation or making up games or riddles on the fly went.  i remember standing in a zillion lines in the post office with the girl and the boy (shipping has been key in my business) and they seemed perfectly content to wait or, ohmygosh, just talk.  no technology present.

but it’s different now (saying this is a sure sign of us getting older) and everything is more immediate and more distracted.  how many times have you seen a couple together in a restaurant with cellphones at the ready, lingering halfway between their tablemate and the pull of the internet or the text or instagram or twitter…  the look on one of the faces an expression of defeat or, worse yet, an aloofness that comes with not being able to compete with the magnetic pull of that small device across from them.  “it can wait,” i whisper silently, wishing the other person at the table could hear.  what’s so important it can’t wait? what’s more important than those moments spent together, really together?  paying close attention.  no technology present.

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

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helping hands. [d.r. thursday]

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we played a game on the roadtrip back from boston and time spent with our beloved boys and family and friends.  our on-the-road-many-hours-to-pass game was “if i were first lady/first man, my platform would be….”  we spoke about what we would choose as our impassioned work, the reasons we would choose that very important work and how we would try to support it.

coming back – after thanksgiving gratitude and in the beginning of this beautiful holiday season –  to this painting morsel of HELPING HANDS and the full image of david’s deeply touching HELPING HANDS painting, i can think of no better platform than that of those two words – helping hands.

click here or on painting above to view HELPING HANDS in the online gallery

 

read DAVID’S thoughts on this D.R. THURSDAY

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and more throw pillows – click here – or on box above – to view throw pillows we designed with david’s painting morsels

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HELPING HANDS ©️ 2010 david robinson, kerri sherwood


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productive avoidance. [merely a thought monday]

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i’m thinking this is just a fancy term for procrastination?  you know, those moments when you have a list-of-things-to-do and you do something NOT on the list.  to be honest, i ALWAYS add the things i ended up doing TO the list so that i can cross them off.  there is something i find so very satisfying about crossing things off.  even if i haven’t gotten to the crux of what i need to get done.

d says that i work in a circular manner.  i suppose he’s right.  but i swear it’s a woman-thing.  we are spinning many plates at the same time, keeping them all in the air, and, although everything will eventually get done, we move from one thing to the next and then circle back.  i know very few gals who – in an OCD kind of way – stay cemented to one task until its completion without punctuating it with others.

when The Girl and The Boy were little i was constantly moving from writing at the piano to reading books aloud to playing with matchbox cars to making business calls and back to the piano….many layers all at once. i remember having a phone conversation with one of the VPs of barnes and noble when they were placing one of my albums on the listening station wall.  in the middle of this phone call, you could hear one of my children in toddlerhood – i will not mention which one – in the background, beckoning me from the bathroom, yelling, “i finished!  i pooped!”  the VP heard it too and he was gracious enough to tell me he would hold on.  it’s a mom thing, right?  those spinning plates.

we work differently, d and me.  we are both productive, but i’m guessing he would oft label me productively avoidant.  eh.  he just doesn’t see how i accomplish that ever-growing-ever-crossed-off list in my head (or on paper, for that matter.)  it’s amazing what i can accomplish when i am “supposed” to be accomplishing something else.  i know you know what i mean!  #allwillgetdone #whatdoesitallmeananyway?

read DAVID’S thoughts on PRODUCTIVE AVOIDANCE

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beaky’s text. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

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at 93 these words were texted by my sweet momma on her iphone, about a week before she died three years ago.  she was amazing.  and damn strong.  “whoa!” i think, re-reading this text, “you go, momma!”

“…more than i say…more than i speak…more than you realize…” like every mom she walked the thin line between not saying enough and saying too much.  The Girl and The Boy are practiced at rolling their eyes at me and, i guess, i must have done the same to my momma.  so there’s that moment you dig in and, ignoring every quivering fibre in your body, you do not say anything.  you notice, you think, you know.  but you remain quiet.  for you also know that the lives you have gifted into this world are not yours to live; they are only yours to love, to hold closest to your heart, to support in every way you can, to lift up when they stumble or fall.

“don’t. underestimate me.”  so true, momma didn’t want to be under-estimated.  her spirit in the world accomplished bigger things than most professions can tout.  her kindness was rippling, her curiosity abounding, and her fortitude…that sisu.  you don’t want to be the retail/corporate/organization recipient of the “write-a-lettuh” vindication; momma was going to win.  she “wasn’t born in ny for nothin” as i say.  the day after the extra surgery she had just one day after her double-mastectomy a few months before this text, she sat on the edge of her hospital bed and called us “idiots” for not getting back on the road home.  she was going to be “just fine” and she was more worried about us on the road than herself.  that’s a mom for you.  that’s my sweet momma.

beaky dug in.  she was engaged and big in the world. and her sisu made her powerful.  she was wise even in silence.  she knew, even if i didn’t tell her.  like moms everywhere, she was tuned in, in ways that made her ever-present.  i always counted on that.  i still do.  she is on the edges of this earth, where the wind carries her to me.

i can only hope that one day my own children realize that – no matter what – i am right there.  i know more than i say.  i think more than i speak.  i notice more than they realize.  and never, ever, underestimate me.   because as their momma, i will go to the ends of the earth for them.  just like my mom.

read DAVID’S thoughts on BEAKY’S TEXT

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you can’t judge a book… [not-so-flawed wednesday]

HalloweenTree

this tree.  gnarly and twisted and wrinkly. it looks a little halloween-esque at dusk and could be downright scary in the dark of night.  it’s seen so much life, so many decades and its lifeblood travels throughout the healthy tree, bringing and sharing nutrients.  home to insects and small creatures, it provides shade for the vegetation beneath it.  it’s not just an old tree and it’s not the picture of what we think of when we think of a beautiful tree.  but it is.  beautiful.  you just can’t judge a book by its cover.  my sweet momma always said that.

momma would look in the mirror and talk about the wrinkles on her face and how “old” she looked.  in her wheelchair she could appear to be meek, wrestling with difficulties and just an old woman.  but that was so not so.  she had seen much life.  she was home to my dad, me and my sister and brother, our families, extended members as it fanned out the branches of our family tree, her friends.  she provided warm words and kindnesses to all around her, strangers among them.  she was beautiful.  every last gorgeous wrinkle.  you just can’t judge a book by its cover.

we had a black lab years ago, one of a few in our family history, when The Girl and The Boy were little. his name was hughie and he had at least 47 allergies.  he was treated for many of these and we tried to address the auto-immune disease he had as well, but he lost most of the hair on his body.  he looked gnarly and rough and wrinkled.  as a lab with little hair, he looked scary to those who did not know him.  he struggled and, even in his discomfort, was gentle and sweet, a learning for The Girl and The Boy, who were his and, despite his outward appearance, knew what was inside.  he was not the picture of what we think of when we think of a beautiful dog.  but he was.  beautiful.  you just can’t judge a book by its cover.

inside.  beautiful.  how hard is it to always remember that?  you just can’t judge a book by its cover.

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

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wedding boots. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

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we knew before we really started planning that we would be married in jeans and boots. and anyone who knows us could tell you that we would definitely be wearing black tops, in david’s case – a shirt and jacket, in my case – a long tunic.  it’s just us.

we went to the frye boot store in chicago long before our wedding day, combining a visit with The Boy with our errand.  the girl-boots i tried on weren’t right…although i love all the high frye boots, we had a vision for these, the one item we each splurged on in our apparel for The Day.  the boots needed to be totally dance-worthy, kind of worn-looking, lower-ankle boots.  i ended up buying boy-boots; it helps when you have big feet, lol, because you can find boy-sizes that fit.  we wore them inside the house dancing many times to break them in.  but never put them on to go anywhere.  we were saving them.

three years ago today, we donned our boots, our new ripped jeans and our black tops.  we individually walked down the aisle to the front of the church and a new life commitment.  The Girl, The Boy, 20, arnie and ptom stood in front with us and then we skipped back down the aisle, past pews filled with pieces of our hearts, to the ukulele band playing what a wonderful world.  we drove our little baby scion to the historic beachhouse where we had a food truck, a dj playing music people danced to for hours and hours, hula hoops and crayons, wine and daisy cupcakes, spotted cow and quinoa tabouli, brownies and a bonfire on the beach.  our family and friends – our community- brought us across the bridge from single to married; it was in a key of celebration, of support.

never did we once think that life would just be like that from there on out.  for life is life and challenges arise.  we are not exempt from that.  but our community stands with us, silently reminding us that they were there, they witnessed the moment.  their belief and our love forge together.  it takes a village to be married.  we are grateful for that village, for anyone who has nudged us to see Us.

and any time we forget that very important day, we pull our wedding boots out of the front of our closets, put them on and remember.

happy anniversary d.dot.  i love you.

wedding pic with website

read DAVID’S thoughts on this wedding-boots-day

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the field in early october. [d.r. thursday]

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the field in early october

in the bins in the basement (and scattered in places around the house) are child-drawings and paintings, ornaments made of paper and glue and sparkly glitter, painted rocks of various sizes,  necklaces of beads and shells, framed little scraps of paper with things like “goodnight mom” written in pencil and surrounded by hearts.  The Girl and The Boy have marked time through their artwork (and also through their writings) and i cherish each saved piece.  this morsel – the field in early october – makes me think of such pieces.

in the corner of a new piece on david’s easel i found this morsel.  extracted from the painting it is so childlike in feel.  such simplicity and innocence.  it immediately brought me to open fields we have walked…where sunflowers gaze for just a bit longer and grass is still verdant and lush and there are wild red berries on the bushes along the trail.  the sun is in our eyes and everything takes on a muted hue.  i can smell the leaves burning from the farmer’s field far off to our west.

what is more heavenly than remembering an early october day from a reality-fantasy visual perspective?  what is more treasured than the artwork of a child?  what a delicious combination.  just ask picasso.

read DAVID’S thoughts on this D.R. THURSDAY

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the field in early october ©️ 2018 david robinson & kerri sherwood